#but usually the uncertainty kills me and i know ill write you at some point. since well im not sure you read this. i have my doubts tho

[youllallriseintheink]

Repeating the Cycle

I thought I’d write a little story about ink infection, as well as Sammy’s role after he was transformed. It’s inspired by Shazzbaa’s theories (I’d say which, but we don’t want spoilers, now do we?)!

I’ll tell you guys later tonight about the future writing projects I have planned.

---

Sammy awoke in his sanctuary, as he had many times before. He hadn’t been to his apartment in... well, days anyhow. He felt better when he was near the ink. He tried the door to exit his private sanctuary, and it was locked. “Is this a sign?” he asked his lord. “Is it time?”

Yes, his lord spoke back.

Sammy smiled- smiled rather weakly, as the pain from his ink infection had been wearing on him heavily. “Finally.”

All the waiting. All the sickness. All the fear. It was time to see what it was all for. And his lord had assured him, with the comforting voice of a father to a young son, that it would be worth it.

Sammy dragged himself over to the leaking pipe that hung from the ceiling of his sanctuary and turned on the ink supply. Ink sputtered down onto Sammy’s face and clothes, and he fell to his knees, hands outstretched and mouth open as though he was staring into heaven itself. His heart was pounding. He was shaking from adrenaline, and not even being surrounded with, covered in, and consuming the ink that normally numbed his symptoms seemed to be helping. This had to be fear instead of withdrawal.

Do not be afraid, the voice comforted, you will have ascended in mere hours. I promise, you will be safe and healthy. I promise, it will be better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Thank you! Bendy, hear my praise! I want what you have for me! I crave your embrace!”

Sammy took a long suck of ink from the pipe, then laid down on the floor. He was weak. so weak.

That’s it. You’ve made it. You need only wait now.

Sammy trusted Bendy. Bendy told him that everything he’d done and experienced in his life- even the nightmarish last few years- was leading to something. It told him that everything was okay.

Sammy didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Joey tying up his ankles. With some struggle, he sat up and tried to push Joey off of him, but it had little effect. Before long, Joey had finished on Sammy’s ankles and was straddling his chest to tie up his hands. The last thing he saw with his biological eyes was Joey’s knife slitting his throat.

When Sammy woke up, the voice of his lord was gone. By trying to make a toon out of him, Joey had robbed him of his ascension and severed his connection to him.

---

Grant awoke in his office to the horrid ticking of his Bendy clock and the array of whispering voices that had plagued him since early in his infection. The clock’s small hand pointed to six, but Grant had no idea whether it was morning or evening. Months of ink infection had ruined his sense of time. He tried the door to his office and found that it had been locked from the outside by chain and padlock. Grant laughed at the absurdity of it all- his life had spiralled into a nightmarish fever dream.

“Does this mean it’s time?” Grant asked.

Yes. Your time is almost up, the voice answered, and for once, Grant trusted it. He felt almost too tired from illness to care.

“I’ll do anything you ask to stop it.”

No response, except for those muttered voices. Grant hadn’t expected one- the voice rarely had his best interests in mind. He shuffled over to his desk and pushed aside some papers to go back to sleep- possibly for the last time.

And then he saw it- a report from Joey that he’d received mere days before his symptoms had started- ending with the words “Fix this or I’ll have your head!” angrily scrawled at the bottom.

That was it. Joey had done this to motivate him. He just had to figure out how to keep the studio from bankruptcy and he’d be cured!

Yes! Yes! You’re right. Fix it! the voice yelled.

Adrenaline flooded Grant’s system as he jerked open his filing cabinet with shaking hands in search of the necessary files to fix the budget. This was his one chance to survive. The muttering voices were screaming in his head- ear-piercing. His head felt ready to explode.

“Shut up and let me focus!” he screamed.

Ink will soothe your symptoms.

That was something that the voice had told him frequently. He hadn’t given in to it yet- not much, anyhow- because common sense told him that ink was inedible. It was also his sincere belief that the voice wanted to kill him. The voice had told him, back before the physical symptoms had become obvious, that he was merely losing his mind and needed to hide it from everyone, lest he be institutionalized. Then, as soon as the physical symptoms had taken root, it had changed its tune- he was losing his mind, because he was ill with an incurable, supernatural disease, and no hospital could help him, and going to one would only guarantee that he would be a test subject for the limited time he had left. Listening to it then had gotten him into this position, and he wasn’t eager to listen to it again.

But this was life or death. He opened the supply on the ink pipe that Thomas- for some reason he didn’t understand- had installed in his office, and drank deeply.

The voice- the muttering- the headache- it all stopped. Silence. Finally.

Grant’s hands were covered in ink now, and were sure to soak any paper he used. I can’t let that stop me. He dropped to his knees and started painting calculations on the floor.

The numbers didn’t add up. Not a single one. Was his mind was too frayed to do basic mathematical functions?! How could he fix anything, let alone this insurmountable debt, while he could barely think straight?! Calm down. Stay calm. Try again. Life or death. Time is money. What will Joey say?!

From the cracks within the wall, Sammy watched as Grant spiralled into panic and tears, and turned his office inside out trying to find anything that could help, expressing his fears through wall-writing, and attempting escape the room. Poor thing, Sammy thought, remembering the pain and uncertainty of his own ink infection, but soon I’ll be able to teach him the truth.

It had been years since Sammy’s sacrifice. Not only did Sammy still work for Joey now that he was a failed toon, Joey had him on a schedule. Every day at 11:00 AM, Sammy would ooze through the walls of Joey’s office for their morning meeting. Sammy wasn’t particularly happy about doing anything for the man who had turned him into a failed Boris just as he was about to fulfill a higher destiny, but the voice had once told him that to follow Joey was to follow his lord, and now those previous words (which Sammy had recorded and studied every day) were all he had left as a doctrine to follow. Sammy hoped that with enough obedience and service, his lord would see past his ruined body and grant him his destiny.

Joey’s demands were often difficult, but they were simple: sacrificing specific people into specific toons, and looking after the infected. Joey rarely sacrificed people on his own anymore, and instead relied on Sammy to do the dirty work of knocking people out, killing them on pentagrams, and then dealing with the resulting dead body, blood and ink-stains on the floor, and whatever abomination came out of the ink machine. Looking after the ink-infected was easier: keep an eye on them, and once they become too infected to be useful, lock them in their offices or in infirmary rooms and take them to their prison in the basement come night. Sammy had overseen the infection of nearly thirty people by now and had sacrificed dozens.

Thankfully, Joey’s demands were not very time-intensive, and he had plenty of time for his passion: teaching the lost ones about their lord and saviour, Bendy.

The lost ones lived in a prison in the very basement of Joey Drew Studios, along with the failed toons. Sammy’s sermons were some of the only times they were allowed out of their cages, and so they were always happy to see him.

Some agreed with him. Often, these were the same ones who had heard a comforting voice as they were infected- generally those with a religious background. Others thought him insane. Their voice had been different- wrong- hallucinatory- and quite often threatening. Sammy had these lost ones do penance in order to find their way to Bendy. Some found him, leaving Sammy feeling accomplished, but also jealous that he could never have what they had. Hopefully, his lord would see the wonderful work he was doing and one day ascend him along with the rest of them- because surely, that was not their final form.

Today’s meeting was like any other. Sammy waited in the walls until Joey’s 10:30 client left, and then slithered out before him.

“Anything to report?” Joey asked casually, as he looked over some paperwork. These meetings were usually uneventful.

“Two people are currently under quarantine. Three more are infected but still able to work for now. Everything is fine- except for one small detail. One of the people under quarantine is destroying his office out of fear. If you’d like, I could tie him up snug until he transforms, or force-feed him ink to speed the process along.”

Joey considered this. "Hmm... well, I do need an Edgar. He would work as well as any. Are you sure he’s close to transforming?” All ink-infected people had strange beliefs and delusions (except for Sammy, of course- his visions were absolute truth), but by this point in their infection, they were generally too tired to do anything destructive- especially ones like this one, who had increased the duration of their infection by resisting the urge to drink ink.

“It will be a matter of hours,” Sammy assured.

“Well, that’s not convenient, but I do have lunch right after this. I’ll get the Charley down to the basement, and you get the Barley and Edgar. The Barley’s name is Lacie Benton, and I’d suggest you knock her out before taking her anywhere- she’s a tough one. But the Edgar shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No... I suppose not.” Severely ink-infected people were, without exception, very weak, and Sammy was stronger now than he’d ever been as a human.

“Alright! See you down there as soon as possible.”

Sammy nodded, slunk back into the walls, and cursed everything, especially his order to obey Joey Drew. A severely ink infected person had never, and would never, produce a good toon- part of their souls had already been connected to the other lost ones. Joey must have known that, but he still insisted on stealing the people that were meant to be Sammy’s to guide, probably because in Joey’s mind, killing a person was murder but killing a lost one (or someone who soon would be a lost one) was not. Joey didn’t see his people as equally human, and it sickened Sammy. Nonetheless, he slithered through the walls until he came upon Grant’s office.

The office looked like a madhouse. The floors and walls were coated with repetitive writing. Furniture had been strewn about. Grant himself was curled against the ink pipe in his office, covered in so much ink that Sammy had thought he was already transformed before he realized he still had hair. The poor thing had tried so hard, while so sick, at something so futile. Sammy had his orders, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on his sheep-that-wouldn’t-be until he had to.

Sammy slithered out of the wall- slowly, so as not to scare him.

“Who are you?” Grant asked. He sounded so tired of all the supernatural surprises that he barely cared.

“I’m here on behalf of Joey Drew,” Sammy began.

“I’m so sorry. I tried... but I couldn’t. I suppose you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m here to give you congratulations. The others in your department were able to use these brilliant calculations,” Sammy gestured widely at the messily scrawled gibberish on a wall, “to make a plan. The studio is going to avoid bankruptcy, and you’re going to be cured. Come with me.” Sammy offered Grant his hand. Grant took it, and Sammy helped him up.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand how-” All of those calculations... Grant would have guessed that they were worthless.

“Shh... you’ll be clearer-headed soon. Just come with me, now. I can’t be out there where everyone can see me, but go to the elevator, go to the bottom floor, and I will be there. I promise- you will be fine.”

“Thank you so much. But, my door-”

Sammy slithered back into the wall. Grant heard the click of a door unlocking, followed by the clink of chains falling limp. His office door was unlocked. Do I trust him? Grant asked himself. This day kept getting stranger. If I don’t, I’m guaranteed to die. I have nothing to lose.

Sammy slithered into the wooden floor of the elevator and only reappeared once the elevator hit the very bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy lamented “I want to lead you to Bendy. I want you to find peace as one of my followers. But it is not in the cards.”

The two made brief eye contact- or would have, if Sammy’s face weren’t covered in mask. Grant, obviously, had no idea what Sammy was talking about. Then, Sammy grabbed Grant’s hair, slammed his head against the wall a few times to knock him out, tied him up for sacrifice, and left to find Lacie Benton.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #sammy lawrence #grant cohen #joey drew

[quitethepirategal]

An Analysis in Threes

❥ TAGGED BY: @emcads​ like 30 years ago ❥ TAGGING: @riidcr​ @starsailingcaptain​ @covencrown​ @hookd​ @all-fleshed-out​ @evermxre​ @motherofredemption​ @bup1957​ @conquistadoradelmar​ @seaprofound​ @tcthinecwnself​ @withinycu​ @windguided​ @daevilhorns​ @concordia-cum-sinistro​ and YOU and I spent like 8 hours on this so pLEASE READ IT PLEASE I AM BEGGING I NEED VALIDATION I’M-

     repost don’t reblog. yall dont have to type this much.

MUSE: Captain Red Handed Jessica

Three Strengths:

     Her adaptability and resourcefulness.  Is she brave, yes.  Is she lucky, also yes.   But over all, she can roll with the cards she’s been dealt in a way that many would call inhumanly clever.  Her intelligence, her perception, and her charisma are all different ingredients of this indomitable characteristic of hers.  She can see the value in just about anything and anyone, can pick up on clues and tangents few others can follow, and can remember seemingly endless details, tho unfortunately not on command.  But even then, her patchy memory seems to contribute to this adaptability as well, as it usually allows for detachment.  If she can find resources everywhere, it means she can survive everywhere. There have been countless times where the wheel of fortune has suddenly turned on her and she’d lost near everything and her response was more or less Damn, ok I need food water and shelter lets go.  No food?  Grow food.  No water?  Ask someone if they have water.  No shelter?  Sleep outside.  No money?  Steal money.  Can’t hear anymore?  Cool I can use loud weapons.  Crashed on an island?  My island now.  Shot?  Free bullet.  She knows when to push, she knows when to quit, and sometimes she knows when to gamble based on her ability ( what a man can do and what he can’t do and all that ).  Strong she may be, she knows its foolish to rely on strength.  Survival of the fittest actually rarely means survival of the strongest. ( edit; this is the theme for the entirety of her character. I will say it 50,000 times. I am very sorry ).  And as a student of philosophy and biology, she understands that phrase better than most. Leading to our next point.

     Her understanding.  As I stated, her charisma is something unmatched, and is a key element in all three of her strengths.  This charisma might not exist as prominently were it not for her ability to understand.  She has limited ( I’ll get back to that ) but deep running empathy and while not terribly observant all the time, she is always perceptive.  Not only that, but she’s personally known abuse, hardship, and uncertainty, and understands that hate or anger can be rooted in similar pain.  She was schooled lightly in both Christian and Buddhist values before diving heavily into democratic philosophy, meaning she believes all being experience suffering and therefore kindness is a powerful sign of strength, but also that suffering while free and equal is better than comfort in oppression.  And between her sweet words and beautiful face, she can get most people to open up in ways they themselves my not have expected.  Being very good with people means she can learn from them, gain something from them, lead them, and/or use them.  But Jessica isn’t a manipulator in truth; her intentions are almost always kind or healthy ones.  She absolutely uses people from time to time but not EVER without them consenting to or being made aware of such because again, unlike a manipulative person, she understands that can ruin a relationship and therefore ruin a resource.  What it makes for is an excellent leader, a beloved captain, and a trusted ally at most and an excellent conversationalist at the least.      But her understanding isn’t just social, oh no.  It’s academic as well.  Armed only with his little library and the lessons of his own teachers, Jessica’s foster father tirelessly smithed her into a not just a girl who knew a lot of things, but a truly intelligent, thinking mind. He’d die before learning he’d succeeded tenfold.  Jessica isn’t one to just except things as they are, facts or otherwise.  She usually needs to prove it, experiment, see things from a new angle.  Debates with her are fun!  She has no issue admitting she’s wrong or confessing she’s never thought of it that way, and is actually wrong a lot of the time.  It doesn’t bruise her ego, it excites her.  It means there’s more to learn.  And her ability to constantly understand new concepts paired with her ability to overwhelmingly understand people combine to make for a very powerful core idea of hers:  We are fittest to survive because we all fit together.  Our humanity, our empathy, our community are our strengths because they keep us united, which keeps us the fittest.  No one is independent, no man is an island.  People are power. And thus her final strength is just that.

     Her power.  While she and I still firmly state that strength isn’t everything don’t be disillusioned; its very goddamn important.  And it’s something Jessica has plenty of.  She is durable and clever because of her rocky early childhood, she is quick and versatile from her youth in a pirate port, she is physically strong and mighty from her years training in martial arts, and she’s an absolute crackshot after years of diligent practice with her trusty pistols.  Her true strength may lie in her brains and in her allies yes, but even without them, Red Jessica is a powerhouse of a warrior.  She can end fights extremely quickly or run from them without a prayer of catching her ( no shame in the later, both skills keep you alive ).  And it may be in bad taste to say, but ever since loosing most of her hearing, Jess swears up and down it’s made her vision better, her reaction time faster, and her quick thinking even quicker.  Yes of course she’s slowed down with age, but a bullet shoots at the same speed no matter how old you are.  And you best hope she didn’t bring her firecrackers, because while sudden loud noises will absolutely temporarily discombobulate or debilitate an opponent with healthy hearing, it’ll hardly effect her at all and suddenly, you’re a sitting duck.  You see those thighs?  You see those calves?  She can crush PINEAPPLES with them!  People have seen her do it!  Do you know how many micro-fractures broke and rebuilt those hands?  Thousands!  She can crush a trachea like a fucking beer can!  She can kick you to death!  One ill placed curb stomp and you are DECEASED.  Sometimes she’ll just psyche you out because she KNOWS you know she can kill your stupid ass!       But while her strength, mental and physical, have always been there, her power is relatively new.  As stated before, people are power.  Not knowledge, not money, not strength.  People.  She’s a fearsome warrior but she’d be useless if outnumbered.  Shes a very successful pirate, but she’d never make it out of port without a crew on her ship.  She found a gorgeous island, but it’d still be wild without those who built it’s piers and buildings.  She manages orchards and tends to them and harvests them herself, but she would loose all of her crop without the helping hands of her employed farmers.  And like I mentioned, she deeply understands this.  Freedom is not independence or vice versa.  Did you make the clothes on your back or the fabric that made those clothes?  Did you write the books you read to make you smarter or teach you that skill?  Did you plant the seed years ago that grew that orange you’re eating?  No, of course not.  Jessica didn’t either.  Another human did.  We all need each other to fill the holes in our lives that we can’t fill ourselves.  Humans are puzzle pieces in that way, there is no bigger picture or prayer for survival on our own.  And because of this, we can do anything we as a community, as a SPECIES work together to achieve.  There is no knowledge if there’s no one to learn from, there is no money if a society don’t give it value, your money is worthless if those you’re paying decide to rise against you, your role as leader only exists at the consent of those you lead, and your strength won’t save you from a sinking ship.  People are, and always will be, power.       And as someone who is exceptionally strong and exceedingly smart, Jessica has slotted herself in the humanity puzzle thusly: The strong exist to protect the weak, the smart exist to educate, and the lucky exist so the unlucky may be given aid.  And it is with this fairness and compassion that she has won the trust of so many.  She has a great many friends and allies even outside of those in her crew or on her island.  And she can make many more with ease.  That kind of power is not a power to be trifled with, even if she can kick your ass six ways to Saturday without it. 

Three Weaknesses:

     She suffers ADHD.  Now before ANY OF Y’ALL SAY ANYTHING, I myself also suffer ADHD.  And yes I do say suffer because well that’s what it causes for Jessica and I, suffering.  Yes, it is ableist language to say ‘suffering from’ rather than ‘has’ or ‘is diagnosed with’ and yes it perpetuates a stigma against us but god DAMN IT in both Jessica’s case and mine, it make life much much harder than it needs to be.  At the end of the day, Red Jessica is a fantasy of mine; I pour myself into her whether I mean to or not.  She’s the adult I wish I was, the person I might be if I had no anxiety, or brainfog, or lived in a world were I didn’t need a credit score or a degree. And even then, I can’t say I know anyone else’s problems better than my own.  So if my character has problems, by sheer osmosis they are going to reflect some of mine.  Both of the characters I write have ADHD because I have ADHD and I couldn’t even begin to know how a non-ADHD mind works to write it properly.  And no, I’m not being dramatic when I say it causes me suffering.  I can’t drive, I can’t hold down a job, I nearly flunked out of school, I still cant read very fast or spell very well, I am constantly overwhelmed by mundane things, I’m a slow learner, I forget very important things or recent things, I forget about things that mean the world to me, I forget about people, I stumble through tasks, I procrastinate hobbies and basic hygiene, and everything I do takes all goddamn day and I can only really do one important thing at a time and in order of importance.  If I have a date at 4pm, I’m dressed and ready at 11am because I’ve gotta do the important thing first or else I will forget to do the important thing.  I started typing this at a little before 5pm.  It’s 7;30.  It’ll probably be 10 o’clock at night by the time I fucking finish ( edit: l m a o its 1am bitch you thought ).  I’m 26 and am just medicated enough to barely function.  So yeah.  Suffering is the word.       Though for Jessica, perhaps suffering is a tad strong of a word.  Her ADHD affects her ability to function in far less debilitating ways ( though whether that’s a result of a less severe diagnosis than me or the result of the society, situations, and responsibilities she functions in and around are far different from mine, who’s to say ).  For her, she has very consuming hyperfixations that can last anywhere between weeks to decades, a spotty memory that is detail and memento oriented,  she’s scatterbrained more often then not but can focus with amazing clarity on her interests or in high adrenaline situations, is is ABYSMALLY bad at math and EXCRUCIATINGLY bad with numbers ( as opposed to me, who is good at numbers but shit at spelling or reading ), she can forget anything no matter how important it is to her or to anyone, she’s bad with names and dates, is COMPLETELY time-blind, has trouble prioritizing, and of course, wile not actually that materialistic, she absolutely has the ol’ magpie instinct.       While her poor memory assists in her adaptability and ability to move on, it also means she forgets things she needed to remember, like when the last time she bathed was and who this person is and what happened between her and someone else or what conversation’s shes had.  Unfortunately this means she’s a very good friend and leader... while you’re around and interacting with her on at least a weekly basis.  It’s almost a lack of object permanence in both a social and very real sense.  If something is not right in front of her, odds are she’s not going to think about it.  And while its something she constantly kicks herself for and actively tries to be better about, it applies to people too.  Face to face is the best way to interact with her; she won’t think to write you and in her modern verse she won’t think to ever call and she’ll text you back in perhaps a few days.  She doesn’t value you any less, I promise.  She’s just either distracted or overwhelmed.  Also, for someone as understanding as her, she is surprisingly self-centered.  Not selfish, self-centered.  She’ll talk about herself more than she should, and will assume people understand that she’s doing so as a form of showing empathy rather than bragging when they may not know this at all.  Actually she accidentally assumes all the time.  It was far worse when her hearing was functional; she’d finish your sentence for you or guess what it was you were going to say ( again, not to talk over, you but to show she understands you and the conversation, tho it usually came of as annoying or patronizing ).  Sometimes she mistakenly assumes you believe or know the same things she does without even realizing it.  Maybe she perceives the right idea off of someone but isn’t observant enough to notice anything past that.  And while she is willing to change her mind about things, she might change her mind a tad too quickly.  She’s an over-sharer and is horrible at keeping any kind of secret.  Romantic relationships tend to fizzle out. Her impulse control is improving but has a VERY long way to go. She’s always chasing something new.       All and all, when you’re a pirate, a librarian, or even a captain, all of these things may be irritating and inconvenient, but are overall manageable in chunks.  ...But as a governor to her island, as a leader of an entire population... oof. In the position of leadership that she’s in, she can’t afford to make too many massive mistakes, and she knows this.  ‘There is no power quite like the power of being underestimated’ is a phase you’ll hear her say a lot but for her, there is a shift in connotation.  If people expect less and you do more that’s a great upper hand in any situation but for her, it was a safety net.  Having ADHD sometimes means going months or years being fine and then eventually you fuck up and everyone around you wonders how in the world you managed to do that.  She has only barely avoided disaster more times than she’d like to admit.  Even with the resourcefulness, the understanding, and the power she wields, she’s finally starting to realize that she’s bit off more than she might be able to chew, with the entire well-beings and livelihoods of others on the line.  And she fears that one day she’ll play her cards wrong and everything she’d built, everything she’s done, will all come crashing down in ruin.

     She is Hard of Hearing.  This one is literally as simple as it sounds: she has moderate and degenerative hearing loss and tinnitus after years of canons, explosions, gunshots, and a definitive, scale tipping attack in her early 30s.  Her ears just don’t work at all like they used to.  The whole world sounds like it would if everything was underwater: she can’t pin point the location of sounds, how far off or close sounds are, and barely registers changes in volume. And it only gets worse the older she gets; one day she won’t hear anything at all.  And while yes, again, it might be very harsh and ableist to say, the truth of the matter that being deaf a “ weakness ” more often than its a strength.       That said, it very well can be a strength.  I’ve already mentioned that trick with the firecrackers and let me tell you it is a DAMN EFFECTIVE TRICK.  Shes around explosions and canons and guns all the time and now she can focus while being around them five times better than she could in the past!  But unfortunately it also means she’s very easy to sneak up on, she sometimes isn’t aware of danger until it’s nearly too late,  no one can get her attention or warn her across any distance, it’s very easy to escape from her, and it’s easy for her to be just... left out of things.  She might hear you talking, but she has little to no idea what you’re saying without sign or lipreading.  Some people don’t have the patience or even just the courtesy to speak slower, or clearer, or repeat themselves a lot.  Though, those last too thinks aren’t weaknesses of hers so much as they are the weakness of others, but they still negatively affect her self esteem and her effectiveness as a leader.       All of this has taught her to pick her battles carefully, and plan around the elements of surprise and discombobulation.  And while communication was tricky at first, it only got easier, and now she can talk to you almost like anyone can, so long as she’s looking you in the face. 

     That damn bleeding heart.  We have established a number of things that should easily add up to an overly empathetic, trusting, fight-the-good-fight, martyr-some, idealistic pushover;  she believes humanity and kindness are strengths, she has taken on the role of leader and then a provider, she has known suffering and tasked herself with ending the suffering of others to the best of her ability,  she lacks the clarity of mind to assume people aren’t just as good or capable as her automatically, she can have poor impulse control at times,  she wants to have relationships, and ( while I never stated this outright yet it can be inferred  ), she believes that being able to see yourself in others is the foundation of humanity and ( as i did say outright ) humanity is what keeps us unified and unity is what makes us fit and strong.  Keeping up?  Good. Here’s the curve ball: How can she whole hardheartedly preach and believe all of this, to the point of it being the foundation of her character, WHILE BEING A VIOLENT THIEVING AND BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATE?!  HOW, MANGO? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!  Ok, fine, sure, I will. I’m sure about one half of you are looking up from the screen and going “ Oh yeah, wow I totally forgot that bit. “ and the other half got about two and a half paragraphs in before squinting and silently calling bullshit. So let me explain.      In short, she’s a detached hypocrite and is well aware and unashamed of her hypocrisy while far less aware of her detachment. I’ll cover both:  Western culture as a whole seems to be under the impression that hypocrisy, despite context or importance, is automatically bad.  I don’t know where this comes from personally ( my bet is Christianity but I have exactly 0 evidence ) but its a very... flawed idea.  Take the freedom of speech vs racism problem; say you owned a bar where all could speak their mind freely over cold drinks.  Excellent concept without context, right?  Sure. ....Then a die hard racist covered in slurs and symbols walks in and orders- what are you going to do?  The correct answer is to throw him out instantly.  Not let him sit so long as he doesn’t cause trouble, not just ignore him and hope he doesn’t return, you throw him out.  Is it hypocritical?  Yep!  Sure is!  But it is also 100% necessary to protect your other patrons because if you don’t, the racist starts feeling safe and bringing his racist buddies, literally everyone else starts feeling unsafe and starts to hang out elsewhere, and two months later, ta da!  You now own a n*zi bar and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Jessica is in a somewhat similar situation.  You as a pretend bar owner need to make a decision as who to let into your bar and who to throw out for the good of all of your patrons.  Jessica too is faced daily with that decision.  If she want’s to help as many people as possible, the only realistic way she can do that are by protecting those under her leadership... only.  She is surrounded by hateful, angry, sneaky, traitorous, abusive, or otherwise evil people.  Piracy as a profession and poverty in general can do that to a person.  Of course there is a clear difference between those down on their luck and desperate, and the truly cruel and twisted, but unfortunately both types of people yield the same wrongdoings.  It’s absolutely her nature to extend a hand to anyone and everyone but.... she just can’t anymore.  Too many times has her trust been betrayed, too many times has she gotten in peoples business trying to be helpful, only for her to absolutely bite her in the ass.  Too many time the extended hand is bitten and once or twice, she’s actually made things worse.       Now, she will only help someone she loves, someone under her leadership, or someone who seeks her out.  That’s it.  And even then, sometime it manages to bite er in the ass.  But she had to set that hard limit for herself out of necessity, one she does her absolute best to adhere too and... these days she adheres a little too well. That leads us to our next point; what I was alluding to at the beginning of her Understanding essay when I said she has limited but deep running empathy.  That detachment again, courtesy of a very unattached mother and unchecked ADHD. ( It isn’t a strong enough characteristic to even rank as a strength or a weakness but damn if it isn’t an undercurrent to a lot of her motivations and experiences. ) Strangers are fair game that she tries to ignore, but if she even perceives you as a threat, you could be in danger. Like anyone used to violence or perhaps anyone trapped in an us verses them mindset, she can just... flat... turn her empathy off.  Not on command, she’s not a socio or psychopath persay.  But she has become totally numb to the horror of violence via her warrior upbringing that, in her mind, violence can actually be rather fun. Pair that with the fact that she purposely tailored herself to only be empathetic to her allies and boom.  You get a kindhearted killer.  Cops and soldiers in our world do it literally every day.  Actually anyone can do it really, even you if you tried. You don’t have to be evil or even angry to kill or steal or lie... you just have to believe you’re right.

Three Secrets:

     WHAT SECRETS?!  LMAO this bitch is the oversharing queen!! I’ve been typing and pondering her character for literal hours ( its currently 11:16, fuck you adderall ), and I still can not think of a single goddamn secret.  There is nothing about her that at least five random people don’t fucking know about!! The only secrets she has are secrets she knows about other people and even then she is!! literally the worst!! She spills her guts left and right and yet she wants to be a mysterious bitch SO BAD like BABE I love you, you’re precious, but you are a dumbass attention seeking validation chasing adhd CLOWN girl!! Stop telling random people about your hermaphroditism or your dairy allergy or your dead dad or that time you fell asleep in a barrel like that is literally your uber driver Jessica honey come ooooon. I’m skipping this section mom holy fuck.

Three Fears:

     What if she does wrong by everyone who trusts her?  As stated at the end of the ADHD essay, she’s terrified of failing those she leads.  Where it as simple as personal failure, she’d be fine.  Ever if her entire world came crashing down on top of her she’d either die or start back from square one.  Death is a fact of life and her adaptability means she can just dust herself off and move on, so neither her death nor her failures really scare her... But it isn’t just her life and happiness at stake, is it? Not anymore, right?  What started as a leader of a small gang of rebels became a full crew, then a crew became a slew of allies, then those allies built a town and now... now she’s the governor of the Crimson Isle and there are nearly twenty five HUNDRED lives at her mercy.   HER mercy.  One really, really bad mistake could ruin their livelihoods or spark disorder and disloyalty.  And if she died?  Would whoever it is that will take her place be as good to them as she is?  Is she good enough to begin with in the first place? Every day the paperwork gets a little bit thicker, every year there’s a new baby or two.  And the isle has fertile soil sure but will it last?  Are they prepared for a raid or a hurricane?  And if Jessica trusts the wrong people, where her people right to trust her?  ...can I protect them? Can I protect them?! CAN I PROTECT THEM?!

     Who am I if I’m not interesting?  This is, literally, an entirely subconscious fear.  She’s not at all aware it exists and therefor this entry is short. But between her short time with her very unimpressed mother, her own ADHD, she is constantly hungry for attention without even realizing it.  She must be interesting and intriguing and engaging, and I did mention she wants to also be mysterious.  She wants not so much your input or even your validation - but rather if shes not perceived then.... is she really there? Remember, she is unaware of any of this.  And fortunately she’d never been starved for attention to act out over it in the first place, even when her disinterested mother was alive. Look at her; she’s radiant, she’s beautiful, and she’s 6′4 / 195 cm shredded and covered in cool scars. Without even opening her mouth, without even her colorful clothes, she’s kind of automatically interesting.  So she’s never been so desperate for attention that she acts out because she’s never been without it for very long.  But it’s there. Hungry, aching, silent.  Those years after the M branding were horrible and she could never really explain why.  She still throws parties, organizes festivals, and talks to damn near anyone who will listen.  Look at my art!  Look at my library! Listen to how much I know! Let me tell you how lovely you are! Look at my scares! Look at my hair! Look at me haha, please, please look at me. 

     GHOSTS. NOPE. No. NO. Fuck ALL of that noise. Stay dead, go to hell, eat a dick.  Red Jessica is a scientist and superstitious atheist. As an academic and somewhat bi-cultural woman she simply thinks there are far too many religions with far too much history for any of them to be considered The One True Thing You Must Believe Or ElseTM and she tends to not truly believe anything until she finds some kind of proof.  Shes not afraid of the unknown, shes thrilled by it. She’s not afraid of death or the afterlife, that’s beyond her control. She’s only superstitious because she does believe in and value luck, and also its a bit of a cultural habit. BUT IF SOME SHIT STARTS MOVING ON ITS OWN OR IF SHE SEES SOME BULLSHIT IN THE CORNER OF HER EYE THEN SHE IS OUT OF THERE. OUTIE 5000. She has heard the tales of lost souls from purgatory or the eternally ravenous Pret or dangerous Phi Tai Hong or the tragic and startling Banshees or the creepy Santa Compana and she wouldn’t believe a word of it where it not for one thing.      SHE FUCKING SAW ONE. She’ll never forget it, it was the first and last time she EVER attempted to plunder a tomb all Skyrim style and at first she thought it was one of the crewmean being creepy as shit until she got a good look and he was SEE THROUGH AS SHIT AND SKINNY AS FCUK AND SHE GOT LITERALLY CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT JOINT. She does not CARE that some ghosts are just apparitions she does not CARE that some are friendly and trying to warn her of something if you are MOVING and DEAD at the SAME time get FUCKED. If any of y’all cringe try-hards bring a Ouija board to the party you are getting SENT HOME and BLOCKED. NO CAP.

Three Goals:

   She really only has one left. Listen its... almost 1am and ive been typing since like 5pm i think i covered goals somewhere in here but ive gotta throw in the towel but even then I’m kinda being serious.  Her only remaining goal is to find a suitable heir of some kind.  She wants what she’s built to fall into worthey hands but she could never seem to find a good parter and even when she did she couldn’t sustain a pregnancy ( you’d think that would be a huge deal but it hardly mattered to her oddly ).  So at 50 the option of having kids is out but there’s still plenty of hope for either adoption or a protege.  But then again, she’s so busy these days that she hardly prioritizes it like she wants to.  

                                                                               holy shit i need some water...

#i.... i did it.. its done.. its DONE #...this took my entire saterday #i will literally pay yall actuall dollars to read all of this please... it took so long i dont want it to be for nothing qwq #x; EVER PLAYED CRAZY EIGHTS? { dash games } #x; QUITE THE PIRATE GAL { portrait } #x; WHY AREN'T YOU A CLEVER ONE? { meta }

[inkribbon796]

Six [Ate] Ain’t Seven Ch. 2: Repairing the Seam

Summary: The Host and Patton go into the tear to save their future, and fight their past along the way.

Chapters: 1, 2

The two heroes were standing back outside the warehouses, but this time right in the parking lot to the east side of the warehouses. Logan and Virgil nowhere nearby. Patton was still in the suit, but the Host had changed.

He was in a pinstripe black shirt, a notebook in hand, but the thing that caught Patton were his eyes.

Namely that they weren’t just black sockets covered by bandages. They were there, his pupils the same color of brilliant gold that was normally streaked into the front of his hair.

“Ughhh!” The seer shielded his recently restored eyes from the sun. It had been a long time since light had hit his nerves like that. His visions and narrations had been his eyes but now having his old ones back were agony.

“Host!” Patton gasped, rushing to the Host’s side. “What can I do? Should I call Iplier?”

“He would not recognize the Host, and if the Host and Patton leave the warehouse parking lot without this reality’s anomaly they will have to re-enter and try again.”

“Yeah, but,” Patton began before the Host’s aura wrapped around his eyes to lessen the pain and disorientation. After a couple minutes he shakily got up, helped by Patton.

“I could go in alone,” Patton offered.

“Morality would not be able to find his way to the anomaly to retrieve it,” the Host denied. “Being alone would only increase the likelihood of failure.”

With that the Host began to lead Patton towards Dark’s main warehouse, with each step he gained strength, but also felt the Author trying to smother him out. People parted for them at even the sight of the Author. Dark was out dealing with a problem, the Host had made sure of it before even setting foot into this reality. So entering the office was easy.

The Host walked over to the huge family portrait and used his aura to tip it out of the way far enough to crack the safe open and extract a single black day planner. He then closed the safe and restored the portrait to its natural position.

“Is that what you were looking for?” Patton asked in confusion.

“Yes,” the Host answered. “Morality should not be fooled by the anomaly’s current appearance. This is a magical artifact that has the ability to destroy realities if used improperly.”

“Okay, so, we have it, then we can leave?” Patton looked around uneasily.

“Yes, and the Host and Morality should be quick,” the Host checked over the office to make sure everything was in order before starting to lead the Side out. But as they started leaving the warehouse the pull to return was only getting stronger.

Patton was mentally fading in and out of himself, like he was drowning at sea and barely able to keep his head about the frothy depths of his own mind. It felt like some part of him, some gaping, empty hole in his soul wanted to pull him back in. It was some cautious, hungry creature and Patton didn’t like him.

All it would take was the lightest shove to his attention, and he would be gone. He could see the parking lot in the distance. They were almost safe.

The Host was doing so well, the Author was trying to steal back control. But he was distracted when Illinois came stomping out of a portal with King following him. An errant squirrel scurrying off of him, and out into a random warehouse. King’s usual cape was gone, as was his child that typically clung to King. He was in his suit instead.

Illinois looked pissed, as if he’d kill the next person who spoke to him. As Illinois and the Host passed, the seer’s newly restored eyes tracked of their own volition and as he glanced at Illinois a sadistic sense of victory came over him. King was glancing between them in uncertainty.

“How’s it going lover boy,” the Author baited, the distraction giving him the push he needed. His feet stopped.

“Not now, shitbag,” Illinois grumbled, glaring at him as he kept walking.

“Not my fault you dug your grave with Mr. Right,” Author dared. “I mean, he gave you everything and you burned his base down. I’m a certified sadist, but at least I clean up after myself and don’t fucking get involved with my food.”

“Shut up,” Illinois seethed.

“I mean, did you see his face?” Author continued to goad, “I mean the one fucker you don’t kill and instead you fuck up so badly that he dumps your ass.”

“Shut up!” Illinois shouted, King and Patton looking between each other in unease. The two young men were attracting a crowd.

“I mean, you should have just fucked him and run, would have saved you both the trouble,” Arthur dared and Illinois screamed in a heartbroken fury before throwing himself at his brother and the two starting a fistfight.

Patton and King both called for Dark with their stars, not wanting the two to kill each other.

Dark immediately ripped open and portal and froze when he saw the fight. He saw the screaming and knew he’d been wrong to leave Illinois alone with his brothers while he was still so emotionally raw.

“Philly!” Dark shouted and yanked his adopted son through a portal. “A word!”

“He started it!” Illinois shouted in a rage before the portal closed.

Author had the good sense to wait until he was sure Dark was gone, reprimanding Illinois, to start cackling like a madman. The weight in his pocket was almost nonexistent.

“Did you see his fucking face?” Author laughed. “I think he was crying.”

“You’re a fucking dick, Art,” King glared at him. “You know that right?”

“Come on,” Author stood up and brushed himself off. “He deserved it. Besides it’s not like one slip up is going to kick Daddy’s favorite off his pedestal. I need to try much harder for that.”

“If you weren’t such a complete asshole, I might agree with you,” King glared at him. “Come on, that hero he was dating was the best partner yet.”

“And Phills chose his side,” Arthur reminded. “We all did. I don’t get why he’s so upset that his boyfriend didn’t like his choice.”

“Just once I’d like you to get a taste of your own medicine,” King sighed, before he turned to see a couple squirrels rush over and he let them climb up his leg and onto his shoulder while they chittered at him. “Gotta[1] go, one of the heroes is causing trouble over by warehouse six.”

“I’ll come with, it’s been a while since I had some fun,” Arthur grinned.

“Hey, maybe we should,” Patton began to suggest as the two other Lost Ones looked towards him, “go back inside, Author. I think you’ve had enough fun for now. We can fight them next time.”

Author was about to protest before Patton sent a calming wave towards him, and immediately there was this glazed look to Author’s eyes. He huffed out, already stomping away, “Yeah, whatever fun police. I hate that the Old Man stuck me with you.”

Patton rushed to catch up with his adopted brother, “I just don’t want you to get in trouble, or get hurt.”

“Too late for that Pat-attack,” Arthur reminded.

Patton smiled warmly, a smile that despite Author’s best efforts he couldn’t hate. The guy was sunshine personified. “Come on, I’m gonna[2] lose my touch if you keep smiling like that. I’m gonna[2] have to punch you in the gut or something.”

Still smiling, the two were about to head into Dark’s main warehouse, when someone walked over to them.

“Umm, Author?”

Author and Patton turned to see a young man standing not too far from them. He had an oversized purple hoodie with a green swirl on the front and back. He had a thick book held to his chest.

“You talking to me?” Author asked, pointing to himself.

“Yeah,” the young man nodded with a smile before pulling out a folded up note from his hoodie pocket. “Philly wanted me to pass this on. You know, to keep it off the record.”

“Oh,” Author smiled, suddenly overly smug and sure of himself. He plucked the note out of the young man’s hand and opened it.

Written in Illinois’s handwriting was:

“I want you outside 5th and Center St. We can settle this where Dark won’t see. I’m sick of your shit. Be there, or I WILL find you.”

Author chuckled, writing his bat back into his hands, “Well, well, if Daddy’s favorite wants his teeth kicked in, I’m more than happy to oblige. Hey buddy, you wanna watch a narcissistic asshole get his hopes and dreams crushed?”

The young man’s left eyebrow hitched up as he gave the Author a knowing look, “That’s certainly one way of putting it. Sure, I like watching a train wreck in motion.”

“Alright,” Author smiled. “I like you, I promise not to kill you immediately.”

“Thanks, I guess,” his tone clearly insulted. “You gonna[2] go, or should I go and jump off the roof of the closest warehouse? I got stuff to do.”

“Hmmm,” Author hummed. “You got a name?”

“Karl Jacobs,” Karl smiled again as he watched Author write down his name. “With a “K” and it’s not short for “Carlton” either.”

“Boy, aren’t you just dumb as shit?” Author chuckled to himself as he crossed out the first spelling and wrote the correct one.

At that Karl just glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Not my fault this is your first day on the job,” Author smiled.

“Hey, uh, maybe we shouldn’t,” Patton began but stopped when he saw the look in Author’s eyes.

“Not my fault Ills wants his teeth bashed in,” Author waggled his finger before he turned and started heading towards the parking lot again, moving quickly to get to where he thought Illinois was. “Come on, I’ve been dying for a rematch.”

“Yeah, but,” Patton tried to interject.

“So give me some motivation,” Author told Karl as they kept walking, ignoring Patton completely. “What makes you tick?”

“Well, one of your dads killed my dad,” Karl admitted.

“Well, Wil kills a lot of people so you’re going to have to be specific,” Arthur shrugged, slugging his bat over his head, causing Patton to quickly duck as he was racing to keep up.

“No, I meant Dark,” Karl corrected. “My dad was doing some dumb things, hoping to blackmail him. But he died and now I have to deal with the bridge.”

“Ohhh, that was your dad,” Author realized. “Man, he was an idiot.”

“So do have, like, a grudge against us then?” Patton asked as they were weaving around cars.

“Kinda,”[3] Karl admitted, “but only to Dark, and don’t worry it’s not enough to screw you guys over. You guys weren’t even adopted yet and Dark was just looking out for his kid.”

The suspicious part of Arthur’s brain lit up like a series of waved semaphores, how did this asshole know I’m adopted and not their actual kid‽

“How—” Arthur asked as his feet finally crossed the invisible barrier of the parking lot, and the Host woke back up. He had just enough time to pull Patton along with him as their exit ejected them out of the little pocket reality.

The three of them stepped into the white of the In-between. Patton suffered the most disorientation.

“You back to normal?” Karl asked.

“Yes,” the Host started coming back to himself more and more, fighting the vestiges of the Author still left inside of him. His eyes were gone again and covered with bandages, but blood was coming from the sockets. “The Host is in control.”

“Good,” Karl told him, before slapping him in the arm with his huge book. “That’s for being a jerk.”

“The Host deserves that,” the Host flinched away from the blow.

“Yeah, yah[4] did,” Karl agreed.

“Is everyone still okay?” Patton asked fearfully.

“Yes,” the Host answered, talking out the day planner. “There is still time for the Host to fix their mistakes. Thanks to Karl, the Host and Morality can still remember everything.”

The Host turned his attention towards where his aura was telling him Karl was, “The Host cannot thank Karl enough for intervening.”

Karl shrugged, “You’re the one who gave me the note, I’m just here to help.”

“So we’re going back home, right?” Patton asked. “I want to go home.”

“The Host has what they need,” Host promised. He turned to Karl. “Does Karl need assistance in returning back to the city?”

“I’m stuck here until I die again,” Karl sighed, looking at the castle in the distance, his breath stuttering a bit. He was not looking forward to the pain, nor the disorientation, that always followed moments like this. Usually dehydration or starvation got him.

“The Host can help with that,” the Host’s aura gripped the back of Karl’s head. “After all, Karl did save the Host, it’s only fair for the Host to return the favor.”

Karl felt the sensation of failing before his mind fell out of this reality, right into the white void of the In-between, and then he was yanked back upwards and into a hospital room where he was weak but alive. Hospital machines beeping and giving him life, and the dull chatter of a nurse talking with another doctor.

He stirred and the hospital room flew into action, the nurse immediately paging Quackity who would rush from a meeting to sit by his fiancé’s side as he started his recovery treatment.

Back in the In-Between, the Host used the anomalies to keep the hole he’d ripped open for Karl pried open so that they could easily step through.

“Morality should go first,” the Host ordered the Side. “The Host is hesitant to take the anomaly through before Morality. In case it strands him alone in the In-between.”

“Oh, thanks,” Patton said and stepped through, his suit changing back to his superhero outfit and his freckles fading behind his mask. He felt a hum of his magic surge back, and a connection with Thomas was restored as if he was waking back up from a terrible dream. Patton hadn’t even realized he’d been disconnected from it in the first place.

The Host stepped through after, two black day planners in his hand. The tear was still there but fragmenting by the second. Curling his aura around the day planners they began to turn into dust and swirl together until a single planner was held in the Host’s aura.

With that the tear that had been long since been a nuisance and a threat to the Host was fully disconnected. It became one of the hundreds of thousands of alternate worlds loosely ringed around theirs. No more a danger to him than the dark mirror world that the Host and his allies had found themselves in not so long ago.

“Morality!” Logan yelled as he and Virgil were running over.

With a couple narrations, the Host sent the Sides back to their home to rest, Virgil would be salty and upset at the Host. But the Sides would be together, and that was what was important.

The Host ripped a portal into Dark’s office and saw Illinois sitting and talking with Dark. The Entity was discussing some Network business and some details about Illinois’s upcoming wedding.

The seer stalled a bit, not expecting to see Illinois at this moment. He felt apprehension, his actions under the Author’s insidious influence came back to his mind.

“You okay?” Illinois asked, noticing the hesitant way the Host was holding himself.

“No,” the Host answered. “The Host does not deserve the adventurer’s kindness, nor his consideration. The Host is a terrible brother, he always continues to be so.”

“Hey, hey,” Illinois kicked his feet up and walked over to the Host. He signaled over to Dark, who summoned a portal and seamlessly sent them to the Manor. It was not ideal for the Host but the action had already been done. “What’s this about?”

The Host began explaining to Illinois, to the best of his physical abilities, what he had done. The situation of their missing brother. That Patton had been the price to keeping them safe, but also he told Illinois of his barbed words to Illinois. How at his core he was not any different than the Author.

“Host, Host,” Illinois cut in, curling his aura around the Host, instead of suddenly grabbing onto him, so he didn’t startle him. “Yeah it does concern me that you can just make one of us permanently disappear. I don’t know who this “Patton” was but I’m certain that if he helped you then he was one of the best brothers we ever had. But you’re not a terrible person, you’re doing your best. You were just trying to look out for us.”

“That does not excuse what the Author has done,” the Host cut him off. “Or what the Host has done.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Illinois agreed seriously. “Artie was a lot of things: a pain in my ass, desperate to reenact “Lord of the Flies” and kill me. But he was my brother, and besides Kay, he knew what it was kinda[3] like to be unwanted for a long time. I think both of us forgot that. But now you’re here, and you’re my brother too.”

A smile came back to Illinois’s face, “Besides, you being so worried about me proves that you don’t mean to hurt me. That we’re brothers.”

“The Host supposed that Illinois may have a point,” the seer reluctantly agreed.

“Of course I do,” the adventurer gave him a smug smile. “Trust me more, we’re both in this together. Although, I should admit, I do appreciate not being attacked or threatened with a bat on a regular basis. That, plus you helping me protect 아빠[5] makes you a much better brother than he ever was. If that makes you feel better?”

“The Host is somewhat eased by the adventurer’s words, yes,” the Host agreed.

“Alright, you want to spend the rest of the day with me, or should I take you to the heroes, your eyes are bleeding pretty badly.” Illinois was looking in concern at the seer’s face.

“The Host originally had important matters with the Entity, ones that he cannot put off,” the Host corrected. “The Host was not expecting to see Illinois in his office.”

Illinois lightly whistles, a huge smile splitting his face. “I threw you off your game? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“The Host was pressed for time, he couldn’t check before he opened the portal,” the Host snapped back.

“Sure, I got yah[4],” Illinois chuckled, taking off his hat and tapping on the bronze star hidden inside. “you’re still seeing your boyfriend after this though, your eyes need cleaning before they get infected.”

Dark came to them in an instant, a flurry of overprotective worry.

“Is everything alright?” Dark asked as he portaled in, he was looking Host over for any wounds or signs of a fight. The Host let him fret as he looked at him.

“Yes, the Host was merely discussing something with Illinois,” the Host reached into one of his pockets with his aura and pulled out a plain black day planner. “The Host merely wished to return this to the Entity.”

“Oh,” Dark patted himself down to find his planner was missing and quickly took it back. “Thank you, I didn’t realize it was gone.”

“Yes, the Host had to borrow it for a little while,” the Host told him. “He thanks the Entity for his assistance.”

Dark paused to think about that, confused and suspicious, but he chose not to comment on his thoughts. He turned and headed back to his office.

Host watched him go, aware of the presence watching them. Watching Dark’s every move. Carefully the Host spoke wards into being and they quietly curled around the Entity, protecting him from harm. The Host would have eliminated the threat completely, but such was not in his power. He wasn’t strong enough to disrupt the anomaly entirely, but he would protect what was his. He would protect his family from the Actor, or any other threat.

No matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Information on Lost One Patton: his superpower was empathy manipulation. He was the emotional heart of his family and helped keep Author from getting too violent with his siblings. As such Patton and Author were close. His codename in the Network was: Pathos.  Also since he has a January birthday, and Author had a February one, that makes him the eldest Lost One, by barely a month.

Accessibility Translations:

1. Have to

2. going to

3. kind of

4. you

5. Dad; used informally. Phonetically reads as: Appa.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #footnotes #the Host #Patton Sanders #ahwm illinois #illinois the adventurer #king of the squirrels #karl jacobs #magically tampering with the bounds of reality #magic #angst #existential dread #existential dread hour #magically deleting your brother from your family #and then getting away with it #overprotective Host

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 5, daily life (Part 4)

Note of the author: I had a stroke writing this and you will have a stroke reading this. Sincerely: me.

Chapter 5: An oath to one’s lost humanity - Daily life

...

"It hurts."

"It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts."

"Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts."

"It... It hurts..."

"It hurts... It hurts so much..."

...

...

--

Day 20 since the beginning of the game.

8:00 AM.

The morning announcement rang as usual. Shuichi slowly woke up.

Tomorrow could be the end of humanity itself or the end of the killing game. There weren't any other fates awaiting for them.

Hopefully, they would manage to get through the exisal hangar and destroy them.

Kaito's idea may be completely crazy, but that type of madness is what they need right now.

The others were probably waiting for him, so he got dressed up and immediately left to go to the dining hall.

He didn't encounter anyone on his way, though.

Once he entered, he noticed Kirumi was already there with Miu.

"Hello there." Kirumi greeted him.

Shuichi took a seat next to her. "Have you two slept well?"

Miu scoffed. "I slept like someone who's fate is decided tomorrow. But thank you for asking."

It's not like they could have anything else on their minds.

The three started eating in silence.

Kaito and Kokichi came in soon after.

Of course, Rantaro and Ryoma were still in their own labs.

Once they were done, Kirumi left to get Rantaro since Ryoma wouldn't leave his lab until tomorrow.

The medic didn't seem to get better. His empty eyes held the same heaviness for the past three days. The only thing that changed was how good he was at composing himself in front of them- an ability that seemed to worsen over the days, but that no one commented due to how he would potentially react.

"So? Did Ryoma finish the weapons?" Kaito asked.

"He said he'll be done by the end of the morning. After we eat lunch, I'll get the weapons and you guys will be able to enter the hangar." he replied.

After lunch... It was fine. They would have enough time. And besides, he could prepare himself mentally for this operation.

"Hold on, you're not coming?" Miu asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. There are still things I need to do. Besides I don't think all of us going will be useful. Can I leave this to you guys?"

"Don't worry, we'll take care of these, no sweat!" Miu gave him a thumbs-up.

Rantaro had a point. There were only five exisals. Six of them going would be a waste of time.

"What do we do in the meantime?" Kokichi glanced at the others.

"Well, we can still train, right?" Miu suggested. "It can be useful for later!"

"While on the subject of training..." Kirumi mildly raised a hand. "It has come to my attention that someone here might need more than just training."

Shuichi felt her eyes on him.

"I will take Shuichi with me for this morning if none of you are against the idea."

He swallowed.

The others didn't comply, to his dismay. He glanced at Kaito whose eyes simply said: "Good luck."

Training with Kirumi was probably going to be the most painful experience yet.

The group separated, Rantaro still going to do... 'His own business' as he puts it in his lab and the rest of them left to do their own training.

He followed Kirumi to Tenko's lab. He didn't even want to know what she was going to do to him.

Unless... She had ulterior motives?

Once inside, Kirumi closed the door.

"So."

Shuichi turned to her.

"Now that we are alone, we can finally talk in peace."

He let out a sigh of relief.

"We are not going to be able to talk to Ryoma until the time limit. That's going to be very problematic."

"Y-Yeah..."

Should he talk about how he found Rantaro yesterday? At the same time, this looked like a really personal matter, but Kirumi was the only one he could talk to about the situation.

"We're going to have to proceed differently. Forcing him wouldn't help, I know that, but when I went to get him, he was asleep on his desk. And I mean 'collapsed' asleep." she explained.

"Huh? What was he even doing in his lab?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Beats me. There were different products on the table. Different types of painkillers, from weak to very strong ones."

He hummed. "Were all the bottles opened?"

"I did not make a thorough inspection, but overall most of them were opened at some point, I think."

Shuichi thought back at what could possibly have happened in the lab. And more importantly, the syringe he managed to get a glimpse of. Did it have anything to do with it?

After a moment of silence, Kirumi sighed, rubbing her eyes. "This guy really is giving me a headache."

He couldn't disagree. At least with Kokichi, they knew what was wrong and now know how to avoid problems when it comes to his trauma, but they didn't even know what was up with Rantaro since he refused to talk to anyone other than presumably Ryoma. And the latter didn't talk to anyone else either.

"So... What do we do?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "... You have Kiyo's notebook, correct?"

His eyes widened. Of course!

"Y-Yes, hold on..."

He rummaged through his pocket and took out the small, dark blue notebook of the now-deceased therapist.

"Kiyo trusted you with this notebook. Not me. It's for you to make a decision whether you tell me what it says about Rantaro or not."

She was right... He did judge Kirumi trustworthy enough, but he still hid things from her.

"... I think I'll judge after I read it."

She closed her eyes. "Understood."

The mercenary looked back at him. "For now we should keep a very close eye on him. Even more than ever."

"Do you think we should go to his lab?"

She slightly shook her head. "I will go alone. For efficiency purposes."

"Wait!" he exclaimed. "What will we tell the others?"

After a short silence, she made a quick movement under her skirt and took out her monopad, before putting it on the ground.

"You will stay here to read the notebook while I try to check on him. I will not be gone for long, but if the others do end up getting here before I come back, just tell them I had to get something in my room."

He nodded. "U-Understood."

But before she left, he muttered some words.

"... I didn't know you would care so much about him."

She stopped in her tracks.

There was a moment of silence. Had he said anything wrong?

"If that is how you see it. I simply feel like we should make sure he doesn't end up hurting himself."

The mercenary closed the door behind her.

... Kirumi was also a mystery, in some way. While Rantaro helped from the light, she was helping from the shadows.

Even if she hadn't gained the trust of everyone -even sometimes hated for her talent-, she was the only one aside from him to see through Rantaro's decomposing cover and willing to investigate.

His eyes stayed fixated on the door for a while.

Perhaps he should start reading the therapist's notes.

How was that thing even organized?

There were several bookmarks of different colors. Some were folded, some were not.

He opened the first page.

Angie Yonaga - Ultimate craftswoman

Upon a quick glance, he realized everyone was listed in alphabetical order. As for the bookmarks, he tried to see why some were folded, but he quickly put two and two together when he realized only eight of them were not folded.

To read them all would be useless at this point. He turned the pages when he stumbled upon Kirumi's.

What had the therapist deduced about her? Perhaps it could have answers to some of his questions.

He shook his head. The mercenary had left to check on the medic, and his role was to read about him.

Perhaps he still could try to look after reading his part.

He turned the pages to find the green, unfolded bookmark.

Rantaro Amami - Ultimate war medic

He took a deep breath and started reading.

-

Day 1 report.

Like for everyone else, I am using this notebook to keep track of everyone's behavior, and possibly help them adapt to this environment.

I did not have time to talk much to Rantaro, but he is of the people who stood out the most to me. He seems to already want to take the lead- in a good way. I can sense he has the instinct to do so. He says he is a war medic, I wonder if he was the chief of a crew or if it's just in him to lead people in dangerous situations. Both are plausible, but I shall study him more to see what enabled this behavior.

I do wonder if he has any sort of trauma linked to war, though.

-

Shuichi almost forgot there was a time Rantaro was the true 'leader' of the group. It felt like an eternity since then. So many things happened from the moment they were captured to now. Half of them have died already and there was a possibility the rest of them would die tomorrow, killing off the last glimmer of hope for humanity.

But the last sentence of the paragraph made him wince. It reminded him of how innocent he seemed back then- before almost killing him.

If Kiyo had a feeling on the first day, then surely he would have gotten more info about it over the days.

-

Day 6 report.

Rantaro is once again taking the lead by making us watch all of our motive videos to gain our memories back. I thought he was going to get us not to watch the videos, but I was proven wrong. He is more of a strategist than I thought. I do wonder if he has any other tricks up his sleeves to face Monokuma or not. He seems to already know someone is going to kill.

This afternoon only confirmed it to me. He seemed extremely forgiving of Miu's murder attempt, although I could also see a hint of uncertainty. Which is normal when you almost died. I hope he manages to play his cards well.

I cannot help but wonder if this side of him is genuine care for her or 'white manipulation' if you could call it that way. He doesn't seem to have any ill intentions, but if Miu learned she was being manipulated (even for a good cause), she would react very badly, I'm certain of it.

For now, I will stay silent, as I do not know his intentions completely, and to throw accusations would destroy the work he has started.

But if Rantaro is indeed able to manipulate people into acting according to his plans, I can't help but worry about what he could possibly do in the future.

I do hope he will not have to do this again, even though that is necessary, to an extent.

-

"White manipulation...?" Shuichi muttered.

He did notice how well Rantaro could act. Now he wonders if back then he had only done this to make her side with them.

He does feel bad though, to know that there was a possibility Rantaro was only taking advantage of Miu's feelings for him, completely disregarding the love and respect she had for him.

Shuichi really did hope there was at least a glimpse of sincerity in his words.

But right now, manipulating them? He indeed wanted everyone to act according to his plan to stop Monokuma, but now he wasn't so sure if there were any other intentions behind it or not. Rantaro never attempted murder... if he didn't count 'that' time. He saw it for himself: He was the most useful in the trials, always pointing out details on either the autopsy and major clues to continue.

Right now he was alone in his lab -with possibly Kirumi-, Ryoma was in his own lab and the others were training. But... that was necessary if they wanted to stand a chance against Monokuma.

... Perhaps he should continue reading.

-

Day 8 report.

Both Kaede and Maki are dead, but the trial let me see strange facets of some of them. Especially Rantaro.

He looks so dedicated to his job, I don't think I've ever seen such loyalty before. As Tsumugi was pushing him over and over again in the hope of getting info out of him, he felt insulted at the theory he would betray us. The emotion he put through his speech- that was genuine. A genuine pride and honor tied to his title as the ultimate war medic. He even insisted he would rather die than betray us.

While I am rather glad someone seemed genuine in his words of never committing treason, it stills makes me feel... Uneasy. I did feel chills hearing that last sentence.

“And I would rather die than to betray this loyalty I swore to myself.”

Those are definitely not the words of a normal person. I can tell he has gone through a lot as a soldier, but then again he never seemed to show any explicit signs of trauma.

I feel like I can trust him. He seems reliable enough as well as a very intelligent person who was a great help during those two trials. And while I do hope we are not going to get a third trial, I am pretty sure he would be just as useful if that happens.

While some of his methods are a bit unorthodox, they do end up being efficient in the end. To entrust Ryoma with his lab key so he wouldn't be able to be pinned for a crime was a smart move. I do hope no one gets the wrong idea with him, though.

As for hiding Miu's murder attempt... He managed to be extremely rational and not let his emotions take the better of him. He could have told everyone about it but preferred to gain her trust instead. Although as I said a few days ago, I do not know for sure if this is about genuine care or manipulation.

Miu did try to kill for her son but backed down because she was unable to actually do it. I think Rantaro sensed her will to fight and is trying to turn it against Monokuma. That's what we are all supposed to do but are too afraid to act because of the consequences. He is trying to redirect us to the path he judges right.

Overall I do not see him as our enemy, but rather as one of the people I trust the most, for now. I hope I will not get proven wrong over time.

-

'Unorthodox methods' was an understatement.

Shuichi was ready to tell the others about what Miu did, but Rantaro had immediately decided not to. Any normal person would lock her and make sure she couldn't harm anyone else, but he decided to give her a chance, and he was right to do so. That was a huge gamble that paid off in the end.

And to enable their will to fight, not against each other but against Monokuma... That was what he called white manipulation.

He thought about the time he and Kaito had gone to his lab during the third investigation. When they learned Rantaro had kept the lethal aspect of his products a secret. It was like he had managed to plan everything in advance extremely quickly.

Shuichi supposed it's his own talent that granted him this sense of organization.

But Kiyo explicitly said he never showed any worrying signs... Which didn't help in the slightest.

-

Day 10 report.

Rantaro has volunteered to take care of the ones touched by the despair disease. It is a noble gesture, and a part of me knew that was going to be the case.

Right now there are no more 'leaders' since he will not be with us to limit the risks of contamination. He even asked Himiko not to stay here too much. And while I cannot talk to him face to face, his words still feel genuine.

As a war medic, he should know better than us about this type of situation, so in the meantime, I shall help those who have trouble coping with the killing game.

He looks trained enough to do his job and I trust him for this. For now, I should focus on those I can talk to.

-

Nothing much to learn here...

Kiyo doesn't seem to doubt Rantaro, but he does not give any sort of information that would help him.

-

Day 12 report.

Rantaro started giving me mixed feelings. I feel like half of what he says is genuine, and the other half feels... Not exactly wrong, but forced. Like he is forcing himself to act in certain ways. To do certain actions.

Himiko, Keebo and Angie died today. I'm still having a hard time processing it all. But right now I am focusing on things I noticed in Rantaro's attitude.

When most of the group separated to investigate, I stayed with both Ryoma and Rantaro to guard the corpse. Right after everyone left, Rantaro probably became the most expressive I've ever seen him. He was truly mad at Himiko's death, and that was genuine. A feeling of guilt I also sensed after the others' death, but Himiko was the one to stand out the most, and I am sure it is because of her cause of death.

When he found out later the most important parts of Angie's plan were made thanks to his lab, plus the fact she tried to pin the crime on him must have accentuated his guilt. He was trying to hide it so he could solve the trial, but it was there.

The rage against Monokuma when he declared Angie had the bloodlust disease is completely genuine as well, I do not doubt it for one second.

However, when he grabbed Monodam to make him face Himiko's mangled body, he was clearly forcing himself. Was he trying to prove a point to the robots? To encourage us to fight? Or is it something else entirely? I could tell he knew that was not a good idea and that he had the emotional capacity not to snap. He did it with rationality and I cannot tell why he took such risks.

I want to believe in him, but this is starting to worry me. I should try to keep an eye on him.

-

He is.. pretending? But for what?

What would he even prove to Monokuma by threatening his cub? The bears had much more power than him at the time. Taking risks without any reason behind it was not like Rantaro at all. Was Kiyo wrong?

At least it's more than he ever learned. But still, he knew Rantaro was hiding things, but to fake irrationality... Why? He knew showing signs of weakness could cause the others to lose hope, so why do it on purpose when everything he has done up until now is trying to get them to fight Monokuma?

Or was it like the second theory- to encourage them to fight?

Shuichi had no idea what the medic was thinking, although that was not new.

He should read more.

-

Day 14 report.

Once again Rantaro took the lead for the 4th motive.

It's not that I mind, but we will have to stay separate for the most part, and Rantaro seems to want to stay with Ryoma for the time being. The two seem close, now that I think about it. And both often give their inputs in the trials, although Ryoma is a bit more silent. I suppose their experiences as soldiers must have made them closer than with anyone else. I do hope I am not wrong by making this assumption.

Although there is something that worries me. Ever since Himiko died, Rantaro seems more on edge. My guess is that since her death was more brutal than the executions themselves added to the fact that he was drugged the time this crime was committed, he must think he could have done better and even save her had he been less 'careless'. I do not know if he knows that it is not his fault, unfortunately. I can only hope. If someone had asked me a few days ago, I would have said with no hesitation that he knew that. But now I'm not so sure anymore.

He may have faked his reaction back in the shrine of judgment, but if more actions end up feeling genuine, I might have to step in.

-

Himiko's death had shocked everyone, not just Kokichi. Even though the boy was the most mournful, they all deeply missed the astronomer.

Her death changed them all in some way. Miu became way more motherly, Kiyo acted on his own because he judged he was the one to blame for this, Kokichi was torn apart because his disease was the reason she died, and now Shuichi learns that Rantaro was actually feeling the exact same guilt as everyone else.

But finally, he was getting a glimpse of what was wrong- something related to his past on the battlefield and the guilt he is holding.

Surely Kiyo would have...

...

... He didn't have time to get any more information, did he?

This note was written one day before his plan to stop the supposed mastermind. He didn't have time to write more.

However, there was one last note, hastily scribbled on the last page. It looked like Kiyo was in a rush when writing it.

-

This is the final note I shall write. Everything has gone wrong, and Shuichi, since you are probably the one reading this, I am sorry for lying to you all. I am sorry for betraying you and I shouldn't have made this disastrous plan in the first place, but I need to write this.

It's not that I'm distrusting Rantaro, but something is deeply wrong. Something I don't have an explanation for, and of course I cannot ask him because I have to pretend to investigate with you all.

But the way he was standing, the heaviness in his eyes, the way he reacted to Tsumugi's death, this intense guilt in his expression... It's not something I've ever seen before from him. He always had a comforting smile and a genuine will to help. But now it's different. It's like he completely shut down, only leaving an empty shell deprived of reason.

But that doesn't make any kind of sense. He didn't show even a single sign of trauma up until very recently. Not a single time. I've noticed his actions started feeling off during the motive and brushed it off because I was focusing on the mastermind, but there was a hint of hesitation, of uncertainty that was never present in him. But now that Tsumugi is dead, he has been showing those signs of trauma -whether it is indeed PTSD or something worse- more than ever.

I fail to see the meaning of this, but that may be because I didn't have time to talk to him at all. He might have just completely snapped all at once. It's very rare to be able to swallow all the pain that well, but if we keep in mind his early life, that actually might not be that much of a stretch.

Anyway, I know this is going to be hard considering he is not the type to let himself crumble -besides the eventual faking-, but I need you guys to keep an eye on him and possibly help him with this. He is the one who will need it the most.

I will not be here to help you and I don't have the time to write methods on how to deal with PTSD, and I do not know how to deal with war trauma of all things. Added to the fact I didn't get to witness it much, all I can say is good luck. I know you can help with patience and perseverance.

I have faith in you all.

-

...

...

A note before the trial. The last thoughts of the therapist about them. But...

What did this even mean?

Somehow he could understand the 'shut down' part due to what he witnessed these last few days... But he could not even apprehend anything else on this note.

"He showed subtle signs and then... broke d-

The door opened, startling him. He instinctively closed the notebook, letting out a high-pitched noise. "Ah!-"

Kirumi stared at him for a moment. "... I'm back."

"I-I can see that."

She approached him. "So? Anything new?"

Shuichi looked back at the notebook for a moment. "He... never mentions any sort of trauma. Only that it seemed... sudden."

The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "Sudden...?"

"He said he only showed very subtle signs of trauma but never mentioned anything else about it. Only that he seemed to have snapped when Tsumugi died."

She pondered for a moment. "... Which does not help us apprehend the situation at all."

"He only mentioned PTSD or 'maybe worse', but he never got to talk to Rantaro about it."

"Rantaro stayed with the ill ones during the third motive, and we had to stay separated during the fourth motive. So I can understand that part."

Shuichi stared at the notebook for a moment. "Was the mastermind... trying to do that?"

She looked back at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Trying to separate Rantaro from Kiyo- the therapist. Rantaro is one of the smartest ones here... Were they trying to make sure those two couldn't talk?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I am starting to think this is a possibility."

"They have managed to manipulate Kiyo, I wouldn't be surprised if they took Rantaro's trauma at their advantage. To exploit the weaknesses of the ones causing them the most trouble."

He winced at the thought. "Which means we'll have to keep an eye on him at all times... If he lets us."

"Which I doubt he will. You should know Rantaro by now as well as I do."

He could only agree.

"Wait, how did it go? Did you... talk to him?"

She went silent for a moment. "I did confront him, yes."

He felt his heart skip a beat. "S-So...?"

"He refuses to say anything. I did try to ask him to join us in our training and at least be with someone, but he snapped at me saying he already trains alone, and has the medicine to prepare. I couldn't get a single thing out of him."

"Oh..."

There was a long silence.

"Should we... train anyway?"

"Sure. What I do is more of an aiming exercise than something physical. A technical exercise, if you will."

At least he wouldn't get exhausted this time.

Kirumi first gave him a simple exercise with the target and the darts from Kokichi's lab, which at first didn't sound too bad. That is, until they changed the difficulty from 'peaceful' to 'throwing knives at a moving target.' At least his aim at the end of the training was decent.

Finally, Kokichi went to get them for lunch.

After that, Rantaro would get the weapons and they would finally make their way to the exisal hangar.

Hopefully, his plan would work.

They reunited, but lunch was pretty silent as they didn't have much to say.

After eating, they stood up.

"So? What about those weapons?" Kaito asked.

"I will go to Ryoma's lab. You guys can still train in the meantime if you want." the medic replied.

Did that mean it was going to take longer than expected?

Either way, Rantaro was already on his way.

"So... What do we do now?" Kokichi looked at the others.

"I guess we're back on preparing ourselves." Kaito shrugged. "Not like we have much to do."

"Then how about we go to the warehouse? There are still the dumbells here!" Miu suggested. "And you will have to train your strength one day or another!" she pointed at Kokichi.

"O-Okay??"

They made their way here. But as soon as Miu started going through the boxes, the lights suddenly turned off.

They stood there for a moment. The sun still shone through the windows, but the additional lights were gone.

"Weird... Aren't they always turned on?" Kaito raised an eyebrow.

"That is strange. None of us pressed a switch or anything similar." Kirumi noted.

"I'm guessing the power went out..." Shuichi noted. "But it never happened in the academy, did it?"

Kaito shook his head. "Nope. Not even once."

"Well, I guess there's a first time for everything." Miu shrugged. "Should we go outside instead?"

They didn't have many solutions. It was still too dark to do proper training.

The group made their way outside. Since Rantaro would soon come with the weapons, they decided to do simple exercises outside.

Shuichi was still anxious about this. Sure, he knew a way to open the hangar, but would the weapons work? Surely, Monokuma would try to do something, right?

Who knows.

Around fifteen minutes, later, Kaito broke the silence. "What's taking him so long? I know Ryoma's lab is on the fifth floor but still."

"Agreed..." Shuichi muttered.

"Should we go and see what happened? Maybe the blackout did something." Miu suggested.

"No need for it. He's right here." Kirumi said, head turned towards the main door where Rantaro just appeared.

He had a backpack that Shuichi assumed to be full.

He approached the group, put the bag on the ground, and opened it.

"Those are the weapons we used for the tunnels and new ones. There are now grenades in there that are powerful enough to do heavy damage, so be careful keeping a safe distance when activating them. You guys should be able to disable the exisals with that." Rantaro explained.

Grenades powerful enough to destroy exisals?

That was definitely not what he had in mind, but... Perhaps they could change their plans, if Kaito accepts giving up on his dream to pilot the exisals.

"So you are still not coming with us?" Kirumi asked.

The medic thought for a moment.

"... Perhaps it should be better if I go with you guys indeed."

Rantaro didn't say anything as he distributed the weapons to everyone. The grenades looked very small compared to the damage they are supposed to do. They were about the size of a tennis ball, with Ryoma's sigil printed on them. They were a bit heavier than what Shuichi expected an item of this size to be, but it wasn't too bothering.

"Shuichi, I really do hope your method will work." Kaito said.

"Even if it doesn't, I'm pretty sure these will be enough to destroy the door." Rantaro eyed him.

He did hope this would work indeed. Not that he disliked the bombs, but it still worried him.

They made their way to the exisal hangar.

Shuichi noticed the lights were still on, which meant the blackout hadn't touched the hangar.

"That's weird... I thought the blackout happened in the entire academy." he noted.

"Yeah, that's right! Is it because it only touched the main building or something?" Miu added.

"Strange. Rantaro, did you also get it on the fifth floor?" Kirumi asked.

"I did experience it. Fortunately, there were emergency lights in Ryoma's lab. He said he'll work a way to create a sustainable light source in case this ends up being a long term problem."

Shuichi wondered if all the labs had those. Probably, but he would have to check sometime.

This made him worry about the state of the academy. Perhaps throwing bombs around and using hacking guns could do serious damage, and without electricity and thus heating, refrigerators, and many other essential elements in the academy. they were better off dead.

At last, they reached the shutter.

"So? Will you finally tell us your technique?" Kaito asked again.

Shuichi nervously approached the pad where he had to type the password.

"... Kokichi, could you come here for a second?"

"Um... Sure..."

The smaller boy placed himself next to him. "What... do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Let me just..." He placed a hand on the keys, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

He could sense the others silently wondering what he was up to.

"... Actually no. Miu, can you come here too, please?"

She raised an eyebrow. "O...kay? What's the big deal?"

"I want you to press keys at random until I say stop."

They all looked at him with dumbfounded eyes -except Rantaro, who somehow already knew what the plan was-.

"What the fuck?! That's your plan?" Miu exclaimed.

"There's one in a trillion of a trillion chance she'll get it right! Did you seriously think this would work?!" Kaito added.

"No, it can work."

Everyone turned to Rantaro.

"There is a chance it can work. Right Kokichi?"

The smaller boy jumped. "Y-Yes... I think she can do it."

"If karma is fully on her side, then I think she can get this one in a billion chances."

Her eyes widened and turned to the violinist. "You planned to use karma for this??"

He nodded. "That's why I'm asking you to type the code. You out of all of us are the most likely to succeed."

The street artist felt the gazes of her friends on her.

"I... I'll try."

She placed her hands on the pad. "So... I just type random numbers?"

"Yes, don't think while you type. And stop the exact moment I tell you to."

She paused in front of the pad. Shuichi closed his eyes to focus.

Miu closed hers as well and started typing, the beeping echoing through the room.

The intervals between the noises were short, but keeping track of them wasn't much of a problem.

beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep-

"STOP!"

Miu instinctively took her hands off. "Is it good?"

Shuichi swallowed. "I think we can press enter."

He was very nervous. He really hoped this would work.

tic!

A loading logo appeared on the pad, everyone staring at the machine with anxiousness.

Password correct!

Shuichi's eyes widened. "It... worked?"

Miu laughed and started ruffling his hair. "It worked! Shuichi, you're a genius!"

"I-I guess? Thank you?"

"And thanks for the karma, Kokichi! We couldn't have done it without you!"

He weakly smiled. "T-Thanks, Miu."

Kaito cracked his knuckles. "Alright! Now that this thing's open we can get in!"

"We shouldn't let our guard down. We don't know if Monokuma is ready to stop us or not." Kirumi advised.

"Agreed." Rantaro added.

They proceeded with caution as the door opened for them.

They slowly entered the hangar, checking every side to see if the bear was here to stop them.

... But nobody came.

"So." Rantaro approached the first exisal with his hacking gun, pointing it at the machine. "If the gun works, the exisal opens."

Kokichi looked unsure. "And... What if it doesn't?"

The medic shot a quick glance at him.

"... Then we're blowing this place up."

Shuichi felt his heart skip a beat. When he had requested weapons to Ryoma... This isn't what he had in mind in the slightest.

"H-Hold on! Ain't that a tad too dangerous?" Kaito exclaimed.

"Well, do you have any other plans?"

The biker went silent. "N-No..."

"If they don't open with the guns, we have no choice but to destroy them."

He took the grenade to look at it. "Ryoma made these specifically to destroy them. He is the ultimate weapons maker, I'm pretty sure those bombs are more than enough."

Shuichi was still worried. If Ryoma's bombs were as powerful as he just said, weren't there risks they would hurt or even kill themselves?

He could only hope the guns would work.

Rantaro pointed the gun at the blue exisal and shot it five times.

But it didn't move.

"Perhaps we should check if we can open it." Kirumi suggested.

She approached the engine and tried to move it...

... Without success.

"S-So the guns don't work?" Miu asked, already knowing what's coming.

"Nope. That means the system to open them isn't electric, but mechanical. We can't do anything with the guns." Rantaro noted.

Kirumi crossed her arms. "I had inspected them several times the day we discovered the hangar. They don't have an opening mechanism that can be used by hand."

"Then... We have to destroy the exisals?" Shuichi looked at the two.

"... We don't have a choice."

He didn't expect Miu to say that.

"We have a way to put an end to this, so let's blow these up!"

"Are you sure about this?" Kaito turned to her.

She nodded. "If you want to, you can wait for us outside. Just give your bomb and we'll take care of it!"

Since Kaito couldn't run, to escape the explosion would be hard. Perhaps he should indeed distance himself so he wouldn't have to risk his life.

The biker gave his bomb to Miu and left.

"See you soon, good luck!" He waved at Miu, who waved back. "Gotcha!"

Everyone had their bombs in hand.

"You pull the grip, throw next to the exisals and run away as fast as you can. Ryoma told me we have ten seconds to run before they explode. Which should give us enough time to distance ourselves from the explosion. Got it?"

Shuichi nodded.

"3..."

He held firmly the grenade.

"2..."

Hand on the trigger, hoping this would go well.

"1..."

He was about to pull the grip, but-

"AHEM!"

A familiar robotic voice was heard from behind them.

A voice they all hated.

They all turned around to see Monokuma had made his apparition.

"My, my! That was quite the elaborated plan! I'm sad you guys don't put that much effort into killing! To use Kokichi's karma to open the door, then grenades to destroy the exisals? I didn't think you would go that far!"

... Well. Shit.

Of course, Monokuma would barge in at some point. It was about time he did something to annoy them.

"However, that would be very unfortunate for me if you guys end up destroying my precious exisals!"

Rantaro glared at him. "You just had to ruin our plans, didn't you? I was surprised you didn't show up sooner."

"I wouldn't call it 'ruining your plans'. You see, I call it 'Killing game management'!"

Kirumi rolled her eyes. "So? Stop beating around the bush and tell us what you're planning to do."

He groaned. "Impatient, aren't we? Let me at least make things enjoyable for our audience!"

Kaito looked at him with a deadpanned expression. "Stop fucking around, you stupid dramatic theater kid. No one is watching and no one cares."

"Fine! Fine! I simply added an additional rule for our lovely stay at the academy! Make sure to keep it in mind!~"

Shuichi took out his monopad that just vibrated and turned it on to see the new rule.

#17: Any person damaging the headmaster's personal property (Exisals, kids) will be faced with punishment.

"Oh, come on!" Miu yelled. "Couldn't you tell us sooner?!"

"Puhuhu! Why would I? It was fascinating to watch all of you prepare this meticulous plan, and to almost destroy my precious exisals! By the way..."

The bear took out a set of keys he span around his paw. Four keys, each marked with a color- blue, red, pink, and yellow.

"Those exisals can only be opened by my precious cubs! I would never -ever- give you guys the keys!"

If the cubs had the keys and Monokuma took them back after their deaths, then only Monodam had his key left.

Although that didn't mean he would help them.

"Now, shoo! You wouldn't want to be executed for such an idiotic mistake!"

Shuichi was mad. But he had to restrain himself. He glanced at the others.

They didn't have a choice but to leave, no matter how much they wanted to complete their plan.

The group slowly walked out, disappointed by the outcome of this mission.

They had to go back to the original plan, to fight the exisals once the time limit comes.

Miu explained to Kaito what happened back there, the latter also mad at Monokuma.

"So... What do we do now?" Kokichi asked.

"We'll stick to what we planned to do. You guys continue your training, I'll bring back the bombs to Ryoma."

Shuichi didn't expect anything else.

He thought about the notebook. Should he make an excuse to read more of it? Perhaps he could try to understand better what Kiyo was trying to say, and he was also curious about Kirumi.

But at the same time, he had to train with the others. They wouldn't be able to survive if he doesn't get fit before the next day.

Rantaro left to go to the main building.

Kirumi was keeping an eye on him. She obviously didn't like the idea of leaving him alone.

And neither did Shuichi

"K-Kirumi? You did aiming exercises with Shuichi, right?" Kokichi turned to the mercenary.

"Yes, I did. I am guessing you would like to train with me?"

He nodded. "I know I don't have any kind of brute force, but... I still should try to get better at aiming, right?"

She hummed. "It would be preferable, yes."

Miu put her hands on her hips. "We may have failed now, but we're not giving up! C'mon, Shuichi! I heard from Kaito you weren't exactly the strongest~"

Shit.

"R-Right..." he faked a smile.

Kaito wrapped an arm around his neck. "You're coming with us whether you like it or not!"

He could throw the plan to keep an eye on Rantaro in the trashcan, then.

But they were right on one thing: They needed to train.

They headed to the main building, but noticed the blackout was still happening.

"When will Monokuma bring the lights back? Sheesh, he could at least do that instead of giving us stupid rules." Miu groaned.

"Do we still train here or...?" Kaito crossed his arms.

She hummed. "I guess we can take the dumbells outside. That's gonna be our first exercise!"

... He was going to be the one transporting them, wasn't he?

The trio got to the warehouse, thankfully still illuminated a bit by the sunlight.

"Hey Shuichi! Take those dumbells outside, would ya?" the street artist grinned.

I knew it.

They ended up encouraging him as he transported the heavy box outside. The encouragements didn't do much, but it was still nice to have them by his side.

The three trained for a while. Shuichi was getting better, to the others' pleasure.

Good thing those two were good at motivating.

"I'm... I'm exhausted..."

Kaito laughed. "Alright, alright. We can take a break."

Shuichi laid on the grass and looked up to the sky- or rather the fake sky.

It may be nothing but a screen simulating the day/night cycle, but that was also the symbol of all the efforts the Gofer project scientists had put to ensure their survival.

They could not fail this fight. Not now.

There was a long silence.

...

"Do you think we're going to make it?" he asked.

Ryoma could make weapons, yes, but would that be enough against Monokuma?

Did he have any other trick up his sleeve?

What would... What would the one behind it all do?

"I have hope in us."

As expected, Miu was the one to talk.

"I said it before and I say it again. We can't consider defeat as an option. Whatever is in front of us we will fight it."

"I promised to Kaz that I would live, that I would be one of the salvagers of humanity, and I'm keeping my promise."

"And I want you guys by my side too."

But no matter how many encouragements Miu would give, his worry would never die down.

However, seeing her so determined about this helped a little anyway.

After a long pause, they decided to continue the training, this time he and Miu cheering for Kaito who was trying to run with dumbells. He did end up falling more than once, though.

But every single time he got back up. Sometimes needing help, but overall being more than able to help for the next day.

Perhaps those training sessions did more good than he thought, both physically and mentally.

Some long hours later, they could see the sunset in the distance as they all sat on the ground.

...

"This... This may be the last time we ever see the sun setting. If we can even call it that way." Kaito broke the silence.

Miu groaned. "What did I say earlier?! We are going to fight! And we are going to win!"

"I know! I know! But still!"

Miu turned to the source of this beautiful golden light. "... But I get what you mean."

The screens reflected almost perfectly the colors they used to watch on summer nights, back before the killing game.

When everything was normal.

...

"Oh, you guys are here!"

A voice came from behind- Kokichi.

"Hey there! Have you guys trained well?"

Kirumi, who was accompanying Kokichi, approached the group as well. "We are fine."

The two turned to the sunset as well. A calm and peaceful scene.

A wave of nostalgia hit him. Of summers spent with friends, dancing around the beach with their families watching them.

Moments he wanted so much to live again, but couldn't.

...

"I see things are going well on your side."

Shuichi almost jumped at the voice.

Rantaro had joined them as well, to his surprise.

"I'm glad you guys are still up to this very last battle." he said with a weak smile- a weak smile still not hiding the emptiness in his tired eyes.

"Anytime, sweetie! We're ready to fight!" Miu gave him a thumbs-up.

Shuichi couldn't help but smile as well. "I've been getting stronger thanks to you all. I think... I think we can do this."

"T-That's right! We've been training and I'm sure that with Ryoma's weapons we can end this!" Kokichi exclaimed- although his voice was still lower than most of theirs.

"Then I believe we can survive this fight." Kirumi crossed her arms, her voice low, but confident. "I believe tomorrow this killing game will end."

It was rare hearing such words from her, but they truly felt sincere.

"Then how about we take a break?" Kaito suggested, standing up. "We've been training all day, how about we relax a little?"

Rantaro sighed. "As much as I hate it, I have to agree. Perhaps we should indeed end for today."

Shuichi smiled. Finally, the medic admitted taking a break was necessary.

The group stared off into space.

The sky may be nothing but a pale copy of reality, but those rays of sunlight still warmed their hearts.

They were here. Six of the seven survivors of humanity. And if they were chosen as ultimates to save it, then they were going to fight until their very last breath.

Their journey was coming to an end.

A long and painful journey of what felt like endless suffering.

Tomorrow would mark an end to this game, and they would finally live in peace.

But right now, they just enjoyed the silence. The comforting artificial light from the dome.

Though the wind was not present, Shuichi could almost feel a light breeze on his face.

A calm before the storm, and hopefully then, calmer than they ever have been.

...

Shuichi turned back to the group. "How about we relax for an hour and then we get to dinner?"

"Sounds good to me! I need a shower." Miu stood up as well.

They all agreed, heading back to the dorms.

Shuichi started walking but noticed Rantaro was staring at the building- or the void, most likely.

"Are you okay, Rantaro?"

He turned back to the violinist. "Huh? Sorry, I'm coming."

Once in his room, Shuichi let out a sigh. He really needed a shower as well.

After that, he looked at his monopad. 45 minutes left before going to the dining hall. Perhaps he could finally read a part of Kiyo's notebook.

He sat on his bed and opened it to Kirumi's page.

The violinist may be worried about Rantaro, but he was curious about her as well.

Kirumi Tojo - Ultimate maid (?) mercenary

Shuichi forgot for a moment she was known as the ultimate maid for a while. But if he did note a question mark, did that mean he was doubting her even before the reveal? That wasn't that surprising actually.

-

Day 1 report.

Like for everyone else, I am using this notebook to keep track of everyone's behavior, and possibly help them adapt to this environment.

I do not know this person well, I will admit. However, I am pretty sure she was lying about her talent, at least partially. She may be in a maid outfit, but I have a feeling she is hiding things. I do not wish to point things out so soon. After all, cooperation is the key to survival in a killing game. One simple thing could lead to a disaster.

Who knows what would happen if I exposed her as a liar so soon. Besides, I lack concrete evidence to do so. I should keep an eye on her to see if I can get any information out of her behavior.

-

Even on day 1? Shuichi didn't know what he expected, but certainly not that soon.

Good thing he didn't expose her back then, though. He doesn't even know how he would have reacted.

He did learn it during a trial, which was why he had to brush it off rather quickly to solve the current mystery, but had she been exposed at any other moment he would have probably panicked a lot more.

At least Kiyo knew what consequences it would have had.

-

Day 5 report.

Kirumi is definitely not the ultimate maid.

I have heard from Tsumugi's group that Kirumi wished to stay in her lab for a moment before any of us could even enter. She may have gotten out of her lab afterward, but I have my doubts.

I did end up talking to her, though, in her lab of all places. The lab did look like it belonged to a maid, but something is amiss, I can feel it. And I am pretty sure she knows I know. She looks like she is carefully choosing her words every time she talks to me.

In her lab, our conversation was rather interesting, although I do not doubt for one second that she was lying through her teeth about certain things, mostly her daily life. I have a few theories about what she could be, although my main theory is that she is indeed a criminal, and not the 'robber' type. I would not be surprised if she revealed to have killed people in the past. How many? That I do not know, but she surely did.

I do understand why she stays silent about it, though. Even I, the first day, realized anything can make us crumble. I do not know if we will ever know one day, but knowing Monokuma, he would surely find a way to rat her out.

Although there is one thing that reassures me, is that she does not seem like the serial killer type. If she really took pleasure in killing, she would have done so during the first blood perk motive.

So I am guessing she is a retired mercenary or assassin. I do not know what could have made her stop her career, perhaps I should talk to her once her talent is fully out.

-

Even back then he knew about her being a mercenary, or at least an assassin.

He was really glad he didn't tell anyone. But was it the reason why Kirumi got Maki's motive video instead of hers? Monokuma did blame it on his cubs, but there is a possibility this was on purpose.

After all, how else would she get her talent out in the day? Just seeing her lying about her talent must have given him the will to expose her himself with the second motive.

He was glad Kiyo acted carefully back then.

Back then...

He preferred not to think about the fourth trial again.

-

Day 8 report.

So she is indeed the ultimate mercenary, just as I thought.

A strategical woman who does not wish to take unnecessary risks. She looked unhappy to have her talent exposed by Keebo and Ryoma, which is more than understandable. However, they did not specify if she was retired or not, which worries me a little. But since she is a mercenary and not an assassin, I think she does not wish to kill someone unless there is a reward behind it- most likely money.

Although I fail to understand why she didn't kill anyone during the first blood perk if she knew how to kill. Actually, now that I think about it, it might be because she realized the same thing as me- the fact that Monokuma may or may not have been lying about letting us go scot-free. And since Kirumi is intelligent as well, that is the most plausible possibility. A distrustful and independent nature has its perks.

I will try to talk to her about it during the next few days, but I will have to balance her with a few others, such as Kokichi, Rantaro, and Tsumugi.

-

Kirumi had mentioned retiring if she could, which meant she was indeed still active before the game.

And she did tell him about the reason why she didn't try to kill anyone for the first blood perk. And as Kiyo said, it was because she realized Monokuma may have been lying.

A strategical woman indeed.

But Kiyo also seemed to have realized that Monokuma may have been lying as well, but perhaps he feared the direct consequences of exposing him.

It's not like he could ask him now.

-

Day 9 report.

Kirumi is indeed an interesting person. Now that her talent is out I got to experience her real self. She is still helping with tasks, this time with Miu by her side, that I am glad didn't isolate herself from the group after the incident.

Miu aside, Kirumi seems to have mixed feelings about her own job. That if she had any other opportunity, she would retire, but that circumstances didn't allow her to do so. I did ask her how it was affecting her- to kill people for a living. However, the moment I even tried to talk about the subject, she glared at me and immediately closed herself off. It isn't anything surprising, really. To bring yourself to describe your killing career must be very hard. But in that case, she just doesn't want to, I think.

She doesn't show any signs of trauma, though I could be wrong. Since she is a strategist, she must know that showing weakness could cost her a lot. For now, I will try to focus on other people, since she seems very reluctant to talk about her feelings.

Although she did talk about preferring to end her targets' lives as painlessly and quickly as possible. That making people suffer and torturing them was not part of her job. On that point, I can respect her. She knows killing is wrong, and I can sense a respect for the dead coming from her. A necessity not to kill those who aren't involved with her job.

At least she is more reasonable than I first thought when I heard about her talent as a mercenary.

-

To respect the dead... That was exactly what she talked about a few days ago when she reproached them that they didn't respect those who died and their wishes. Kaito had taken it the wrong way, but this was what she really meant.

When they talked later, Shuichi learned that she wouldn't kill if she didn't have to and that she mostly did so to survive, putting her life before her targets'. It was a selfish mindset, but... Could he blame her?

Killing was horrible, and it is an unforgivable crime. He knew that more than anyone.

But as Kiyo said, at least she hated making people suffer.

He was really glad she was on their side.

-

Day 13 report.

Himiko's death was a shock for everyone. There is no questioning that. But Kirumi's stone-cold facade finally crumbled enough for me to see some specks of humanity in her.

Although she does have experience in killing, her reaction upon seeing Himiko's corpse was almost just as normal as ours. Pure horror. I didn't expect Himiko to be tortured in such a way either. I wanted to vomit.

But to see her shocked about her death proved me right on a point. She does respect the dead a lot. I do not know how exactly she achieved this mentality, but I presume this is because of her job. To watch people suffer weighs a lot on someone's mind, so making things quickly would limit the damage on her psyche.

Deep down she does feel the same horror as us to this madness.

And her last interaction with Angie only intensified this feeling. When she grabbed Kokichi to torment him, Kirumi was the only one who had the nerve to step in and slap her away, denying whatever similarities the two could have, and I suspect this mentality is the 'why'.

Two killers, yet drastically different ideologies, although I do not think I can consider Angie's bloodlust disease as an ideology.

I should try to get through her again if I have the chance.

-

...

There is nothing else in the notebook about her.

Kiyo had stopped writing about the others to focus on his plan. Each time he remembered that, his heart stung. Tsumugi's death, the trial, everything coming after... That was a horrible memory in his mind.

Upon reading Kiyo's statements, Shuichi had an answer to one of the questions he didn't dare to ask Kirumi.

How could she live with so much blood on her hands?

Being a mercenary must be an extremely hard job, especially if you hate killing. So this... this mentality helped her bear through this.

He did wonder if she sometimes wished for her targets to be happy in the afterlife.

... He preferred not to think about it too much.

Shuichi checked his monopad. It was almost time to leave.

After putting his shoes back on, he left the room.

Kaito and Kokichi were already there waiting.

"Oh, are you two waiting for the rest of us?"

The biker smiled. "Yup! We might as well go together, don't you think?"

He nodded. "Yeah... We still have to wait for the others, though."

Time passed, and Miu, Kirumi, and Rantaro left their rooms soon after. They all had noticeably taken a shower, for obvious reasons.

The group went to the dining hall to prepare what could be their last dinner.

They noticed the blackout was finally over, and they could at last cook in peace.

Miu had asked everyone to help- and they did. Shuichi wished Ryoma was there with them, though.

The dinner was nice, although Shuichi could see a hint of nervousness in the entire group.

The last dinner before the end of the killing game, whether they win or lose the fight.

"Alrighty then! We're gonna sleep and tomorrow is the big day! So sleep tight everyone!" Miu announced.

Rantaro chuckled. "I still have some things to do in my lab so go on without me."

How much of it was a lie?

The street artist narrowed her eyes for a moment. "Just don't stay up late. Got it?"

"I know, I know. Don't worry about me, okay?"

She slightly blushed at the remark. "A-Anyway! C'mon guys!"

Shuichi saw Kirumi shooting one last glance at the medic before following the others.

He couldn't do anything but go back to the dorms.

He laid on his bed, wide awake.

He couldn't sleep knowing Rantaro was up to who-knows-what at this point.

Carefully, the violinist opened the door, making sure no one would witness him, and stepped out of the dorms.

He quickly made his way to the main building.

Checking his monopad, he saw Rantaro's icon right in front of Ryoma's lab on the fifth floor, and Ryoma's icon in the lab.

... Were they talking?

Shuichi felt bad, but he didn't have a choice.

He walked through the corridors, but on the stairs leading to the fifth floor, he heard some noise.

Or rather, tapping, coming from both behind the door and from the hallway.

taap, tap tap tap tap, tap. taap tap tap tap, taap taap taap, taap taap, taap tap tap tap, tap tap tap. tap taap taap, tap, tap taap tap, tap. tap tap taap, tap tap tap, tap, tap taap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap taap taap tap tap.

This was from behind the door. And it oddly sounded like...

... Morse code.

A rhythmic tapping of fingers on the door. Quick, but understandable if you are experienced, he supposed.

tap taap taap tap, tap taap tap, tap, taap, taap, taap tap taap taap. taap taap, tap tap taap, taap tap taap tap, tap tap tap tap. taap tap tap tap, tap tap taap, taap. tap tap. tap tap tap tap, tap taap, tap tap tap taap, tap. tap taap, taap tap. tap tap, taap tap tap, tap, tap taap.

This one was from the hallway.

He hadn't mastered morse code at all, he couldn't understand a single thing.

But what if...

Shuichi quietly went down the stairs. If he grabbed a pen and paper, he could try to note the conversation.

If only he could go to Kiyo's lab where he knew were stored many notebooks.

But perhaps Kaede's lab had enough of them as well.

He ran there, grabbed a pen and a notebook, and sprinted back up.

He took out a piece of paper and focused.

taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap. tap tap tap, tap tap taap, tap taap tap, tap. taap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap, tap tap tap. tap taap taap, tap tap, tap taap tap tap, tap taap tap tap.  tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap, taap tap taap, tap tap taap taap tap tap.

It was a bit hard to follow the rhythm, but he could do it. He had to thank his good hearing for that.

tap taap, taap tap tap tap, tap tap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap tap, tap tap taap, taap, tap, tap taap tap tap, taap tap taap taap.

Supposing Rantaro was the one talking here, what is he even saying?

tap tap.  taap, tap taap tap, tap tap taap, tap tap tap, taap.  taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap.  taap tap tap tap, tap tap taap, taap.  taap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap, tap tap tap.  tap tap, tap tap tap. tap tap, taap tap, tap tap tap, tap taap, taap tap, tap. tap tap. tap tap tap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap tap. taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap.  taap tap taap, taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap. taap, tap tap tap tap, tap taap, taap.

taap taap taap, tap tap tap tap. tap tap. taap tap taap, taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap. taap tap tap, taap taap taap, taap tap, taap. tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap, tap taap tap, taap tap taap taap.

A pause.

taap tap tap tap, tap tap taap, taap.  tap tap, tap tap taap tap.  taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap.  taap tap tap, taap taap taap. taap tap tap tap, tap, tap taap tap tap, tap tap, tap, tap tap tap taap, tap. tap taap taap, tap. taap tap taap tap, tap taap, taap tap.  tap tap tap, tap taap, tap tap tap taap, tap.  tap, tap tap tap taap, tap, tap taap tap, taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, taap tap, tap...

... taap, tap tap tap tap, tap, taap tap.  tap tap.  tap taap taap, tap tap, tap taap tap tap, tap taap tap tap.  tap tap taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap tap, tap taap tap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap. taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap.

...

tap tap tap, tap taap, tap tap tap taap, tap.

...

...

tap tap taap taap tap tap.

...

tap tap. tap tap tap tap, tap taap, tap tap tap taap, tap. tap tap taap tap, tap taap, tap tap, tap taap tap tap, tap, taap tap tap. taap taap, taap tap taap taap. taap taap, tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap, taap taap taap, taap tap. tap taap taap, tap taap, tap tap tap. tap tap tap, tap tap, taap taap, tap taap taap tap, tap taap tap tap, taap tap taap taap. taaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaaptaaptaaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaptap

Shuichi couldn't even take notes anymore. This was way too fast. He wondered how Ryoma could even understand anything.

taaptaptaaptaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaaptaaptaptaaptaaptaptaaptaaptaptaaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaaptaaptaaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaptaptaptaaptaptaaptaaptaaptaptaaptaptaaptaptaptaaptaaptaaptaap-

BLAM!

Shuichi jumped at the brutal slam on the door, echoing through the large, empty corridors.

There was a long silence.

taap tap taap tap, tap taap, tap taap tap tap, taap taap. taap tap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap, taap tap. tap tap taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap. tap taap. tap tap tap, tap, taap tap taap tap.

taap tap tap tap, tap taap tap, tap, tap taap, taap, tap tap tap tap, tap.

Shuichi could hear Rantaro's heavy breathing from the stairs.

What the hell happened?

He doesn't know how much time he spent waiting for an answer before the tapping came back from behind the door.

taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap. taap taap tap, taap taap taap, taap taap taap, taap tap tap, tap tap taap taap tap tap.

tap tap, taap taap. tap tap taap tap, tap tap, taap tap, tap.

taap tap taap taap, taap taap taap, tap tap taap. tap tap tap, tap tap taap, tap taap tap, tap. tap taap, tap tap tap. tap tap tap tap, tap, tap taap tap tap, tap taap tap tap. tap taap, tap taap tap, tap. taap tap, taap taap taap, taap.

taap tap, taap taap taap, taap. taap, tap tap tap tap, tap taap, taap. tap tap, taap. taap taap, tap taap, taap, taap, tap, tap taap tap, tap tap tap. tap taap tap, tap tap, taap taap tap, tap tap tap tap, taap. taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap.

...

A long pause.

taap, taap taap taap, taap taap, taap taap taap, tap taap tap, tap taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap. tap tap, taap, tap tap tap. taap taap taap, tap tap tap taap, tap, tap taap tap.

tap tap. taap tap taap, taap tap, taap taap taap, tap taap taap.

tap taap taap taap, tap tap taap, tap tap tap, taap. tap tap tap, taap, tap taap, taap tap taap taap. tap tap tap, tap taap, tap tap taap tap, tap.

tap tap. tap taap taap, tap tap, tap taap tap tap, tap taap tap tap.

...

Shuichi felt bad eavesdropping like this.

Perhaps he should leave. This felt so wrong.

He looked away for a moment and left.

He had heard enough.

And he had no right to interfere. If Ryoma was already taking care of the matter, then he had no choice but to leave it to him.

After closing the door of his room, he looked at the notes he had taken.

They looked like a mess. But hopefully, he would manage to translate it.

He put the paper and the morse code guide on the desk and started writing.

...

After what felt like an eternity, he had the full dialogue -if he didn't count whatever Rantaro was rambling about for a moment.

~

- You sure this will work? - Absolutely - I trust you but this is insane I hope you know that - Oh I know don't worry - But if you do believe we can save everyone... then I will follow you - Save ... - ? - I have failed my mission was simply ????? ... - Calm down for a sec. Breathe. You good? - I'm fine - You sure as hell are not - Not that it matters right now ... - Tomorrow it's over - I know - Just stay safe - I will

~

That's all he got.

But at least he got to learn one thing...

... It's that his auditor was indeed Ryoma.

Why, though? They could talk face to face. They have no reason to complicate things for each other. So why the morse code?

He didn't get it at all.

The second thing he learned from this conversation is that Rantaro was not getting any better.

But what could he even do?

Tomorrow was the final day. If they all survive the battle, they would finally be able to rest. And both Ryoma and Rantaro knew that.

Just one more day.

Shuichi laid on his bed, closing his eyes, a lot of things lingering on his mind.

Tomorrow they would fight.

They would end this.

Once and for all.

#ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 au #beta au #main story

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 53 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

The amount of comments I have received this week have really fed my inspiration to get my ass in gear and write. Thank you for them. The more I get, the more I love to write.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

Loki felt himself fill with guilt. He could see now what Odin had meant when he demanded to see who Ella spoke with through her days when she had gotten ill. He had never seen her so animated with anyone as she was currently with the group of women he knew from the momentary displays she gave him in his mind to be her old ladies-in-waiting from Asgard. She laughed and smiled through every sentence said. Her attention was always on who was speaking though it seemed that she was the centre of the grouping throughout. Beside her, a slightly unsure looking Greta sat, though it was clear that her being introduced to the grouping by Ella meant that she was to be included in every manner and though there was clear uncertainty at first, she was indeed being accepted. Seeing Ella in this manner, he could see how darkness and loneliness consumed her when he, the only person she did interact with for those first few months because she had not known the formalities of introduction in Jotunheim, ignored her entirely bar the few moments in her company in which he tried to get her pregnant. He swallowed at that thought, grateful no child ever became of it. The idea that they could have created a child in such a manner shook him to his core. Looking at her now, fondly placing her hand to her stomach as she spoke, he knew this child would be healthy and happy, loved fully by both of his parents, created willingly which he now realised made it all the more special. 

As Ella and the other women laughed joyfully, he wondered and partly feared what they were speaking about. 

*

“So, they aren’t all too different?” Mya asked. 

“No, entirely the same in most manners,” Ella informed her. “Eat, fight and brag for the most part. Those traits are not realm specific, are they, Greta?” 

“Apparently not. Though, Helbindi is more eat than fight,” The Jotnar responded. 

“Be grateful, Volstagg is both. He would eat for the realms and fights too,” Lena scoffed. 

“Can you both even fit in the bed these days? Who even takes up more room?” Mya scoffed playfully, referring to Lena’s stomach which was protruding almost as much as Ella’s. 

“Do not start,” Lena rubbed her forehead. “He does but I am getting worried as he does not seem to recall I am carrying his child and it is growing continuously.”

“For the record,” Ella leant towards Greta before indicating to Volstagg. “That is her mate.” 

Greta eyed Volstagg for a moment before looking back at Lena. “I have to ask….how?” 

The other women erupted in laughter. “It’s easy to see how Ella and you became friends,” Tiana, another laughed. “We all thought the same but none said it.” Greta looked worriedly at Ella, silently asking her if she had done something wrong. Ella simply smiled back. “We don’t get insulted, trust me. There’s nothing you could say here that we would be offended by.”

“Really?” Greta did not think that possible. 

“Remember the day Kristoff tried to hurt my feelings?” Ella reminded her. 

“You tore him apart,” Greta argued. 

“He insulted my mate and our son, of course, I did. But his words never once bothered me in reference to me.” Ella smirked. 

“And with regards to ‘how’,” Lena smiled. “I am just thankful he prefers me on top.” 

“I don’t think that’s a preference as much as it is a necessity, you literally are half Light Elf, any other option would kill you.” Ella pointed out which led to more laughter. “I should also mention that this is not an attack on Volstagg’s weight, but the very important fact that Light Elves are far less dense than Aesir mass wise, so to us, Volstagg is a normal weight, something we could endure, to Lena, he is the equivalent of something almost as heavy as an Ice Beast,” Ella explained to Greta. 

“‘Bind told me of the density situation, that is why I needed to ask how she came to be with child.” Greta eyed Volstagg for a moment. “It is odd to see such burly beings though.” 

“Aesir are far differently shaped to Jotnar, it’s true,” Tiana commented. “But all men are the same when they are lying down.” She leant forward. “Though I am curious, those ridges of body markings, are they present on all areas or just some?”

“All.” Ella and Greta replied at the same time, knowing exactly what Tiana was asking. 

“You usually need to pay extra for such features on toys.” Mya sighed. “Lucky you. No wonder you both smile so much.” 

Greta did not know what the other woman was referencing and looked to Ella for some form of explanation. Rather than try and explain it to her, Ella used her seidr to give Greta a vision of what Mya was referencing. On seeing what it was the other woman had been speaking about, Greta’s eyes widened. “But that...we don’t have that.” “Mores the pity for you. Though you all have the ability to wield ice, don’t you?” Greta nodded. “Do you ever make instruments with those?” 

Greta could not gather what Lena was asking for a moment before she realised and her face fell. “I never even thought of such a thing.” 

“By the way, that book Helbindi has been all but begging you to harass me about?” Ella leant in close to Greta as she spoke. “Lena retrieved it for me. I will give it to you this evening. Read through it, any questions you have, one of us can answer. I am not as well versed as some women on most.” 

“That’s because you decided to be a good girl and wait for a husband, sorry, mate.” Tiana corrected herself. 

“We all know what you mean.” Ella dismissed, not bothered that her Vanir and Aesir friends were not using the Jotnar terms. She knew it was not out of malice. 

“You were….” Greta looked somewhat startled, not certain of how to broach the subject with Ella. 

“A maiden? Yes, I was.” Ella looked down at her stomach. “It’s safe to say that that is long gone.” 

“Last to lose her virginity, first to get pregnant.” Lena joked. 

“I am nothing if not proficient.” Ella laughed back. 

“But you assisted in explaining certain things to me?” 

“I know the theory for many a thing, I simply am not versed in the practical method.” Ella shrugged. 

“Really?” Tiana looked over at Loki who was speaking with Arden and Býleistr on a matter across the room. “He doesn’t seem like he would be boring. He looks like he’d actually be up for some fun.” 

“It’s not like he hasn’t learnt a few things over the years,” Greta commented before she realised she had spoken aloud. “Before you, obviously.” She clarified to Ella. 

The other women looked between themselves awkwardly at those comments. 

“Loki had a few experiences before me, this is not something I was unaware of,” Ella explained. 

“It sounds like more than a few.” Mya pointed out. 

“Fine, he was incredibly promiscuous but he has not been disloyal to the agreement we made not to take another so I don’t think about what came before me. As I stated to one previous female partner, I am grateful to them, they trained him up. I have yet to be left wanting, so I see the positives in it.” Ella smirked as she took a drink. “So he doesn’t kiss, considering he knows everything else a woman could want, I see it as a win for me.” 

“Wait, no kissing?” Tiana looked appalled. “Really, you’re not lying, Ella, he doesn’t kiss, why?” “They don’t do it here,” Ella explained. 

The other women looked at Greta who nodded. “We don’t. Well, ‘Bind and I do because we like it but others don’t.” 

“Norns, that sounds so boring. I’d hate it. I won’t even lie. No, thank you.” Tiana shuddered. “I wouldn’t mind, but I had it on good authority you were good at that.” 

“Really? How is Liuilf, Ti?” Mya shook her head. “Whatever happened to not taking your friend’s ex-lovers?” 

“I didn’t even touch him, I swear but firstly, he was not Ella’s lover, she didn’t let him touch her, and secondly…” Tiana noticed someone else coming to join the conversation and silenced immediately. 

Ella could tell from the manner her friend ceased speaking who was standing close by. Smiling, she turned to face her mate. “Is everything alright?” Loki stood close-by, his face as politely neutral as he could muster it to be. He had a suspicion that the females would speak in a manner that would be like as Ella had shown them to speak in the past. They were indeed the same females as she had shown him in her old memories but hearing one of them speak of Ella doing the act of kissing with the soldier hurt him in his gut and sent a searing heat through it that he loathed entirely. He knew the woman had said that Ella did not allow the soldier to touch her but it still felt odd to think of her do something like that with him. “I am incredibly sorry to intrude and I know I have yet to be properly introduced to you all, something I wish to rectify very soon but I fear I must ask to speak to my mate in private for a moment.” 

“Of course, excuse me, Ladies. Do not scare Greta too much in my absence,” She warned playfully as she rose to her feet, stretching slightly as she did. She followed Loki out of the room and down a hallway she knew was rarely used. When he opened a door to a room that was all but barren of any form of furnishing, she wondered what needed to be so urgent. “I take it that this has nothing to do with the coronation?” Loki’s nostrils flared slightly. “I don’t think you even wanted me for something, did you?” His eyes darted to the side. “You simply reacted to the words you heard?” No response. “I have had to listen to you ridicule my virtue as well as multiple accounts of you as a sexual partner but one reference to me kissing someone causes you to react like this?”

Loki inhaled a shaky breath. He walked over to her and stood looking down at her apprehensively before leaning in. At first, Ella thought it was going to gently place his face against hers but then she noticed the way his lips moved and pulled back. “What are you doing?” 

“Apparently you are somewhat proficient at it.”  

“Do you want to kiss me because you genuinely wish to, or some other reason?” She studied his face. “You never wanted to do this before, why now? We literally were in bed together last night, having sex and you did not think to do it then, why now? Is it because of what Tiana said or is it because you genuinely wish to do it with me because if it is the former, no, I will not kiss you and please don’t lie to me, please.” 

Loki could not lie to her so he pulled back. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” “I just came over to say hello but I reacted on hearing her say those things.” He admitted. 

“At least you are honest.” Ella conceded. “I am not going to kiss you for that reason. It means more to me.” 

Loki frowned. “But you never tried.” “With you? No. You made it clear on Vanaheim that it is repulsive to you. Since we did nothing we personally liked before that but instead merely took part in sex for solely procreational purposes, of course I would not attempt that.” 

“But you did with him?” “I cared for ‘him’ at that time. That was a long time ago. As Tiana pointed out, I never allowed it further.” 

Loki felt the other meaning behind those words, she had been honourable and never taken another, something he had not been. She also had been forced more than once to hear of his actions but she never showed any sign of being overly bothered by such. Part of him thought that were she to care for him, she would be more bothered by it as he was hearing about her actions in the past but she did not seem to be in any manner upset by it. “But I did.” “And I never say anything other than it was before me so I have no right to say anything.” “But if you were to say something?” “You do not wish to know.” Her face turned slightly angry at that. “Now, was there a particular reason you came over to us to begin with?” “I came to introduce myself. Those are your friends from Asgard so I thought it polite to say hello.” 

For a moment, Ella thought him to be lying, but seeing his features to be honest, she smiled. “Thank you, for making that effort. They were my ladies, as I tried to explain at the beginning, it was never about them being my servants, just confidentes. I have missed them so much. Part of me wishes they did not come because it reminds me of how much I miss them.” 

Loki swallowed. He had been forced to change some aspects of his life for the agreement, and the only aspects he did have to change had turned into something better than he could ever ask for. Ella, on the other hand, was left to create an entirely new life on Jotunheim, no friends, nothing and a mate that had neglected her, yet she still tried. He walked over to her again and looked at her, noting the apprehension in her face, he gave her an empathetic look. “I am so sorry you feel so and for my behaviour just now.” He leant down, only this time he did not try to force a kiss but placed their foreheads together as he tended to do. “I know you miss your friends but I hope you are happy here.” 

“I am.” Her voice was quiet. 

Loki sighed contently at her answer and the swiftness in which she answered. 

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #chapter 53 #wolfpawn #Pride and Prejudice

[wolfpawn]

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 53

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary -  Ella spends time catching up with old friends which goes well, until Loki hears something he doesn't want to hear.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions @skulliebythesea @majoringinlife @salempoe @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @rookienumber98 @ivytoh @agarwaeneth @rosierossette  @arch-venus25 @nessamaurice @winterisakiller @black-ninja-blade

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NOTES -  I have this written since Friday but I was so ill yesterday, I never got to post it. I cannot put into words how grateful I am that people are commenting on this, it has meant that I have flown through writing more for it. The amount of comments I have received this week have really fed my inspiration to get my ass in gear and write. Thank you for them. The more I get, the more I love to write.

Loki felt himself fill with guilt. He could see now what Odin had meant when he demanded to see who Ella spoke with through her days when she had gotten ill. He had never seen her so animated with anyone as she was currently with the group of women he knew from the momentary displays she gave him in his mind to be her old ladies-in-waiting from Asgard. She laughed and smiled through every sentence said. Her attention was always on who was speaking though it seemed that she was the centre of the grouping throughout. Beside her, a slightly unsure looking Greta sat, though it was clear that her being introduced to the grouping by Ella meant that she was to be included in every manner and though there was clear uncertainty at first, she was indeed being accepted. Seeing Ella in this manner, he could see how darkness and loneliness consumed her when he, the only person she did interact with for those first few months because she had not known the formalities of introduction in Jotunheim, ignored her entirely bar the few moments in her company in which he tried to get her pregnant. He swallowed at that thought, grateful no child ever became of it. The idea that they could have created a child in such a manner shook him to his core. Looking at her now, fondly placing her hand to her stomach as she spoke, he knew this child would be healthy and happy, loved fully by both of his parents, created willingly which he now realised made it all the more special. 

As Ella and the other women laughed joyfully, he wondered and partly feared what they were speaking about. 

*

“So, they aren’t all too different?” Mya asked. 

“No, entirely the same in most manners,” Ella informed her. “Eat, fight and brag for the most part. Those traits are not realm specific, are they, Greta?” 

“Apparently not. Though, Helbindi is more eat than fight,” The Jotnar responded. 

“Be grateful, Volstagg is both. He would eat for the realms and fights too,” Lena scoffed. 

“Can you both even fit in the bed these days? Who even takes up more room?” Mya scoffed playfully, referring to Lena’s stomach which was protruding almost as much as Ella’s. 

“Do not start,” Lena rubbed her forehead. “He does but I am getting worried as he does not seem to recall I am carrying his child and it is growing continuously.”

“For the record,” Ella leant towards Greta before indicating to Volstagg. “That is her mate.” 

Greta eyed Volstagg for a moment before looking back at Lena. “I have to ask….how?” 

The other women erupted in laughter. “It’s easy to see how Ella and you became friends,” Tiana, another laughed. “We all thought the same but none said it.” Greta looked worriedly at Ella, silently asking her if she had done something wrong. Ella simply smiled back. “We don’t get insulted, trust me. There’s nothing you could say here that we would be offended by.”

“Really?” Greta did not think that possible. 

“Remember the day Kristoff tried to hurt my feelings?” Ella reminded her. 

“You tore him apart,” Greta argued. 

“He insulted my mate and our son, of course, I did. But his words never once bothered me in reference to me.” Ella smirked. 

“And with regards to ‘how’,” Lena smiled. “I am just thankful he prefers me on top.” 

“I don’t think that’s a preference as much as it is a necessity, you literally are half Light Elf, any other option would kill you.” Ella pointed out which led to more laughter. “I should also mention that this is not an attack on Volstagg’s weight, but the very important fact that Light Elves are far less dense than Aesir mass wise, so to us, Volstagg is a normal weight, something we could endure, to Lena, he is the equivalent of something almost as heavy as an Ice Beast,” Ella explained to Greta. 

“‘Bind told me of the density situation, that is why I needed to ask how she came to be with child.” Greta eyed Volstagg for a moment. “It is odd to see such burly beings though.” 

“Aesir are far differently shaped to Jotnar, it’s true,” Tiana commented. “But all men are the same when they are lying down.” She leant forward. “Though I am curious, those ridges of body markings, are they present on all areas or just some?”

“All.” Ella and Greta replied at the same time, knowing exactly what Tiana was asking. 

“You usually need to pay extra for such features on toys.” Mya sighed. “Lucky you. No wonder you both smile so much.” 

Greta did not know what the other woman was referencing and looked to Ella for some form of explanation. Rather than try and explain it to her, Ella used her seidr to give Greta a vision of what Mya was referencing. On seeing what it was the other woman had been speaking about, Greta’s eyes widened. “But that...we don’t have that.” “Mores the pity for you. Though you all have the ability to wield ice, don’t you?” Greta nodded. “Do you ever make instruments with those?” 

Greta could not gather what Lena was asking for a moment before she realised and her face fell. “I never even thought of such a thing.” 

“By the way, that book Helbindi has been all but begging you to harass me about?” Ella leant in close to Greta as she spoke. “Lena retrieved it for me. I will give it to you this evening. Read through it, any questions you have, one of us can answer. I am not as well versed as some women on most.” 

“That’s because you decided to be a good girl and wait for a husband, sorry, mate.” Tiana corrected herself. 

“We all know what you mean.” Ella dismissed, not bothered that her Vanir and Aesir friends were not using the Jotnar terms. She knew it was not out of malice. 

“You were….” Greta looked somewhat startled, not certain of how to broach the subject with Ella. 

“A maiden? Yes, I was.” Ella looked down at her stomach. “It’s safe to say that that is long gone.” 

“Last to lose her virginity, first to get pregnant.” Lena joked. 

“I am nothing if not proficient.” Ella laughed back. 

“But you assisted in explaining certain things to me?” 

“I know the theory for many a thing, I simply am not versed in the practical method.” Ella shrugged. 

“Really?” Tiana looked over at Loki who was speaking with Arden and Býleistr on a matter across the room. “He doesn’t seem like he would be boring. He looks like he’d actually be up for some fun.” 

“It’s not like he hasn’t learnt a few things over the years,” Greta commented before she realised she had spoken aloud. “Before you, obviously.” She clarified to Ella. 

The other women looked between themselves awkwardly at those comments. 

“Loki had a few experiences before me, this is not something I was unaware of,” Ella explained. 

“It sounds like more than a few.” Mya pointed out. 

“Fine, he was incredibly promiscuous but he has not been disloyal to the agreement we made not to take another so I don’t think about what came before me. As I stated to one previous female partner, I am grateful to them, they trained him up. I have yet to be left wanting, so I see the positives in it.” Ella smirked as she took a drink. “So he doesn’t kiss, considering he knows everything else a woman could want, I see it as a win for me.” 

“Wait, no kissing?” Tiana looked appalled. “Really, you’re not lying, Ella, he doesn’t kiss, why?” “They don’t do it here,” Ella explained. 

The other women looked at Greta who nodded. “We don’t. Well, ‘Bind and I do because we like it but others don’t.” 

“Norns, that sounds so boring. I’d hate it. I won’t even lie. No, thank you.” Tiana shuddered. “I wouldn’t mind, but I had it on good authority you were good at that.” 

“Really? How is Liuilf, Ti?” Mya shook her head. “Whatever happened to not taking your friend’s ex-lovers?” 

“I didn’t even touch him, I swear but firstly, he was not Ella’s lover, she didn’t let him touch her, and secondly…” Tiana noticed someone else coming to join the conversation and silenced immediately. 

Ella could tell from the manner her friend ceased speaking who was standing close by. Smiling, she turned to face her mate. “Is everything alright?” Loki stood close-by, his face as politely neutral as he could muster it to be. He had a suspicion that the females would speak in a manner that would be like as Ella had shown them to speak in the past. They were indeed the same females as she had shown him in her old memories but hearing one of them speak of Ella doing the act of kissing with the soldier hurt him in his gut and sent a searing heat through it that he loathed entirely. He knew the woman had said that Ella did not allow the soldier to touch her but it still felt odd to think of her do something like that with him. “I am incredibly sorry to intrude and I know I have yet to be properly introduced to you all, something I wish to rectify very soon but I fear I must ask to speak to my mate in private for a moment.” 

“Of course, excuse me, Ladies. Do not scare Greta too much in my absence,” She warned playfully as she rose to her feet, stretching slightly as she did. She followed Loki out of the room and down a hallway she knew was rarely used. When he opened a door to a room that was all but barren of any form of furnishing, she wondered what needed to be so urgent. “I take it that this has nothing to do with the coronation?” Loki’s nostrils flared slightly. “I don’t think you even wanted me for something, did you?” His eyes darted to the side. “You simply reacted to the words you heard?” No response. “I have had to listen to you ridicule my virtue as well as multiple accounts of you as a sexual partner but one reference to me kissing someone causes you to react like this?”

Loki inhaled a shaky breath. He walked over to her and stood looking down at her apprehensively before leaning in. At first, Ella thought it was going to gently place his face against hers but then she noticed the way his lips moved and pulled back. “What are you doing?” 

“Apparently you are somewhat proficient at it.”  

“Do you want to kiss me because you genuinely wish to, or some other reason?” She studied his face. “You never wanted to do this before, why now? We literally were in bed together last night, having sex and you did not think to do it then, why now? Is it because of what Tiana said or is it because you genuinely wish to do it with me because if it is the former, no, I will not kiss you and please don’t lie to me, please.” 

Loki could not lie to her so he pulled back. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” “I just came over to say hello but I reacted on hearing her say those things.” He admitted. 

“At least you are honest.” Ella conceded. “I am not going to kiss you for that reason. It means more to me.” 

Loki frowned. “But you never tried.” “With you? No. You made it clear on Vanaheim that it is repulsive to you. Since we did nothing we personally liked before that but instead merely took part in sex for solely procreational purposes, of course I would not attempt that.” 

“But you did with him?” “I cared for ‘him’ at that time. That was a long time ago. As Tiana pointed out, I never allowed it further.” 

Loki felt the other meaning behind those words, she had been honourable and never taken another, something he had not been. She also had been forced more than once to hear of his actions but she never showed any sign of being overly bothered by such. Part of him thought that were she to care for him, she would be more bothered by it as he was hearing about her actions in the past but she did not seem to be in any manner upset by it. “But I did.” “And I never say anything other than it was before me so I have no right to say anything.” “But if you were to say something?” “You do not wish to know.” Her face turned slightly angry at that. “Now, was there a particular reason you came over to us to begin with?” “I came to introduce myself. Those are your friends from Asgard so I thought it polite to say hello.” 

For a moment, Ella thought him to be lying, but seeing his features to be honest, she smiled. “Thank you, for making that effort. They were my ladies, as I tried to explain at the beginning, it was never about them being my servants, just confidentes. I have missed them so much. Part of me wishes they did not come because it reminds me of how much I miss them.” 

Loki swallowed. He had been forced to change some aspects of his life for the agreement, and the only aspects he did have to change had turned into something better than he could ever ask for. Ella, on the other hand, was left to create an entirely new life on Jotunheim, no friends, nothing and a mate that had neglected her, yet she still tried. He walked over to her again and looked at her, noting the apprehension in her face, he gave her an empathetic look. “I am so sorry you feel so and for my behaviour just now.” He leant down, only this time he did not try to force a kiss but placed their foreheads together as he tended to do. “I know you miss your friends but I hope you are happy here.” 

“I am.” Her voice was quiet. 

Loki sighed contently at her answer and the swiftness in which she answered. 

#Pride and Prejudice #chapter 53 #loki fic #wolfpawn

[blufirre]

In the Fields We Lie

So this is something that I’ve been working on for a month now and I hardly ever finish bigger projects like this simply due to lack of motivation lol. But here it is!! I’m proud that I made myself go through with this even if it’s not the best out there, I just like telling stories :) Also @cherryyharryy I’m tagging you here to let you know that I finally put it up! Amber I appreciate you for looking forward to reading this! I thank you and Sarah, @harryforvogue​ , for giving me your support!!

Chapter One: (I don’t know if or what I should name this chapter so if you have suggestions please let me know!)

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They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind wonders and wanders. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have, is time. And what we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where do our minds wander off to? Do we take this time to care for ourselves if that’s an option? We, for a fact, daydream that this newfound reality is something more peaceful than what it is, that before this all happened that we had taken every opportunity to do the things that we had desired. Do we read the books we’ve acquired but never got around to reading if we have access to them? Should we seek out loved ones and write them to see how they’re coping? What we make of this situation is our choice, but ultimately we need to distract ourselves from the horridness that’s outside.

Every life is valuable but only a select few see the importance of this. The common folk are the first to panic and cause chaos. They tend to be more conservative and harsh towards anyone they do not know. Unwilling to lend a hand to fellow citizens in need. Now, this does not apply to all of the population, there are some good hearted people out there, those are the ones who will survive. The ones who are selfless instead of selfish are the ones you can trust, and you’ll know that they’ll save your ass. These are often the people that will give you half of anything they got because they understand how unkind and riotous the world can be.

In this time of uncertainty, of course, you have no choice but to try and keep yourself safe. Whether it be working to put food on the table or simply staying inside when you can. Now for some unfortunate souls, this really isn’t an option they get to choose, it was made for them; others offered up their life for the land they lived on. Being picked out of this sea of men, all having to be a certain height, weight, age, and they have to be healthy. If you meet the criteria, you’re already signed up and packing your bags. You don’t know when you’ll be going, to ruin your fresh young adulthood, but it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be ripped away from it. The game of time is a bastard to all who have to endure it. Especially so to a twenty year old man who didn’t see this coming.

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This story dates back to May 1914 when Harry Styles was a young innocent soul. He was only worried about getting to work on time and pleasing the cute girl next door. Even though his life was simple he enjoyed it very much so.

Before the war Harry had had a busy childhood. He wasn’t fully allowed to go out with his friends due to the fact he had to help his father with the upkeep of their family farm. Most of his free time was spent tending to the cows and helping his mother cook meals. His mother often fought for him so he could enjoy his youth, which led his father to start  arguments saying that Harry needed to do his part for the household. More times than not he would do what his father expected of him because he couldn’t stand to see his mom upset at some of the things that came out of his dad's mouth.

As he got older he learned that the quicker he did his duties, the faster he could get ready and have fun. He doesn’t like to admit it either, but the faster he worked, the less time he had to spend with his father. Alongside everything he was also balancing his academics, and once he reached the age of sixteen he had gained other responsibilities. His mother got pregnant with his younger sister and his father had gotten severely ill. It wasn’t easy for Harry to give up his life at such a young age, but he loved his family and would do anything for them, even if that meant losing time on his clock.

For six weeks his father was bedridden with pneumonia and couldn’t bring himself to even lift his head off his pillow. Harry did everything he could, fed his father, gave him sponge baths, took up the work of two on the farm, while also watching over his mother when she had days where she couldn’t get up herself. During this stressful time, was a time to reflect on how much Harry appreciated what his dad did around the house. And being appreciative of the ways he grew up, some of them anyways. Going out there and doing your job right and doing it early so that you don’t have to worry about it not being done later. Having this discipline is what keeps him together while he takes care of everyone and it’ll help him take care of himself and others in a few short years.

He doesn’t like to think about his past, but he’s almost forced to when he spots a familiar face that looks like his own in the local grocer. Seeing him happens every couple months, it’s bound to because Harry hasn’t moved far from home, when he wishes he could afford to so he doesn’t have to deal with the man that’s on the other side of the store. Always stays out of sight, not necessarily in fear that his father will lash out on him for leaving. The lecturing he could deal with. Asking him why the hell he couldn’t stay and be there, especially for his mother. Harry can’t bear to see the possible disappointment and worn look that he may give him. His poor mother! He hasn't heard from her since the day Minnie passed. Can’t remember the sound of her voice if his life depended on it. Hasn’t received letters despite the fact that he gave them his address, and nobody visited either. At this point it’s obvious to him that his parents might not want to speak to him again. He can understand where they’re coming from, their eldest abandoning them to live a life he wasn’t certain of, no idea where he was taking himself.

He’s so lost in his thoughts about everything he went through just two years ago that he’d zoned out in the middle of the grocer. He didn’t even feel the tap on his shoulder from the man behind him saying his name, “Harry?” As quick as hearing the word come out of his father's mouth, he snapped out of his trance and froze, not knowing what to do he just stayed where he was. It was quiet and weak but he heard it, “H-Harry, just know that we miss you, son. Devastated without you.”

It took every ounce of strength that man had to spill his thoughts in a public place, even if it was brief. Harry knew that because his father wasn’t the type to let anyone know how he was feeling. Even when Minnie died, he didn’t shed a tear. He did, however, started to drink more than usual, got angry more often. That’s what sticks out the most when thinking about his father, how that emotion resembled him in Harry’s mind. Sometimes he wonders what his childhood and his relationship with the man who raised him would’ve looked like had there been proper emotional projection. Perhaps the man was suffering his own battles that the world didn’t know about.

When he turned around he was faced with empty space, no trace of his father. With tears building up in his eyes Harry frantically looks around the small store and through the very few isles it did have, nothing. He had forgotten what he went there for to begin with, but leaving he was determined to find him. For an old man he had walked fast, fast enough that Harry couldn’t see him anywhere down both ends of the road. So he was left standing in the brisk air, thinking to himself that he should’ve said something, anything. If he wasn’t too damn scared to turn around maybe he’d be on his way to his old home talking with his father. All the if’s and the could-have-been’s chase each other in circles in his mind. Time was uncertain and he knew that, fucking knew that the time he had at home was uncertain and the military was unapologetic, taking no requests.

All train of thought was lost, facial expression was droopy and vacant. Eventually finding his way back to his apartment which was a few blocks over, not even remembering how he had gotten himself home, not able to feel himself shift his weight going up the stairs and moving his hands to unlock his door. Making his way toward his small spring mattress which killed his back, letting himself fall onto it and just staring at the ceiling blankly. Eventually he came to his senses, thinking clearly about what he had to do with the time he had left.

So for now, he had gotten himself ready for the evening, lounging around his home in his briefs. Making himself a cup of coffee because for whatever reason it eases him into a more relaxed state before bed. Looking out his window in the kitchen at the sunset that showcased itself before his eyes. How wonderful he thought it was. Always admiring the universe's work to bless him with such beauty. The dark pinks and purples and blues soothes him, reminding him that whatever he was feeling would come to pass. The colors of twilight gives him hope for a better tomorrow.

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Today is Saturday and there is no reason to get up so early in the morning but Harry is up by dawn, his circadian rhythm is inevitably set like this due to working on his father's farm. He hasn’t found anything to delay his awakening at such specific hours, though he might know something, or rather, someone who could keep him from rising. There’s been a woman in the building he’s had his eyes on. She just moved in about a year ago, and once he’d laid eyes on her there was no changing his mind; she was beauty and every bit of her embodied the word. No one’s caught Harry’s fancy since.

As much as he would’ve liked to see her today, there were more important matters he had to settle. Making his way to his old home was further by foot, about an hour's worth of walking, but once Harry had reached the front porch the Sun was almost at its highest point. Around lunchtime was when they’d always sit out in the grass and bask in the warmth, of course in the months when the Earth provided such heat. Always ate whatever mother made for lunch, then everybody would be so full they’d have a nap. Every Saturday afternoon, like clockwork, a time where everything was still and peaceful. Something Harry was grateful for, to have those tender moments with his parents.

Just as he was about to knock on the door he once knew to be his own, opened as if the universe was telling him he had no right asking permission to enter the place he was born. His father was standing before him, with a surprised but hopeful look washed over his features. “Hello, Father. I, uh, I wanted to apologize for the way I kept my back towards you yesterday. Please forgive me for being too coward to face you…” Harry could barely look him in the eye because he was ashamed, not much so for the events that transpired the day earlier, but for leaving his parents with nothing years ago.

“Let's sit and talk Harry, Mum’s made lunch. Help me bring everything to the lawn.” His father nods in the direction of the kitchen which is almost immediately to the left as you enter the house. He’d never thought his heart could race any faster than it is at this moment. The nerves taking over him as they did when he heard his father’s voice for the first time since he was eighteen. Walking cautiously for he didn’t want to startle his mother, but only to be met with an empty kitchen with the food still steaming on the stove.

“She’s not been partaking in tradition for quite some time, recently she’s been getting out of bed to make meals but barely eats herself.” A look of devastation looms over the man's face as he puts mashed potatoes, chicken, and carrots on both of their plates. Harry can’t bring himself to speak just yet, but he gives his father a shy look as if asking permission to grab the picnic blanket from the wardrobe in the hallway outside of the kitchen. He’s met with a nod and swiftly makes his way and once he’s closing the door he follows his father out to the front lawn under their massive pine tree.

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Silence. Absolutely quiet while the pair ate, not even a glimpse was shared until both meals were finished. “You know, these little dates of ours were the ones I cherished the most while you were growing up.” Another pause while he looked up at the sky with bliss in his eyes and a smile grew on his face while looking at his son, but as quickly those emotions came, they went. Replaced with sorrow. “I was a prick most days, telling you what to do, how to do it, and when I expected it to be done. Stripping you away from your youth. Making you do the work of a man on a farm far bigger than the two of us could handle.”

“Dad, you couldn’t have possibly tended to all the cattle by yourself—”

“That might be so, Harry, and I knew what I was getting myself into to provide for my family. If I would’ve known that this — this war was going to happen I would’ve done anything in my power to let you be young. And now there’s a chance that your name will be drawn out of a hat that the government threw you in, it’s devastating.

To know that I spent your youth being the kind of father I was, so harsh on you, not letting myself show you all the love I could have. Sickens me.” He sniffles and a tear runs down his face, voice shaking, “All of the times I yelled at you for missing small things like not fixing the cattle’s meals right or not waking up early enough, even yelled at you for simply falling asleep in the middle of the day when most of your chores were finished…”

Surely this wasn’t the same man Harry knew before he left. As always he was lost for words, just looking at this slightly older version of his father. His own eyes watering at the words he wouldn’t have guessed would come from his mouth. There was always an unspoken bond between the two, they both were stubborn but knew there was always love. But hearing it, shit, hearing his innermost thoughts gave Harry an overwhelming feeling of warmth.

“Dad, I-I, you were exactly how you were supposed to be with me, it wasn’t pleasant all the time and I don’t think it’s like that with any family, but you raised me the best you knew how. Your roughness has taught me to be a hardworking and determined man, so don’t think for a second that how you brought me up was less than.”

“But let me tell you son, as plain as day and as plain as the nose on your face, you are the best god damned thing I could ever make and bring into this world. You are what I wish I could be and everything I  never was able to become. You are a light that brightens the darkest of nights. And...” He pauses, making sure that he’s looking Harry in the eyes like his life depended on it, “and I don’t want to see the war dim that. I have no idea what’s going to happen to you out there…”

When the Sun started to make its way to the west, that’s when Harry had to cut things short with his father. He helped bring in the blankets and plates into the house. He felt obligated to wash all of the dishes and put the food away properly and didn’t let his old man touch a single thing. Disappointed though, he couldn’t see his mother, but he also doubted himself, what if she didn’t want to see him? Was that why she hadn’t come out of her room? Even though his father did tell him she kept to herself in her own little world. Did she know he was here? Or would it be too hard for her to see him and that’s why he couldn’t force himself to face her?

Harry hugged and kissed his father before he left. He told Harry that it meant more than words could describe that he came and spent time with him, and that they should make it tradition again. To keep this up as long as time permitted it. He’d love that, very much so. Yeah, that would be perfect.  

They’d had a surprisingly wonderful conversation, talking in general made both of them happy but it’s difficult to tell who enjoyed it more. After the talk of what the possibility of going to war looked like, they switched the conversation to how well they were doing in life. Harry mentioned that he was working as a tailor and how he liked his apartment building but left out the fact that he was talking to a woman that lived a few doors down. While his father talked about how it’s almost been quite the same after two years. Talked about how his parents have to start preparing to save their rations since there’s such a shortage of provisions, and how they don’t make enough money to afford everything that they need, so they’ve kept, mainly his father, what they could spare to keep this Saturday tradition alive. During the week their meals have been small, mostly consisting of potatoes, soup, and homemade bread.

Harry made a mental note to help them out any way he could, he’ll go shopping soon to make sure that his parents were well cared for. Now, now that he knew that he wasn’t in hot water with at least one of them, he would make sure that he visited every week.

—

By the time Harry reached his home the Sun was just beginning to set, though it was still a bit chilly to stay outside he watched as the light slowly faded on his side of the Earth. Wishing he could be in two places at once to simultaneously watch this miraculous planet set and rise on the horizon. To see that would be gorgeous, breathtaking. And while he was basking in the fading brightness, he couldn’t help but feeling like he was being watched. He knew who it was and it was the warmth he felt from her and not the disappearing Sun that wasn’t radiating any sort of heat anymore.

There was no reason to look up at her window, he knew that he’d see her. And there was definitely no reason to knock at her door this late at night because she’s stubborn and wouldn’t answer it even if he was on his knees begging her to see him. She made him wait and it’s been that way since she moved in, though they weren’t exclusive, Harry would wait an unholy amount of time for her. No matter how long.

As he was closing his door, tired from the walk home and eyes heavy, he heard the all too familiar creek of a door from a few feet away. Suddenly he was wide awake and peering out to his left to be greeted by a smiling face peeking out from her apartment. “Styles, always taking in the glory the universe provides for us.”

Wow, she, wow. His last name on her tongue was what brought him to life. How could she be everything he ever needed even though he hasn’t felt anything like this for someone? Was he too head over heels for a woman he barely knew? Yes.

And her smile was brighter than anything he’d ever seen, not even the Sun could beat her. He didn’t even realize that he was staring longer than he should’ve, causing her to laugh, “Good to see you happier. Passed you yesterday in the stairwell and gave me no attention. You looked distant, glad to see the life in your eyes.” That was it. That was all she gave him, retreating before he could muster up anything to say.

He went to sleep with the biggest grin on his face and wished it had stayed longer.

#my originals #blufirre #blufirre original #Harry Styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #ITFWL

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I have no idea what I'm doing and I must scream about my friend's OTP

*bangs pots together* I HEARD THIS FANDOM NEEDED MORE SICKFIC SO I CAME HERE TO PROVIDE With angst too! It's simple, even simplistic to a fault in fact, but I'm kind of happy with it? The beginning especially, man I love writing the literal equivalent of suffering. The ending may be a letdown, but I hope it's decent anyway.

also yeah can we all stan my good pal @chess-of-flowering-kingdom's writing in the chat because she's much better than me at this FE3H thing, she’s like an icon or something in this fandom

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Thanatophobia

Summary: [thanatophobia: noun. Literally, “fear of death”; a feeling of dread, anxiety or sollicitude when thinking of or faced by death or the process of dying. Derivated fromthe Ancient Greek "θάνατος", death, and "φόβος", fear or anxiety.] Ingrid almost loses someone again. 

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (post-timeskip) Ships: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)

Wordcount: 2.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Her vision was blurry from the water flooding in her eyes, her hearing by the sobs she was trying to keep inside, her thoughts from the swirling concerns and confusion hitting it at once. Her head ached, so did her heart, and her stomach was hardly able to keep up with the nauseating worry she was finding herself to be the victim of.

Yet, and it only hurt further to admit it, even the best training in the world couldn’t have prevented this, so all she could do was not let herself get eaten away by her sorrow, as looking like a mourning widow would do nothing to improve the absolutely abhorrent situation that was unfolding right before her helpless eyes.

 It wasn’t like it was her fault, she knew that. She couldn’t have prevented it even if she had tried her hardest: in a way, this was bound to happen, but that train of thought only made it worse. What, was she supposed to just stay here and do nothing because this was always going to end in some tragedy one way or the other? Was she supposed to believe there was fate above all of their heads menacingly staring at them and waiting for the first opportunity to cause them misery to happen?

As it stood, Ingrid hated being unable to do anything, always wanted to do something and be of some use whenever things turned sour; yet reality was forcing itself on her, itself and its terrible sides and toll. It was telling her that no matter what she did, no matter what she was trying to do, no matter where she went, no matter how or why, it was a superior face on her soul bound to its realm by her flesh and blood.

If reality wanted to pain her again and make someone die on her for a second time, it could, and it wanted very desperately to show her this without any possible contestation on her part.

 Perhaps it hurt her even more to know this would eventually happen, no matter what she said or did. Ingrid had always watched over Sylvain ever since they had known each other, had gotten to know every side of his personality to the point she could predict every single thing he was about to go through with. He was a free spirit, someone who took his life lightly, a true skirt-chaser, someone who listened to her and stared into her eyes without ever considering if her words could have an impact on his life.

Ingrid had always found him to take his existence too much on the light side of things, and Glenn’s demise had only enforced his feeling, but she could only confirm that to a whole new extent she had never wished to behold today.

 They were fighting alongside on the battlefield, the two of them, against the enemy forces. She was the prideful knight, he was the free-thinking monk, and they worked better than she’d have expected coming him and his seemingly lack of seriousness about anything that involved life-or-death stakes. Both on the battlefield, sharing a portion of land as decided by their strategist, weapons out and senses sharp, focus undefeatable as she defeated her foes one by one on her fierce mount.

At least, it was in her case, because Ingrid couldn’t stop spotting in the corner of her how sloppy her battle partner was. Usually, and that was one of the qualities she could give him, he was more than competent when fighting, He’d usually slipped in a couple teases and flirtatious lines of banter between two battles, yet all she heard are pants and wheezes coming from his side, her moves slow and unprecise, the absolute opposite of what a warrior was supposed to be standing for in her eyes.

 But the battle was raging on, so she ignored it at first and just made it out to be a minor thing. Must have been because he had been chasing skirts all night again, without thinking of tomorrow’s battle (even if that seemed too easy of an explanation). It was a day like any other, even if the taste of blood wasn’t as strong as it’d have usually been. Nothing wrong to report on, truly, or so she thought (or tried convincing herself of? It wasn’t clear, not even in the heat of the moment where lucidity of the mind was key). And, in her point of view, it all looked fine and usual until she noticed she was alone killing off the last of the enemy’s forces.

As it stood, meddling with the dried leaves of the early autumn metamorphosis, crimson poking out from the light browns and oranges, was the unconscious body of a childhood friend.

 The assault had stopped for them, in the far-end part of the battlefield; yet the feeling of dread wetting her back in cold sweats didn’t give in, nourishing itself from the misery plaguing her mind. Ingrid got off her mount, her stallion’s reins firmly enclosed between her fingers, approaching the suddenly shapeless form of who could have only been Sylvain if she squinted enough with heavy steps and a heavier breath.

She slowly crouched, feet trying to avoid stepping on the leftovers of the battle, until her available hand could touch him, the other gripping harder on the reins as soon she realized what was wrong. A clump formed in her throat, her stomach twirled, she felt like she was about to get sick from the sudden rush of worry nausea taking a hold of her system like a demon possessing her body. Without uttering a word, she put him on his back, finally able to see his dirtied face and harsh breathing, skin paler than the corpses around them, red splattered across his cheeks like blood on a soldier’s attire.

 Ingrid didn’t waste words trying to wake him up, but her hands burned when she let go of the rein to put him on her mount and escort him back to safety, back to their base while she walked, in silent, with a troubling vision and sobs threatening to exit her chest if she wasn’t careful to them even for a moment. Her feet crushing the dirt and leaves, three breathes of different intensities and faraway cries were the only things she accepted hearing for the time being, careful that none of these breathings stopped all of a sudden and forever.

She was sniffling worry in. This was happening, under her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was no healer, no priestess of any kind. She didn’t know how to beg a deity for someone’s wellbeing, all she knew was fighting and court codes, in the end. Despite the toll of the battle on the enemy’s forces and her army’s victory, her heart couldn’t scream any cry of war, couldn’t sing a hymn, because it was busy crying while her mind was busy not to let herself do the same.

 And, in this time of great mental distress, sorrowful Ingrid realized something: for the first time in her life, no matter what had happened before since they had been children, no matter what she could say or even think of uttering, she couldn’t do anything for Sylvain.

 The rest of things was a blur from then on. She brought her horse back to the base, couldn’t explain what had happened aside from the idea that he had collapsed while she was looking elsewhere to fend against the enemy, and watched events unfold while her hands went unoccupied and her legs restless. Her entire body turned into lead jelly, stiff like metal yet tender from her weaknesses striking at once. Healers tried their best, but only words of apology came out from them: they had spells for injuries, not illnesses, and they were as helpless as she was.

When she was invited to see him after a more formal exam, shortly before the battle ended with her army’s flawless and stainless victory, Ingrid turned down the offer. She wasn’t ready to face the situation, not at first at last, and went for a walk outside instead to calm down the nausea and stop her thoughts from becoming a tornado inside her skull.

 The air had gone cold since the battle had ended, the warmth of her companions and blood pouring on the floor having given stead to night’s silence and comfortable judgement. Nobody could see her now, all inside either celebrating or getting concerned, maybe both; but even her hunger had gone missing, buried under the thick layers of concern she kept putting on because of her own uselessness.

Her hands rubbed against her arms, her breath emitted clear smoke against the black backdrop of the night embracing her, her feverish skin finally calming down to a point where she felt like she could face her friend again, even if this entire fiasco made her doubt her own feelings’ nature. Perhaps staying for too long in the dark quietness of the deserted paths only accelerated her uncertainties, so she went back inside, the warmth of a group reaching back to her right as her skin was shivering.

 Her heart was wavering with the intensity of a typhoon, even as her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she made her way to the infirmary. She knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply, not expecting any considering it was already fairly late in the evening. The silence of the room reminded her of the outsides, which eased her heart into entering the room, even if immediately the sight of Sylvain in this bed, left to devilish devices, stung her deeper than she’d have thought.

Her hands were fiddling together by themselves as she sat on the chair that was already there, eyes unable to face it. She wanted to weep at last, let her sorrow run free; but that’d have been disgracing Sylvain, disgracing all the cautious words she had ever told him and all the messages she had tried to drill through his skull as much as possible so he wouldn’t ridicule himself again, so she wouldn’t suffer second-hand embarrassment from him.

 Her heart was pounding. In truth, she wasn’t confused about her feelings, more than she wanted to deny them: really, falling for her childhood friend wasn’t something she wanted. It was even worse if she considered how he was such a skirt-chaser, flirting with everything that moved or had a pulse, from her grandmother to their female colleagues: it was going to end badly for her if she truly stopped lying to herself about it, if something made her stop rejecting what she shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

The problem was that this something had already come around. No matter how much she told herself this, seeing Sylvain in this bed was like watching herself lose Glenn all over again: it started small, it always ended terribly, this much she had been taught and she had learnt over the years, throughout her experiences and connections with people. She was afraid of losing someone else, so she denied their value to her and tried keeping her tears inside, even if she knew it was all a lie, even if she was fully aware it had been nothing but a charade of refusal and unhealthy denial.

 Yet, even with all of her efforts, Ingrid was crying, tears rolling down her face and sorrow finally making its way out of her airways, pouring in thoughts and tears. How ungraceful, how weak coming from the woman who had wanted to become Dimitri’s most fellow knight, the one who grief and death shouldn’t have scared like a little girl whom the world had deemed to forever be lost in the eternal penumbra whose last beacon of light had been engulfed by the shadows.

At least, she was alone, unseen from the world, with the only witness being an unconscious man. It was the only consolation she had, the one thing fate had decided to keep her away from being shame and dishonour, but it was minor compared to the pain raging in her chest.

 Until she felt a trembling finger stroking her cheek, stealing a tear away.

 With her vision now restored, Ingrid saw the impossible: Sylvain, awake, the faintest smile he had given her on his face, whose finger was indeed against her cheek despite the weakness she could tell came from it. For a moment, a short moment, time stopped, until he broke down coughing and her heart started stinging again.

“’nice to see you, Ing,” he slurred as he looked at her, breathing still as heavy as it used to, glass-eyed and disgraceful all around. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability on his part…

“…nice to see you too, Sylvain,” she tried to ignore that fact and hide her relief to see him conscious enough.

 It meant that, in another sense, she could finally do the one thing she should have done all along.

“Never, ever do that again. I don’t want to escort you out of the battlefield after harvesting your body like rotting wealth.”

“That’s not a… nice thing to say…”

“Do you think worrying me was a nice thing to do?”

If she couldn’t have hidden the tears forever, she surely couldn’t have pretended like she wasn’t blushing from embarrassment after dropping such a line. In fact, like a foolush beginner, she had stolen her own speech away from herself. Talk about a bad move on her part.

 “I… I made you worry…?” His voice was unnaturally groggy and low, as if gravel had infected his airways. It was like speaking to someone else altogether if she didn’t focus on his face.

“…of course you did. We’re friends.”

“Ah…” His expression was genuine, this much she could tell, but his sudden solemnity weirded out in some measure. “Sorry… I thought it’d do the opposite, but…” He coughed, yet smiled, and it confused her even further. “’was wrong.”

“You sure were…”

 They fell into some kind of constantly broken silence, wordless moments interrupted by coughing fits she had never wanted to hear and desired to see gone for the rest of their existences. Her heart continued aching against her bones, fatigue never truly coming to her senses, until Sylvain put her hand away from her face and she missed his undesired hotness.

“Y’know, I’ve always l’ved you, Ing…” He slurred, his face’s flushing making her unable to tell if it was genuine, just a delirium kind of side effect, or a plain joke. Considering the context, she scratched the last theory out on her quick mental list.

Not like she’d have possibly had the wittiness to reply to that in her usual fashion, not when she had feared for his life merely an hour ago all evening.

  “I…”

He’d forget that by the time morning rolled around, right? Someone like him wouldn’t have normally laid down his feelings like that. She could, maybe just this once, maybe because he was alive and she was more than happy about this fact, allow herself a confession of her own.

“It may have been reciprocal for a longer time that I thought.”

 Her response must have rendered him speechless, because all she saw him do was blush even further and almost faint on her.

“Hey, are you alright?!” She yelled without really realizing about it. “You should rest, that’s the only way you’ll win against this thing.”

She still didn’t know what the nature of the illness was exactly, but for now, she’d do without that piece of information. It wasn’t like she had dared asking or even thinking about it, it could have sent her into another wave of choked sobs if she had.

“I… s’pose you’re right… See ya later, Ing…”

“See you. Take care.”

 She waited for him to completely fall asleep before leaving the room, her heart still heavy from the concern, exhaustion of the day and sudden revelations that had showered on her out of the blue. It really hadn’t been the right moment to have those, this much was for sure.

Yet, tomorrow seemed a bit more promising now. She still felt helpless, useless on the surface, and her chest ached from seeing such a dear friend (this, she couldn’t deny anymore) in such a pitiful condition. Nonetheless, she left his room before she could give him the one thing he didn’t quite want in her opinion, her pity, and thought sleep would clear everyone’s minds out of whatever had bothered them during the day and made them endlessly stir.

Yeah, she just needed a good night of sleep and for him to be alright. It was a lot to ask for, but she’d be caught red-handed trying to get that to happen nonetheless.

-----------

By the time day rolled around, even if the fever was still clogging his brain, Sylvain hadn’t forgotten about their conversation.

Ingrid didn’t quite know what to make out of that realization.

----------

jokes on everyone (that includes me, a clown) I know very little about the game, it was just to make my good friend Azure smile and write even more angst

As such, I want to formally apologize if anyone is OOC beyond recognition.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #ingrid brandl galatea #sylvain jose gautier #sylvgrid #sickfic #angst #introspection #stream of consciousness #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #otp: never would and never have

[lyendith]

Ciconia no Naku Koro ni Phase 1 : To You, The Replaceable Ones

I had planned to write this… review? analysis? of Ciconia Phase 1 right after finishing the game about two weeks after its release, but since then I've had trouble organizing my thoughts. The reason is that this first installment alone tackles a lot of themes: war, nationalism, technoscientism, media consumption and manipulation, the blurring limits between physical and virtual reality, education systems, generational gaps induced by technology, artificial procreation, old people robbing the youth of their dreams, the meaning of family and interpersonal bonds, and even transidentity (albeit briefly). And it is quite remarkable that almost all of those themes are represented by one object: the Gauntlet and the idea of “parallel processing” associated with it.

It's gonna be a long and messy review, I'll probably forget to mention some aspects of the story or overlook others, and I won't talk about every single character, but I'll try to cover the essential parts. Not easy considering how densely-packed the story is, but let's go!

So to start, I should probably focus on this VN's protagonist, Mitake Miyao. On a surface level, he's a bit of what you'd call a “tsundere”: harsh, a little irritable and sarcastic with his pals, but always well-meaning and easy to befriend in the end. One of the running threads of the story so far is that he's too well-meaning in fact, idealistic to a fault, which contributes to his odd charisma but also makes the increasing realization of his powerlessness all the more depressing. You don't want to see this guy fail, but because of the way the story is framed, you know he inevitably will.

For a while, the narration and dialogue like to repeat that “youngsters are each generation's main characters”, but that's a sentiment I couldn't quite share − in our real world, youngsters may be the ones will all the dreams, but they sure as hell aren't the ones making the decisions. The climate change crisis, for example, wouldn't be left unaddressed if that was the case. And sure enough, Ciconia isn't so naïve as to ignore that reality. Every single step of the way, Miyao thinks he can use his power to overturn the situation. Every single step of the way, he's reminded that in the end he's just a pawn moving however his higher-ups or other nebulous forces wish him to. That's a really powerful and relatable theme in this day and age, which raises the question of how far you can oppose a system you're an essential part of.

One thing that makes Miyao special, at least compared to his pals from the AOU, is that he's “ciconia-born” − born from natural procreation. Which means that unlike Jayden or Gunhild, he has bilogical family bonds but also hasn't been subjected to a genetic selection that would predetermine his path in life. At least supposedly, but we gradually learn that that may not quite be the case. In fact, that biological link to Toujirou ends up acting as a tether that robs Miyao of even more control on his own life than he thought, leading to the final tragedy of this first Phase.

There also lies this story's commentary on technology and man's increasing dependence on it − technology makes the kids' life easier, but it's also their undoing. One technology prevented an apocalypse that another caused, and the loss of the former brings about a new apocalypse. Humans created the 8MS but only a handful of scientists have a full understanding of how it works, just like today's technology are only fully understood by a small elite of technicians. We are increasingly dependent on tools whose principles are increasingly out of our grasp. Again, the Gauntlet is another reflection of that.

But back to Miyao and the Gauntlet Knights. In retrospect, it is clear that the way both the characters and readers learn about most dramatic developments through disincarnated news reports (with a goofy “news flash” alert by the frog AI Keropoyo to make it worse) is meant to build up that feeling of powerlessness, and also of disconnect. We should be alarmed that war is approaching, that terrible things are happening… but it all feels distant. After all, do you cry or tremble in fear when you learn that an eathquake killed a thousand people on the other side of the globe? No, you'll think “it's terrible” for a minute and then move on, because what can you do about it? Reading the second half of Ciconia felt a lot like that. And while that's part of the message, it is also to the detriment of the reading experience a lot of the time.

For a while (around the 60-to-80% portion of the game, roughly) we get a lot of redundant dialogue about commenting the news and Miyao rambling on about how they're all COMRADES MAINTAINING THE WALLS OF PEACE, again and again and again, to the point it becomes annoying. That's my only real gripe with the game − the feeling that, at times, Ryukishi forgot he was writing a story and went into political or philosophical essays about its themes instead. Maybe a manga or anime adaptation could help make these parts more… show-don't-telly. But as it is, it could have used some serious trimming down. That's hardly something entirely new − who can forget Krauss' tangent about 1986 Japan's economic situation or Beatrice's explanation of Hempel's crow? But in Ciconia the narration doesn't seem to come from any specific point of view except that of the author (and even on that front, the opening disclaimer warns us that the views expressed don't necessarily reflect the author's opinions), so those parts become all the more conspicuous. Unless this all turns out to be part of a Witch's game, which wouldn't be surprising.

Where Ciconia shines however, is at weaving a web of connections between the characters, one by one, to make you care about some and suspicious of others, sometimes both, and deliberately confuse you about who really controls whom. First we have the kids, with Warcat and Grave Mole which instantly grew on me (the slice-of-life TIPS focused on them had some of my favorite scenes actually), then the other kette with their own quirky charms… then the “villains”, with Toujirou and Seshat, then the Three Kings and Jestress who has a delightful dynamic with Toujirou, and then Toujirou is revealed to be Miyao's father, etc... It's a testament to how well all of those characters are established that I could remember almost all of them very quickly despite their massive number. Save for the Cairo Squad maybe. They're just kinda there. The (mostly) gorgeous character designs certainly help, even if Ryukishi still has a somewhat loose grasp of body proportions and of the… number of fingers on human hands. There's some improvement even in that department though.

While Miyao is for the most part the center of the cast, at least on the kids' side, that doesn't mean the others aren't interesting in their own right. Jayden is your classic “best buddy dudebro” whose easygoingness lets him bounce off Miyao's more strait-laced personality in a fun way, but his relationship with Meow, Miyao's “little sister” who shares the same body, allows him to show more sensitivity and shyness he would otherwise have. Speaking of Meow, she brings about another interesting element of worldbuilding − the existence of “Congenital Parallel Processors”, or CPPs, i.e. people born with multiple personalities, who are not considered mentally ill but a full-fledged minority with its own issues and “coming outs”. Although that aspect isn't developped much (Meow herself kind of disappears from the radar in the second half), we do get other examples of how it can manifest, notably with the character of Naima, whose unnamed alter-ego is violently protective of her, or Rukshana who's prone to abrupt personality changes when she laughs. The way Jayden kinda walks on eggs but genuinely tris to to treat Meow as her as her own person while respecting her and Miyao's privacy is frankly adorable, and I almost wish we got more of that at least in the TIPs!

The kette I found the most interesting, though, was Grave Mole, composed of Chloe, Lilja and Koshka. While a lot of characters have issues, all three of these girls are complete mental wrecks to some degree. Koshka spends her time between grumpily taking part in Kizuna chat rooms and horrific body experiments (usually simultaneously) when she's not training, Lilja has to take drugs to pretend like she's a happy, cute and mischievous cat-girl for the sake of making Koshka a more-or-less functional human being, and Chloe has to constantly deal with unfair punishments and a constantly battered self-esteem. As comedic as Okonogi's angry rants and karate-chops are played (and as much as I like this version of Okonogi, strangely enough), that scene where she gleefully lets Lilja be killed in battle makes it clear that her mental state is just as unstable as the other two's.

On the antagonists' side, things are a lot more blurry: a lot of them utter the arc phrase “All is in the name of guiding humanity down the right path.” However, what the right path is seems to vary depending on who says it. That's where a lot of the mystery lies − be it with Jestress, Seshat or Toushirou, their goals seem contradictory, and Tak… I mean Vier Dreissig doesn't even seem to have a goal beyond SCIENCE. But a big part of Phase 1's hook is that constant uncertainty as to who is playing whom and for what purpose. Even the Three Kings, who seem like your bog standard Illuminati knock-offs, might not be as much in control as they seem − hell, one of the big catastrophes (the fatal damage to the atmospheric 8MS) happens completely outside of their control, in an almost comically sudden way.

Speaking of comical… let's get to what I found personally fascinating but what other readers might have gripes with: the brutal tonal shifts and dissonances throughout the story. A cheery scene to announce the big success of a plan for the Order of the Public Bath? Keropoyo pops up to gleefully announce… an avalanche of terrible news that make the success from a minute ago meaningless. A big conference for peace where World War IV will most certainly be stopped? All of its participant die in an “accidental” explosion. Not to mention characters that are walking balls of tone dissonance like Chloe (who has many comical scenes but is clearly broken beyond repair) or the Yeladot Shavit girls (who by the end are forced to spew out fanatical bullshit with the same sparkly smile they sport when gushing about yuri ships).

This is of course embodied by the incredible climax where all the Gauntlet Knights celebrate their comraderie together in a virtual room… while their real selves are busy killing each other lest they're court-martialed for treason. The moment where all of Miyao's ideals are brutally trashed and scattered in a battle we don't even know the purpose of. The moment where the kids' taent for “parallel processing” becomes their sole mean of escaping the horror of their situation. The moment where all the absurdity, all the unfairness explodes in a depressing flourish. The moment also where the thematic resonance with Umineko becomes fully apparent − how can we not be reminded of Sayo and Maria escaping their shitty lives through their magic? Though of course Rose Guns Days also constantly came to mind, with the focus on war and nationalism, Japan being divided between a union led by the US and one led by China, and two of Miyao's closest friends being the American Jayden and the Chinese Lingji; as well as Miyao being an idealistic and charismatic leader-by-circumstance whose dreams crash into a wall much like Rose's in RGD.

So…

All in all, Ciconia might not entirely be what I expected from a When They Cry game, but it is certainly what I expect from a 07th Expansion game: a thought-provoking experience. Again, I finished my reading shocked and confused. Although it might seem like it shows its cards more explicitly than the openers of Higurashi and Umineko, deception still plays a big part in the story, even if the interaction with the reader is less direct.

Now there might be no murder mystery for the reader to solve, but that won't stop me from speculating! The invisible turning point to me is the “Proof of a Program” chapter, where Blue Miyao tells Miyao that he'll show him someone's face, and that that will activate Miyao's murder program instantly. Miyao first laughs it off, but then the scene brutally cuts to something that might be a flashback, a flash-forward or a nightmare, maybe all of that at once… The most graphically horrifying scene of the entire game, to the point it's almost at odds with the rest. And then… it's never mentioned again. Not even when Miyao meets again with Blue Miyao. Like it never happened. My theory is that everything Miyao experiences from that point onward is some kind of simulation, and that's where the obligatory When They Cry time loop will come from this time. See you in May for the answer?

That is all for today, folks!

#Ciconia no naku koro ni #Review #Back to Trianthology soon!

[peachiefics]

Worth the Wait

Pairing: Seungcheol x OC

Genre: Fluff; Almost Smut; Domestic Life/Marriage

Warning: Suggestive Scenes

Word Count: 1,677

Synopsis: Sometimes, keeping promises can be hard-- er, difficult.  Yeah, difficult is the better word.

Author’s Note: Working on part 2, so keep an eye out for it! Also, feedback is always appreciated.  If you like my work, tell me.  It helps me to keep writing :)

    Inez stared up at the white ceiling, wondering how she would get out of it this time.  She couldn’t use her period as an excuse; it’d passed two weeks ago.  Maybe he wouldn’t have remembered?

    A well-angled thrust brought her attention back to the shirtless man on top of her, causing a groan to escape her throat.  Just as his fingers reached for the button of her jeans, she grabbed his hand.  “Uh, Seungcheol?”

    He quickly retracted his hand and pushed himself off of her, plopping down on the bed.  “S-sorry,” he muttered, running a hand over his face and using the other to brace himself on his knee.

    “No, don’t be.  I just,” she trailed off for a second as she sat up and pulled her shirt back down.  

    “Is it me?” he asked suddenly, taking her by surprise.  

    “What?  No, of course not! It’s just….just-”

    “Just what, Inez?  I don’t know much about periods, but I don’t think yours occurs as frequently as you say it does,” he said with a humorless laugh.  She made a mental note not to use that one again as he continued to speak.  “You never told me about any chronic illness, so I don’t think the constant headaches and stomach aches are real either, and food poisoning doesn’t really work on command. You don’t owe me sex, by any means, but there’s a reason we haven’t had it yet and I just need to know if I did something wrong.”

    Her heart broke at the uncertainty in his voice and the look of his somber expression.  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong…but I did by not being straightforward with you.” She turned to face him, crossing one leg under the other as her hand fidgeted with the navy-blue blanket beneath them.  He mimicked her body language, feeling nervous, himself, as she paused for a moment. “I’m abstinent.”

    Both of his eyebrows raised slightly, not in shock, but in pure curiosity.  “So, you’re a virgin?”

    “Yes.”

    “And you plan on staying a virgin until…?”

    “Marriage.”

    He closed his eyes, gliding a hand through his hair with a sigh.  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he mumbled under his breath.  

    “I’m sorry, but it’s a personal commitment I’ve made for my own well-being” she said quietly, eyes drifting away from him.

    “There’s really no reason for you to be sorry.  I’m just glad I hadn’t fucked anything up,” he replied with a smile.  “I’d heard of the ninety-day rule and assumed that’s what this was for a while, but it’s been like a hundred seventy five days, not that I’m counting or anything,” he rushed the last part of his statement, giving her a tense chuckle.  Seeing her crack a smile, he took both of her hands in his.  “Look, I’m not gonna lie and say I’m thrilled about this, but I totally respect it.”

    “That’s the usual answer,” she shrugged.  “I understand if you no longer want to pursue a relationship with me-”

    “You don’t have to give me some scripted way out, okay? When I said I loved you, I meant it. I still mean it.”

    “I…love you, too.  But I can’t ask you to give up something you really enjoy. I can’t make you want what I want.”

    “All I want is you, Nez.  And if having you comes with this, then I want this, too.”

    “Seungcheol, you want to have sex with me,” she stated bluntly, pulling her hands from him.

    “No, Inez. I want to make love to you, and I want it to happen when you’re ready…So I’ll wait. As long as you need me to.”

    She felt her eyes begin to water and her stomach tighten as she searched his face and posture for any sign of dishonesty. She was met with none.

    Inez felt a gentle whack at the back of her head, the sound of rustling paper bringing her back to present day.  “You day-dreamin’ again?” her fiancé asked.

    “Not exactly,” she giggled.  “Just thinkin’.”

    “Well, while you were sitting here thinking, I finished putting our bed together.  You were absolutely no help at all,” he half-smiled, sitting beside her in the pile of old photos.  “It’s more of a mess down here than when I left you half an hour ago.  So much for you being a housewife.”

    She rolled her eyes playfully, shoving her shoulder into his. “Well, we’re not married yet…Besides, I make too much money to be a housewife and we both know you’re the domesticated one.”

    “Fair enough.  There was that one time you almost burned my place down trying to make me breakfast,” he replied, picking up a conveniently placed photo of him smiling in bed with a plate of charred something Inez watched Rachel Ray make, but couldn’t execute quite as well.  His teeth caught his bottom lip to conceal a laugh, not managing to prevent a smug snort from escaping his nostrils.  

    “I can’t believe you kept that,” she muttered, reaching for the picture and huffing in irritation when he moved it just out of her reach.  “Whatever. Look, I’m sorry you had to put together the bed and the dresser-”

    “And the TV stand.”

    “That, too.  But let’s be honest, I’m not the handiest, anyway.”

    “Also fair.”

    “I can help you break the bed in, though,” she offered, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

    “Oh?” he inquired, his own bushy brows bouncing to life.

    Moments later, Seungcheol laughed heartily as she childishly pounced onto the bed, already creasing the neatly tucked sheets.  “I suppose my version of breaking in the bed was wishful thinking at best,” he teased.

    She happily patted the spot beside herself as a response and he followed her silent instruction.  “Mmm, you feel that?” she asked seductively, nose scrunched and eyes closed in pleasure as she ran her hands over the smooth material of the sheets.

    “Yes, I felt it when I put these on the bed,” he chuckled, eyes narrowing in amused skepticism.  

    “But did you really feel them?” she pushed, the rasp in her voice increasing as the volume and pitch decreased slightly.  She laid down, stretching in a catlike manner as her shorts-clad legs caressed the fabric.  

    “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s definitely working,” he replied, shoulders slightly shaken by laugher as his hand absentmindedly toyed with the sheet and his eyes scanned her body.

    She giggled once again and continued.  “400 thread count…Egyptian…cotton.”

    He laid down next to her, following her lead.  “Oh, yeah?  Mm, tell me more.”

    “That matching throw pillow over there?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Covered in 100% pure silk.”

   “Ooh, you know I love it when you talk interior design textiles,” he grunted, biting his lip flirtatiously.

   “And you wanna know the best part?” she asked, trailing her fingers up his torso.

    “Hurt me, Baby!”

    “I got it all on sale!” she exclaimed in an exaggerated moan.

    “Oh yeah, just like I like it!” he yelled breathlessly, clutching his stomach as a roaring laugh poured from his mouth.

    She sat up, leaning over him, features brightened with laughter.  “And if you thought that was hot and heavy, wait until you see the marble dining table I ordered,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows.

    “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek, half-smile fading into an expression of pure admiration.  “I love you,” he said, smiling once again as she turned to lightly kiss his palm.

    “And I love you,” she replied, eyes searing into his. Without warning, he pulled her into a deep kiss, and she shifted to straddle his waist.  His fingers slid under her shirt, but only to gently tickle her sides. Her laughter tasted sweet and he decided that he wanted nothing more than to taste it every day for the rest of his life.

    Before long, his shirt lay forgotten on the floor as their pace quickened. Hers followed soon after, leaving her in a mildly stretched sports bra.  “B-babe?“  His voice cracked a bit as she nipped at the skin below his ear.  

    “Hm?” she asked, shooting up with dilated pupils and rushed breathing.

    “Maybe we should uh…,” he trailed off, eyes immediately drawn to her lips before trailing down her chest. “S-stop.”

    “Yeah, we should definitely-” she paused to catch her breath. “You wanna stop now?” she asked, nodding to encourage an honest answer.

    He copied the gesture, nodding frantically as his words betrayed him.  “No—Yes! I meant ‘yes’!”

    “Okay, I’ll just-” she began, shifting a bit to steady herself and causing a groan to escape the base of his throat.  “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll get off!  As she plopped down on the bed beside him, he sat up and rested his hands on his knees.  “Thank you…for making sure we don’t get carried away during the moments when I’m a little too far gone.  I know it can get really hard for you.  I mean ‘difficult’!” She quickly corrected herself, giggling at the unintentional pun.

    He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly unamused, before sighing and tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.  “I made a promise.  Besides, we’ve already waited two years.”  He looked down at her once more and offered a crooked smile.  “One more week won’t kill us.”

    She grinned and repeated the phrase.  “One more week…Wow, we’re really getting married.”

    “And I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he added, pressing his forehead against hers.

    She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, only to be met with his hand.  “Nez, it literally just went back down.  C’mon.”

    With a gleeful chuckle, she gave a quick “sorry” and a peck on the cheek.  “I’m gonna go get the curtains.”  She stood up and walked to the door.  “One more week,” she pointed at him and winked before leaving the room.

    With a heavily hopeful sigh, he fell back on the bed and smiled.  “…One more week.”

#seungcheol #choi seungcheol #kpop #Seventeen #seventeen fanfic #svt #svt fluff #svt smut #kpop smut #kpop fluff #fluff #smut #romance #s. coups #s coups #seungcheol x oc

[the-gedonelune-times]

I’ll Stay

Hello, hello everyone! Today I’m here to bring a fanfic in honour of a certain dragon boy whose route will be released very soon! My writing may be a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy this fanfic nonetheless! 

Also a big thank you to @leonthecardboardunicorn for giving me some amazing ideas to use for this story, along with character suggestions!

After a long day of both classes and prefect work, I was overjoyed to be here in my dorm sitting down at the vanity, while combing my hair and talking to my beloved roommate. It seemed like forever since we last had some girl talk!

"So what's it like being a prefect? Is it just as hard as you imagined it to be?" "To be honest, I don't know how Klaus and Randy managed to do it all! They made it look so easy!" In the mirror, I saw Amelia taking place at the edge of her bed before speaking. "Oh no...so it's that bad?" Giving a few more brushes in my hair, I placed the brush down and spun around on the seat before getting off and walking over to my own bed. "It's not that it's bad, rather, it's a bit more stressful. I'm really glad Yukiya and Elias are helping me though. Not to mention Alfonse and Caesar, they've been a real big help with the whole prefect thing too." Gently pulling back the covers, I slipped into my bed and proceeded to make myself comfy while Amelia and I continued our girl talk. "Hm, so do you like any of them?" "What do you mean by that?" "Well, I mean do you fancy any of them?! Could one of them be stealing your heart?" Amelia gave a teasing smile causing me to blush and wave my hands wildly in front of me. "No, of course not! At least not like that! Besides, Alfonse and Caesar are a couple and Elias and Yukiya are just really good friends, almost like family. There's nothing romantic going on between any of us." "What about people outside of the group?" "Out of the group...." "Oh! I know that face! You're starting to go deep in thought, aren't you? Oh, your face is even starting to turn red! You really must like someone!" Truth be told, I actually had someone on my mind...he was a bit of a mysterious guy, one who had helped us and even betrayed us a few times. None of us knew what his intentions were, was he friend? Or was he foe? However, after freeing Lucious from the underground Labyrinth, we began to see him around more and more, not that I was complaining. In fact, I was quite happy! This could give me the chance to get to know him more. Just who are you, Hugo? I couldn't help but smile through my thoughts, but I was snapped back to reality when a tapping sound came from the door to our balcony. "Is that Hugo again?" Amelia gave me a curious look and all I could do was look at the door and give her a look of uncertainty. "Maybe? But we've had a few different visitors come to our dorm at this hour. Remember the time when Zeus, Hiro and Lucious came to our dorm near midnight?" "Oh right, wasn't that because of Hiro and Zeus?" "Yeah. Hiro and Zeus were having a fight and Lucious needed our help to shut them up." "It didn't go well if I recall." I shook my head softly. "Nope, in fact, all three of them soon got into a fight and the housemothers got involved." "I hope there's not another fight about to happen." "Me too Amelia, me too." Getting up from my bed, I quickly made my way over to the door, pushing the curtains away; a face coming into my view. It was Hugo! "Hugo?" The moment I opened up the door I could feel a chill blow in. "Forgive me Goddess, have I disturbed your slumber?" "Huh? Oh, no! Truth be told, I was just about to head to bed, but you didn't disturb anything!" "I see. So I take that everything is well? Nothing is wrong?" "Nope, everything is fine, nothing to worry about." "Good. I will see you tomorrow." With that, Hugo jumped down from the balcony and was gone just as fast as he appeared. I reached my hand out in front of me in an effort to stop him, even though I knew it was futile and that he was already gone. I withdrew my hand back slowly before letting it drop back at my side before staring out at the night sky. "Nadia?" "Huh?" "Don't you think you should close the door? It's getting a bit chilly in here." "O-oh, right!" Taking a step back, I quickly shut the door and made my way back over to my bed, once again crawling under the covers, only this time my head made contact with the pillows. "So who was it?" "Hugo." "Really? Again? He's been showing up here more and more." "Well, he told me once that it's part of his duty now." "Duty?" "Yeah, he keeps calling me a 'Goddess' and he says that is mission is to protect me. I guess that means mandatory nightly checkups?" "Sounds kind of romantic to me." "Huh?! Romantic?" "Well yeah! It's like he's a knight doing his duty in protecting a princess. Oh, I wonder if you two will fall in love!" "A-Amelia, let's not get ahead of ourselves now, okay? He's just a friend, nothing more, nothing less." "Aw, if you say so." Yawning softly, Amelia leaned over on her bed and gave a goodnight before turning out the lights. As darkness settled in, my thoughts couldn't seem to stop running. There were so many things I wish I knew about him. I wish...I wish I could find a way to be closer to him. Before I knew it, sleep had taken over and I felt myself drifting away from reality. -------------------------------- The next morning, as Amelia and I were making our way out of the dorms, we both noticed a familiar face and I felt Amelia shake me a little on my shoulder before pointing outwards. "Hey, isn't that Hugo?" "Yeah, how strange, usually he's not up and about this early. I wonder what's up." "Well, go talk to him!" Saying that with a smile, Amelia pushed me forward a little, my legs did the rest and moved on their own accord. As I inched closer and closer to where Hugo was standing, I noticed that something was wrong. His movements were off; he seemed to be wobbling a little bit like he was off balance. Fear gripped my mind and I ran up to him. "Hugo?! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" "G-Goddess?" His voice was shaky and just when he turned around to face me, he fell down, bringing me down with him. The impact my knees had with the ground hurt less than the impact that was on my heart while seeing Hugo like this. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I quickly shouted for help before placing Hugo's pale and flushed face in my hands. "I f...feel like I'm dying." "Hugo, you're not going to die! Don't talk like that!" Situating myself, I moved Hugo so that his head could rest on my lap while waiting for help, which didn't take too long to come. I brushed back his bangs and looked down at his face before looking up and seeing Zeus and Lucious sprinting my way. "What the hell happened?" "Is that..." "Yes, It's Hugo, now can you please help me get him to the infirmary?" "Why should we?" Zeus folded his arms over his chest and gave a huff. "Because he needs help!" "Yeah? When has he helped us?" Lucious spoke up this time, even though he had a sharp tongue, he still helped to support Hugo up onto his feet. Zeus, on the other hand, didn't seem to budge at all. "Zeus? Are you not going to help?" "Why should I help?" "Well, would you rather report the incident to Klaus instead?" I watched as Zeus let his hands fall to his sides and he heaved a sigh before taking position at his other side and helping prop him up. "This is such a pain." "I agree, especially since I have to be stuck carrying this guy with you." "What'd you say pipsqueak?" "Do you ever shut up?!" "That's it!" "Don't you dare summon anything, you moron!" As they walked out of sight I couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for Hugo, I just hope those two don't start anything too bad. Especially Zeus, I know how wild his summonings could get. Flashbacks of him teaching a class caused my body to shudder before dashing over to where Amelia was at. "Nadia? What in the world happened?" "I think Hugo might be sick or something. I'm not sure what it is, but he sounded really distressed and he didn't look that well." "Oh no! What are you going to do?" "I heard that Klaus is supposed to be teaching the first-period class. I'm going to fill him in on the situation and see if I can go and be at Hugo's side for a little while. Just to make sure everything will be alright. Which means I won't be able to walk you to class today Amelia!" I shouted out to her as I ran and in the distance I hear her voice, telling me that it was fine, she even wished me good luck. I continued to sprint onward and was getting closer and closer to my destination. However, on my way there, I ran right into someone and would have landed on my butt had it not been for someone's quick reflexes in keeping me upright. "Do people not know how to be aware of their surroundings in this day and age?" a very familiar voice filled my ears and I could feel a wave of relief wash over my body. "Klaus!" "Nadia? Why are you in such a rush? Class still doesn't start for another few minutes." "It's because I wanted to talk with you about something, well, rather inform you of something." "What is it?" "W-Well...um. There was a student that has fallen ill and well...I'd...like to watch over and make sure that they're going to be alright. So I was hoping that I could be excused from your class for the day." "You didn't even have to ask. Nadia, as a prefect, the students become a main concern. However, I expect you to study hard for the test I'll be preparing, I'm not going to make it easy." "Got it! Bye Klaus!" With that, I ran towards the infirmary, leaving Klaus behind as he shook his head. As I ran, my thoughts were all of Hugo. Watching him wobble and fall to the ground, hearing his raspy voice and seeing that pale and flushed face of his. I hoped it wasn't something serious.... The moment I reached the infirmary, Zeus and Lucious were in the waiting portion, along with Caesar. "What are you guys doing here?" "Great, she's here! I can finally leave and do something that isn't killing me with boredom!" Zeus got up but was soon pulled down to his seat again by Lucious. "Shut up, idiot. Look, we wanted to make sure you got here safely." "You both aren't very honest are you?" "You looking to fight?!" Zeus held up his hands and a green light began to form, but it was soon cut off when someone took hold of his hand. "Don't you dare summon something in here you moron! And you!" Lucious pointed a finger at Caesar. "Don't come accusing me of not being honest, pokchop!" Lucious hissed between his teeth before dragging Zeus as they made their exit, leaving Caesar and I alone in the waiting room. Sighing, I took a seat across from Caesar and looked down at the ground. "They were worried, you know?" "Huh?" "Zeus and Lucious. They came here making sure Hugo wasn't in bad condition. They did it for your sake mostly, saying they knew how you cared about him and that they'd force him to get better." I couldn't help but let out a giggle.

”But hey, Caesar?”

”Yeah?”

”I know why Lucious and Zeus were here, but what about you? Why are you here?”

”I’m just here for Alfonse. He was pulled out of his prefect duties to fill in the position of the school nurse. The one usually had family business to attend to and had to leave immediately. Leaving Alfonse to fill in the position.” "Wait, does that mean you're going to be here the whole day?" "Pretty much." "But why?" "Because I don't want Alfonse to be alone. I want to stay right here and wait for him." "Caesar…”

Caesar flashed me a smile and was about to speak when Alfonse suddenly stepped out of the room, a shocked expression was plastered on his face.

“What are you both doing here?”

“I came to see how Hugo was doing. Is...Is he alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He’s just got a cold, however, he seemed to have pushed himself too hard and that’s why the effects of the cold have become the way it has.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Is it okay to see him?”

“Of course. In fact, he might appreciate the company.”

“Off to see your next patient then?”

“Yes, it appears there’s another student who’s become sick and will need a shot with some antidote inside. But I’m going to need your assistance Caesar?”

“Me? Why? You know I’m not that good with doctor stuff.”

“You just need to be your cute piggy self.”

“What? Why?!”

“Because the student that’s sick happens to be afraid of needles and I think it would be nice if you could be there to calm the student down.”

Caesar gave out a sigh and slumped his shoulders. That’s when Alfonse walked over and took Caesar's hand in his own before kneeling down, making eye contact with him.

“Please honey?”

“W-whatever!”

Saying that, Caesar pressed his lips against Alfonse’s and was soon enveloped in a puff of white smoke. When it settled, a blushing pig was sat down with his tail between his legs, he was unable to look at us directly and was making small oinking noises. That’s when Alfonse scooped him up in his arms and hugged him.

“We’ll get you changed in some work attire when we reach our destination.” Saying that, Alfonse opened up his bag full of doctor supplies and lowered his arms down, allowing Caesar to jump down in the bag with a smile on his face. “We’ll see you later Nadia, take care!”

Alfonse gave a final wave to me before the both of them left me alone in the waiting room, I took a glance at the door which led to where Hugo was stationed at and took a deep breath before walking in. Stepping into the room, I saw Hugo lying down in one of the beds, he had a wet washcloth on his forehead and his breathing seemed better than it was when she first saw him in this state. Walking over to the bed I stood and looked at his sleeping face, I felt a blush creep onto my face, I couldn’t pry my eyes off of his beautiful features.

“Goddess is that you?”

His sudden voice made me jump back with widened eyes. “Hugo? How did you…”

“I felt a presence in the room, one I was very familiar with.”

His eyes slowly opened up peered at me, causing my blush to deepen.

“Goddess...may I ask you to join me?”

“J-Join you?! You mean in the bed?!”

“Yes...is that so bad? I wish to tell you something important.”

After hearing his words, I hesitantly began moving forward until I reached his bed and took a seat on the edge of it. That’s when he reached his fingers up and brushed away my bangs and gave me a goofy smile.

“Goddess...I think this may be the end for me, I just want you to know, that..I don’t want you to leave my side…”

Wait, has Hugo never experienced a cold before? Is that why he thinks he’s dying?

“Hugo, you’re not going to die, I won’t allow that and you need not worry about me leaving you, I’m going to stay right here until you get better, alright?”

“You really are too kind…”

I could feel the tiredness in his voice when he spoke and when his hand dropped back down to the bed, I knew he was completely pushed past the brink of exhaustion. I gently ran my fingers through and played with his hair, listening to the small snores that came from his mouth. I then leaned down and placed a small kiss on his forehead.

“Get better soon, Hugo. I’ll be right here by your side.”

Saying that, I could feel another blush rise to my cheeks. I took a seat right next to the bed and ended up falling asleep right next to my guardian, and I couldn’t have been happier.

#wizardess heart #hugo peers #alfonse goldstein #caesar baroque #mc #oc #fluff #some golden bacon

[fairycosmos]

+ i have a job interview tomorrow and i just cant go. its a rlly good job but i just cant. idk why. maybe its my anxiety or me sabotaging myself again. i know my mom will think im a failure. but i just want to keep studying. i want to keep trying. it just feels more important. i want to want be alive before anything else. do you think im lazy?? iknow you'll never anwser this but should i go anway? is it awful that i never had a job? i just feel like a bum. idk sorry for putting this on u.

hey. no, i dont think you’re lazy at all. quite the opposite. i admire you a lot for caring so much about your studies, for wanting to make something of yourself and for continuing to try your best even though you’re going through such a difficult time at the moment. that’s a lot easier said than done, and yet you’re still managing it, which is really fucking cool. you should be proud. and listen, i’m 18 as well, and i’ve never had a job either. it’s super, super common. it’s not like it’s easy to get a job these days, especially while you’re still studying. and just cause you’re older now doesn’t mean you’re singularly responsible for the financial situation of your family. it’s not just down to you to make money, and that’s not your sole purpose in life. also, you’re definitely accomplishing more than i am, seriously. i know the world kind of pushes the idea that you’re only worth something if you’re constantly being used, if you’re constantly providing money or results or good grades. but that’s genuinely not true. it takes years and years to come to terms with the fact that it’s not true, but it’s not. honestly, how ‘well’ you perform from a capitalistic standpoint doesn’t reflect who you are as a person. how you treat others, how you choose to experience life, your interests and your hobbies - those all say more about you than whether or not you have a job. i know you’re not going to believe me, but you being here is good enough. your presence is the most important thing.  it probably feels like i’m lying, and it will for a long time, but if you start letting that idea into your mind, you’ll begin to accept it eventually. 

your parents clearly have fucked up priorities. and i’m sorry. because you deserve so much better than that. having a bad relationship with them will always be shitty, and you’re totally allowed to feel whatever you need to feel about it. anger, sadness, bitterness, fear, guilt. process it all one day at a time. as long as you try to cope with those emotions in a healthy way (letting yourself cry, talking about it, writing about it, practicing self affirmations), then you’re doing fine. but at the same time, there comes a point where you have to realize that your family have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about. they really, really dont. if they only want to acknowledge you when you’re in a top school or when you have a great fucking job, then they dont deserve you at all. they wont even give you a chance to find your balance. seriously. they wont even cut you any slack. you owe them nothing but respect and since they dont respect you, you dont even owe them that. i dont know how else to put it but i cant stress it enough, they’re awful for making you feel so bad for no reason. i know exactly how you feel. and it’s just. like there’s no point in constantly overexerting yourself for the approval of people that are NEVER going to be satisfied. how they feel about you isn’t actually about you. it’s about them, and their own fucked up mindsets. you are not alive to serve them. you are not alive to be exactly who they want you to be, you know? this is YOUR life, not theirs. and it’s the only one you’re ever going to get. so if you have to make a few choices that disappoint them, then so be it. they’ll either get over it or fuck off, and either way you’ll be better off. it’s ok to start making choices for yourself, man. and it may take some time before you work up the courage to do so, but that’s alright too. it’s all a learning process. 

it seems like your anxiety/depression is the real crux of all of this, though. it’s really worrying, what you said in your other ask. my heart dropped reading it. if you dont confront that issue then you wont like it anywhere, because you wont like being yourself. whether you get a great job, or make a shit ton of money, or continue to study. whatever path you take, you’ll only be truly comfortable if you make your mental health a priority. you have to take it seriously. it’s okay to put yourself first, before the people around you, before school and work. because struggling with a mental illness is one of the most difficult things in the world. and you dont have to beg anyone to understand that. are you currently on any medication, or seeing a therapist or some sort of counselor? if you are, is it possible for you to ask for additional support? and if you haven’t spoken to anyone, is than an option for you? even if you just begin by talking to your usual doctor, to see if he/she can refer you to someone? if you’re worried about money, there are low cost/free options, too. it’s just that, suicidal thoughts are not something you just have to ‘put up with.’ and they’re certainly not something you have to deal with alone. others have been exactly where you are, others understand more than you realize. you dont have to hurt yourself outwardly to show that you’re hurting inwardly, alright? if you believe anything i say, believe that. your life is so precious and rare and significant, man. and where you’re at right now truly isn’t where you’re always going to be. you’re not trapped, you have a choice to make. making the conscious effort to seek help, to admit that you need some guidance, will make a massive difference in your perception of everything. if you work closely with a professional, then you’ll be able to create a care plan for yourself, you’ll be able to learn how to incorporate healthy coping mechanisms into your life, you’ll be able to find the root causes of why you feel the way you do. you’ll be able to talk openly about your family, and the way they make you feel, and your worries about the future. all of that will make the pain manageable. there is treatment available. it wont be an instant improvement, but reaching out is a wonderful place to start. your mental health is just as important as your physical health. and of course, there will always be a part of your mind that tries to talk you out of it. there’ll always be that moment of anxiety/fear, when you dont know what you’re doing. but you need to try to look past that, and to have a bit of empathy for your future self. temporary feelings should never stop you from getting the care that you need. so even if you just begin by calling a hotline to see what they think you should do next, then that’s still something to be v proud of.

i know it’s hard. i get it. i understand more than i can put into words. and i know that asking for help is a massive step. i’m not saying you have to make any big decisions right now. i’m just asking you to consider it, consider yourself for once in your life. i know there are days where you feel like living like this isn’t worth it at all. you dont want to live like this anymore, right? and you dont have to, but killing yourself wont solve anything. it’s ok to feel like giving up sometimes. as long as you know the difference between having a thought, and actually acting on it. you dont have to lean into the pain, you can just let it wash over you. your mental illnesses and your family and all of the bullshit is stopping you from seeing how wonderful and worthy you are, how much life still has to offer you. there’s so much you haven’t experienced. there is so much happiness waiting in the future. it won’t be constant, but it’ll become a theme in your life. you have all of the time in the world to figure things out. this is the exact age that you’re supposed to be confused and lost, and to not know what to do. you don’t have to have everything worked out right now. you’re doing so much better than you think you are, i promise. the only thing you have to worry about is taking care of yourself. that’s the only thing that’s truly in your control. you can create a better environment for yourself. you can create a life that you dont want to escape from, and that’s what you truly need. not to die but to re-envision your own existence. it’s healthy to do that from time to time. 

as a sidenote, it’s completely up to you whether or not you go to the job interview. there’s no pressure, there’s no wrong answer. but i just hope you know it’s okay to take things at your own pace, regardless of what your dumb ass family has to say. i think the smartest move for you to make is to put all of your energy into reaching out for help. continue to study, just put it on the back burner for now. continue to look for a job (tho i think smth part time is realistically a better option for you), but dont put all of your self worth into it. more than anything, this is a transitional period in your life. it’s the stepping stone between here and there. uncertainty is to be expected, anxiety is to be expected, but that doesn’t mean you have to handle it all on your own. i believe with all of my heart that you’re going to be okay. you said ‘i want to be alive before anything else.’ you should always hold onto that. you’re so fucking capable, and you’re so much stronger than you realize, dude. i’m not bullshitting. i’m being straight up. keep taking it one day at a time. if that feels like too much, one hour at a time. even getting through one minute at a time is something to celebrate. look at the next 24 hours of your life, and see what you can do in that time to help yourself - fuck everything else. i’m always here if you need a friend, or if you want to talk about this properly. i’m sorry i couldn’t be of more help. if you ever need anyone, hmu. if you think you’re going to do something, hmu. and please stick around. you’re not going to regret it.

http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines

#tw suicide #anon #long post #chloe makes no sense for 80 paragraphs straight part 2000 #this isn't how i wanted to say this but i hope the sentiment gets thru #is there any way to prevent people that dont want to see anons from seeing them ???

[braindamageforbeginners]

Pre-Cycle 3 MRI

In a recent episode of “Hardcore History,” Dan Carlin discussed the history of torture and public executions. He pointed out that, even though there is a script for most of these things, there are enough uncertainties and variables in the scenario so that you’re never 100% guaranteed what will happen (there are reports of the executioner taking dozens of swings to finish the job, which, as someone who’s worked with cadavers, makes sense - the human body is far tougher and more resilient than you can imagine - if you’ve ever gotten a bad, chewy steak, imagine that but moreso)(I can’t comment on any flavor differences). But the vast majority of the time, the end is pretty much certain for the condemned.

And, like everyone, Carlin eventually wonders what it must be like to be in that weird situation the night before being put to death, in which you have a really good idea of the ending, and even some of the build-up to that, but no guarantees. I wondered why he didn’t get off his ass and make some phone calls to death row to get an interview (I realize public access to the condemned is limited for a wide variety of good reasons, but I’d imagine you could, with some work, get in touch with someone who could make some calls on your behalf or something). Or otherwise healthy people who are diagnosed with an eventually-fatal illness while they’re still healthy. And there are loads of people in that situation - not just cancer patients, but people with Parkinson’s or Huntington’s, or similar situations.

Obviously, you feel fear - you feel horrified, in a way that I don’t think anyone will know until it occurs to them. Loss, not only of your own life, but of all the things you’ll never do or experience. And the unfairness.

You are held together - right now - by some hope that in the future, you will be able to improve your life, or some noticeable aspect of your life. People without that usually don’t function in public. When you get some truly awful diagnosis, there is an abyssal crushing sensation that this is it - this is  as good as it gets. You will, from this day hence, get weaker, feebler, less-you (if you suffer from a neurological disease), until you die. Or, if you live in states with assisted suicide laws, you decide the misery is unendurable (and it’s never going to get better, remember - that’ the thing I keep having to remind healthy people, is, by definition, the minute a disease is fatal, it ends one way. Not to endorse suicide, but, once you hear that sort of diagnosis from several physicians, you’re not killing yourself, you’re just skipping a few of the more unpleasant steps in between then and now.

For all of you wondering, I haven’t yet received that particular diagnosis - yet - but I had enough of a set-back recently to make it, shall we say, more present in my mind. So, the good news - I’ve been cleared to proceed to the next cycle in the trial, which is good; the bad news is, there is a spot (probably several) that are suspicious-looking. It’s not prominent or well-documented enough to be indicative of anything (more on that in a minute), but Senior Warlock did, while okaying me for the next cycle (again, that’s a good thing; if you get diagnosed with growth disease progression in a drug trial, they’ll kick you out in a second, so I guess that means there’s no worrisome progression) cut my observation time in half (in other words, instead of two months to the next MRI, one). I don’t know if that’s permanent or not; I do know that the Warlocks and the team of very protective of their professional/academic reputation for being exceedingly aggressive and getting better-than-average patient outcomes, and this is probably just him going after this as best he could at the moment (right now, we’re talking about something so small on the MRI it could be a weird resolution error)(I hope). I’ve had the truly-horrifying experience, with Mad Scientist, of, “Wait right here, I’ll get the surgeon’s schedule coordinator,” and I’m not there (well, yet; we’ll see in early May). And, it is worth noting that Warlock’s first guess was stroke (what? When the hell did that happen), although it could also be radiation (I heard that as “radiation damage,” since several neurologists have mentioned that as a possible visual, Mom heard that as “Tumor spread,” as in how a starfish’s legs radiate from the center), MRI error (I’m well-acquainted with those, trust me), the fact that the Warlocks like everything in above-HD definition (I like to call it it “ADHD definition”) which distorts these things - if you listen carefully, you can hear the “bargaining” stage of Kubler-Ross’s Stages of Grief.

I’m not going to lie, I’m beyond terrified about this, since, even though I have had several weird blips and errors on MRIs over the years, the majority of them turned out to be serious health risks. On the other hand, still healthy enough for more temodar and Captain America serum, and the original tumor is looking pretty good.

This might seem a little grim, but, as Mom pointed out, even if I beat the odds (and suddenly I’m feeling like a moron for every thinking that), there will come a day - far sooner than I realize or expect - that I won’t be able to write (which is true of all of us, so take note). So, you guys get my rather gloomy musings (better that than nothing, I suppose). Or I might just need my psychiatrist to increase my antidepressant dosage (I’m too tired, but I do want to write about that later).

[deeptimesjournal]

Surrender to Wild Entropy

Beloved Descendant, Mandala 2160 Surya Brahmana Arhaant III “flow like a forest of kelp through cycles of time with faith in your ancestor’s bones roar more; unleash your full force!” ﹣ Arunima I, of the Storm. Change is a force / kills false impressions / dances tandav on graves. Invites us folly to surrender to the wild indeterminacy of her powers. When you’ve received a colonialized education, you’re used to finding comfort in knowing enough. If our world were to flood, they would have us think that to survive means to be prepared enough, to possess enough, have enough / control over these ecosystems of death. Let us take flight from this. Let us ask instead, how will change possess us?

* * I. Journey: to grieve with courage. I was living by the waters of Pacific Island Aotearoa. Certainly secure that we were on solid ground. The security of material and economic privilege is so strange / you become a frog comfortable in increasingly warm water / Did you know that powerlessness is taught and learned? When womxn bodies sense a threat, we can freeze dead in our tracks: we are nervous systems. This is not a system failure: preventing the leaking of energy / this is how we persist. How have we arrived? You and I are millennia old. 202 years ago, the white man took on the burden of civilizing our families, our elders, our babies. Now, our survival has come to depend upon systems of learning created for earning, instead of learning to learn. We’ve been told that if we cannot / stop “producing,” we will perish. So we have become the best race at designing new technologies, efficiently utilizing our minds to labor for capital and accumulation. But Beloved, our liberation, foreign to these foreigners, lives beyond the patri-colonial designs of modernity. Our Poorvaj have learned by // travelling // wailing. When colonial certainties collapse, the ruins of this structure expose the rotting, necessary. Modern citizens put a lot of faith in the four walls of concrete buildings. Our territories will protect us from the danger of / that which is / stranger. This is a false and comforting impression. * * A few minutes after I say “they wouldn’t risk sending us home,” our leaders announce that we have four days to leave the island country. While Aotearoa is one of the safest places in the world right now (and to come, as we shall see) College authorities do not know how this crisis will unfold. Borders are rapidly closing now. We used to have “countries” back then and “going home” from abroad meant usually crossing borders. Everyone else in my group called “the United States” / the name colonists gave Turtle Island / home. Lesson I: Corona has little trouble flowing through bodies. Our group is atop a blue ice glacier when our program gets shut down. The rush of our departure from Aoraki Glacier slows me down: this inertia will soon haunt me, too. A few hours.. or days.. pass as if a strange dream. A few of the Americans in our group have prepared to leave as soon as we get word. Of course, they are nothing if not efficient. Whereas, swimming in ambivalence and strong attachments, I am currently unaware of how fierce high tides are. After a 10 hour bus-ride to the nearest airport, 6 hours on the airport floor, and 2 hours in a propeller plane journeying to the capital, we arrive in some hostel. Sharing bunk beds / I am once again in inanimacy and strangely unpleasurable intimacy with these strange white cyborgs and their deadening / claims to occupation of space. * * II. Entropy: What lies beyond conquest Where do we go from here? The Government of India has barred all passenger planes. Chaotic change is here and I have no safehouse to retreat to. Aotearoa is fast approaching national lockdown. I call the embassy and a disembodied voice indifferently says, “ask your university to arrange accommodation until further notice. We have no information from the government at this time.” They managed to say, “we couldn’t care enough to get you home.” without uttering one word. Keep working. Our International Scholars office buys me a 36-hour flight departing.. tomorrow. I look up the airline to confirm flight details. As of yesterday, the airline is bankrupt. This flight was to refuel in Australia; the country is not allowing any travellers to leave or transit through its gates. Maa and I decide to try an Air India ticket. I should’ve booked these quicker. There’s one flight going to Mumbai! And just as I try to click buy, she’s gone. Faster than I am.**Chaos is holding my hand now. Inviting me to cultivate a relationship with change and her ruthless grace. Aims for my belly button / rams her horns into gut / piercing pain / I’ll wait / I want to go home and home is family.. South Asia / A pool of my blood is collecting. Still, beside myself / managing this unfolding / I’ll prepare to wait it out until they allow flights to run? Yes.. what else could I..? / Oh god.. My insides are cracking open. It hurts to keep fighting for control.** We remain very ill equipped for the reality of change.Focus. try to / see clearly. This crisis is as much about a crisis as it is about continuing to dwell in colonial imaginations of crises. It is time to exorcise this all-consuming exercise for control.Beware. Be less certain that you will always have the walls of your home to protect and serve. Seas of people among us who had homes yesterday are turned into refugees today, held by strange lines / limits borne of men’s imaginaries / What shields from the indeterminacy of chaos? What you deem / hoarded / yours, may become a burden, you stand to lose when change comes.Security will mean bodies in / us / in / voluntary cages. To control is to possess security only until wild times rage. When walls built for protection turn to asphyxiate us, revolts will come. “the natural order is disorder.”﹣ Zaheer, Book Three: Change Episode 10. Long Live the Queen. The Legend of Korra.Change takes off. Her pauses do not allow time for the kind of painstakingly deliberated replies, which it is our colonial gift to provide, in the interest of stability / “in control” / pretenses of remaining unaffected, unchanged by her departure. How will we stay alive? The floodgates open.

**

III. Surrender: care flow tending

My entire being shakes. Finally. Let go. Relief arrives when you stop trying / struggling to float. I invite hands to hold me as grief flows. I am honest about the uncertainty of my situation with conspirators / a comforting outpouring of messages / con-spirare, to breathe together with. Multiple offers to stay in houses. A kindred settler spirit says, “do not worry, dear. If you choose to return to Turtle Island, you will be cared for.” We are all in the business of caring, tending to. So what if this body becomes the first terrain to call my home? There is security in their, too, in the sense that dimming, darkness, forces of death are supreme / they render bare all uncertainty. The Black officer at LAX’s Immigration, Border Patrol and Customs entrypoint has a beautiful smile. I tell him so. He blushes, and we are both pools. Soon after I arrive, I begin training. In the arts of undoing / preparing to receive death / the chaos that has only just begun. There is no planet-saving, no more civilizing conquests here. My queer water-body is an ancestral reverend / learning to harness the limitless imaginaries that our poorvaj’s prayers breathed into us. Learning melanin-richness, she holds / this infinite pluriverse / matters of love / dying matters / with grace and agility. As changes reap a late spring harvest of death, we dance wild with grief. We must. Care for those patriarchal, colonial, capital’s designs do not consider: all beings, more or less.we survive, through intimacy with force: chaos, we thrive in. with care: we prepare for chaos.Our bodies transform. We are sacred forms. our desires are ascetic; we exorcise domination and relinquish his narratives of control. We are sacred seeds.And we take root among the stars, Beloved. * * Arunima Singh Jamwal (Pronouns: A and all, fluidly, 21 yo) In Sanskrit, Arunima means first ray of sunlight and red glow of dawn. Arunima considers their creative path a gift from Creator and their Scythian ~ Suryavanshi ~ Sikh ancestors. As an animist and affective anthropologist, Arunima writes both to visibilize unseen presents and weave liberating visions for Life. Arunima’s purpose is to bring healing and balance to cultures and communities suffering from colonial-capitalism, intergenerational traumas, and cycles of social violence.Presently a settler-immigrant on the Cowlitz’s lands in Portland Oregon, Arunima loves to listen to plants and podcasts. A’s favorite spiral would have to be the Māori koru that represents our return to the point of origin and a state of calm harmony amidst chaos and change. Besides coordinating projects for Lewis & Clark’s Sustainability Council, she leads on-demand, intimate circles to center the ethic of healing justice in your lives, and creates community through their Instagram account, The Gurh Life.

@ Arunima Singh Jamwal (Pronouns: A and all, fluidly, 21 yo) In Sanskrit, Arunima means first ray of sunlight and red glow of dawn. Arunima considers their creative path a gift from Creator and their Scythian ~ Suryavanshi ~ Sikh ancestors. As an animist and affective anthropologist, Arunima writes both to visibilize unseen presents and weave liberating visions for Life. Arunima’s purpose is to bring healing and balance to cultures and communities suffering from colonial-capitalism, intergenerational traumas, and cycles of social violence.Presently a settler-immigrant on the Cowlitz’s lands in Portland Oregon, Arunima loves to listen to plants and podcasts. A’s favorite spiral would have to be the Māori koru that represents our return to the point of origin and a state of calm harmony amidst chaos and change. Besides coordinating projects for Lewis & Clark’s Sustainability Council, she leads on-demand, intimate circles to center the ethic of healing justice in your lives, and creates community through their Instagram account, The Gurh Life.

[stubert87]

I've spent some time wondering if coming back here to write something was too self indulgent at a time like this. But I'm going to start writing and if you're reading it then I got to the end, thought it was ok, and posted it.

I think it's fair to say that the nation's mental health, as a whole, is in somewhat of a state of flux at the minute. Our life as we have come to know it has been entirely disrupted, albeit temporarily. I've come back to this space to share some of my musings and offer support to anyone who's mental well-being has been affected since the threat of coronavirus has appeared. For many of us this may just be the most recent trigger in a series of major episodes of anxiety, low mood, etc. For others this may be the first experience of anxiety or any form of negative mental health. I hope this makes sense. Maybe even some of it may resonate.

I'm more than familiar with how isolated our thoughts can make us feel when we're in the midst of a low point. Add to that the very literal isolation that has been placed upon us through social distancing measures, and we have the recipe for a mental health crisis. But it isn't as bad as it sounds. In every new scenario and environment there is opportunity. We just have to be willing to see past the fear, and seize it.

There are some of us adept at change. There are some of us that aren't. I most certainly am not. I'm analytical and need order. I need time to digest my new environment, figure out how to exist within it, and then consciously marry up my strengths to this new situation, while guarding my vulnerabilities, until I establish a comfort zone. For those of us who aren't as fast paced as others when dealing with change, the entire situation is a wall of anxiety that seems insurmountable. We are paralysed by the overwhelming barrage of "what ifs" leading to "I can'ts" that lead to "I'm a failure" and there we have ourselves back on the edge of The Abyss, thinking that this is no way to live and pleading with the universe to make tomorrow better.

The insurmountable wall right now is made up of a combination of catastrophic thoughts that has the potential to cripple us. From worrying about the health of ourselves, our friends and families, to worrying how long this will last, and when we can see each other again, each question is a potential doorway to a 'corridor of catastrophising'. It's very easy to end up at very scary and upsetting conclusions, such as "I'm never going to see xyz again" or "I'm next". Very dark thoughts in an already dark time.

The process of breaking the cycle of worry is a lot greater than anything I can outline in this blog. There's a reason that forms of therapy last many sessions. But I'll try to pass on a few tips that have helped me over the years.

I like to think there's two places you can tackle your worry. If we use the analogy of the 'corridor of catastrophising', the door you walk through and into the corridor is the initial worry, the end of the corridor is the final conclusion you reach: a dead end is a total overwhelming negative thought, taking another door out of the corridor is us reaching a better conclusion.

The first way you can try to tackle your worry is at the start, by nipping it in the bud. When you open the door and see that "what if" worry, you can ask yourself is this normal worry, or excessive worry. If what you're thinking is something like "I'm worried about the wellbeing of my grandparents because they're vulnerable and isolating for 12 weeks" then this is a perfectly normal worry. Any human being would think this. You then need to make sure you follow up this thought with positive action and find one way to make the situation better. Using the grandparents example, can you set them up with video calling? Can you send them voice notes? Can you get them involved in distanced activities like a video chat quiz or look for events to take part in like the virtual grand national? Taking positive action will help remove the mental isolation and bring about a positive shift in mindset. And much like a negative mindset can spiral, a positive mindset can also gain momentum.

For some of us though this may be to little too late. We might have already walked down the dark corridor to it's gloomy and seemingly absolute end. And also for anyone who hasn't had to work at challenging their thought processes before, simply trying to nip it in the bud is a a lot to get to grips with straight away, and you could actually end up in a strange state of denial where you're pushing the thought away, only for it to come back with a vengeance. So we have to look at reframing our negative thoughts to help us back track and take another turn off the corridor.

The idea is to challenge the thought by asking yourself can I bring any evidence to back that thought up? Can I prove without any shadow of doubt that the thought I have is true? Using the example of grandparents again, it's easy to bring in evidence like "they're old and therefore high risk", "there's already been thousands of deaths". These are natural worries, but they're not concrete evidence to support a worst case scenario. If we try re-framing our thoughts more positively then the thoughts become less consuming and therefore allow us to think more rationally. "They're vulnerable" - correct, but they're shielding for 12 weeks in isolation to ensure the chances of infection are minimal. "There's already been thousands of deaths" - could be challenged by "yes but there's also plenty of cases of recovery and also so many that haven't been infected or shown symptoms. As long as we're all doing our part to stop the spread, we reduce the risk".

By challenging each negative thought we give ourselves chance to minimise their detrimental impact and make them more manageable and easy to digest. It takes a lot of practice but eventually you get quicker at managing these thoughts and you're quickly volleying them away before they can take hold.

Another problem many of us are now facing is the concept of managing our time in isolation so we're not climbing the walls. Not an easy task at all, but one the more analytical of us may find a bit easier. Iregardless it will take practice. It's easy to fall into bad habits when we have too much time to kill. For some of us we'll naturally fall into good habits because we're disciplined. For others amongst us structure and good routine maybe don't come so naturally. The best way to ensure we're getting the most out of our day is to spend up to a week documenting your activities and the mood you experienced while doing it, correlating what our mood was like to the activity and looking for patterns in the day to day, so that we can then start planning more activities that elevate our mood whilst balancing our necessary tasks that may not bring us so much comfort or joy. Sounds simple on paper but I can definitely attest to the fact that challenging your own behaviour and embedding change is never easy.

There are also so many of us who have anxious brains who've suddenly found that we're calmer than usual. That people around us seem more anxious than we are. It's an interesting phenomenon that I've recently found myself in and mused over this somewhat. Having pondered on it a while, I can only draw the conclusion that my mind is used to living in a state of abstract worry. By that I mean I'm worrying about what MIGHT happen, or rumenating on an incident that happened a week ago. None of this worry is in the present. And when you're suffering from a period of mental ill-health it feels almost possible to be present, grounded, and in the moment. But in this pandemic lies a very real, very present threat. One that means our lives are changing by the day. A threat that is very much making us exist in the present. Anyone who's ever been stuck in the rut if anxious thinking knows that when you snap out of it into the present moment, you're capable of thinking and rationalising and lightning speed. So if you're one of us who's found yourself much calmer than ever, make sure you're continuing to keep those positive actions going to build a positive resilience. Think about what you can do to help friends, family, colleagues and your community to keep us all afloat. Sometimes the people who've experienced the darkest of thoughts are the ones who can bring light to others dark times. If this is you, now's your time to shine.

The final key to it all is my age old advice. KEEP TALKING. The second you feel in a slump, pick up the phone and call someone. Video call them. Start a House Party. Never impose further isolation on yourself by withdrawing. On the opposite side, if you haven't heard from someone in a while then call them. Make whatever plans you can in this difficult time.

I think I've meandered on long enough. If you've made it this far, thank you. If you've found any of this thought provoking or even helpful please let me know. I've attached a link to some further reading on covid-19 and anxiety (if you have any reading left in you) I think it's pretty useful

[norihisahyuga-archived]

tagged by @chlance for this 10 + 1 facts about me thing. i’m not entirely sure i’ve seen that floating around before now. also, i’m incredibly boring.

click the read more at your own risk.

i’ve been writing for 11 years. it’s weird to think about it in terms of time now because i used to talk about it in high school, joking i’d have been writing for a whole decade soon. but nonetheless, it’s true. i started writing when i was very young because state standardized testing is terribly boring, takes too little time, and i needed to fill in the huge empty gaps of waiting with something. i’m still not entirely sure what drove me to write in the first place, but that’s what i did. and i’ve almost always been exclusively fascinated by stories about lgbt people and lgbt relationships even before i knew i was lgbt.

i like shitty movies and hate good movies. that’s only half a joke. there are plenty of movies that are considered “good” that i like, but when i actually tried watching a lot of classic movies that people have raved about, i ended up not liking a lot of them or just being terribly bored. it’s not even just a matter of not appreciating the themes present, but more that the films just don’t hold my interest for very long. in contrast, i can binge watch shitty horror films until i pass out in the middle of them. creature feature weekends on syfy used to be my favorite parts of the month for a reason.

i have a fear of ghosts and demons. i’m not entirely sure what caused it or why it’s become such a part of my life, maybe it’s just too many possession/demonic horror films at the wrong point in my life. maybe it’s just that i was raised religious and though i’m not religious anymore, i still can’t shake the fact that i believe these things do exist and can be malevolent. maybe it’s too much reading too late at night. i don’t really know why, to be honest. it’s ironic, because i’ll purposefully seek out movies and books that feature ghosts and demons. the grudge came out in 2004, and to this day i still have a paranoid and irrational fear of stairs late at night and can’t shake the creepy feeling that something is in the dark. might sound crazy, but it’s true.

i suffer from mental illness and personality disorders. and they all most likely result from the abuse i suffered at the hands of my mother for most of my life. i have very high key anxiety, which makes it difficult for me to initiate conversations with people and make decisions that are risky in nature. it also makes walking my dog at night very difficult. there is also depression mixed in there, which makes me very tired and decreases my motivation significantly. i have bpd and avpd, as well. bpd makes it very difficult for me to manage my emotions, as everything feels very intense or very numb, and contributes significantly to my self-loathing as there’s a constant stream of uncertainty in my head. avpd makes it very difficult to talk to outside sources about my issues, which makes therapy at the moment an absolute impossibility. i’m finding my own ways to cope as i can, and i think it’s starting to work.

tadanobu asano is my favorite actor. and he has been since i watched ichi the killer when i was in sixth grade. that was a very pivotal point in my life for several reasons, and he’s very important to me. believe me when i say that silence might have been a shitty movie, but i really enjoyed everything he did in it. i’ve been steadily tracking down and watching his films ever since. he’s the real reason that i started watching j-horror in the first place, which is pretty much what led me to the place i’m at right now and led me to the fandoms that would become the most important to me and the most important in my life. there’s a LOT i would like to thank him for, tbh. he means a lot to me.

i love animals, and they love me. and i’m not exaggerating when i say that. i’ve encountered animals and been told that they’re dangerous, but they liked me just fine. i’ve had stray animals grow warmer towards me and allow me to pick them up and hold them. my grandmother had kittens in the barn next to her house and i was the one who made it possible for my cousins to touch them since they trusted humans by trusting me first. i’ve had people’s dogs who usually bite approach me and let me pet them. and i really love animals. i don’t kill bugs if i don’t have to, i used to play with the daddy long leg spiders that showed up in my veterinary science room in high school, and i raised praying mantises as a kid and kept a pet frog for just over a year.

i have a natural talent for academic writing. when i was in my last two years of high school, my grades absolutely tanked and a large part of that had to do with returning to an abusive environment and being so isolated from everyone that i had no way to cope. my grades suffered heavily, except for my grades in english. my senior year, i was taking a college freshman level class through a university and i was able to get great grades in it even when i often scrambled to complete assignments or worried i didn’t understand the material. i had a teacher comment he never understood how much english meant to me until he saw a test score of mine that was incredibly high when most people hadn’t scored that high. had i kept my shit together and gone to college, i probably would have studied it. i might still some day if i ever get my shit together enough to consider attempting anything academic.

i have a sleep disorder. it’s largely caused by working the night shift and developed the longer i worked there. while left to my own devices, i usually develop a nocturnal sleep schedule and spent an entire summer sleeping during the day and staying up all night several times. that didn’t really translate well to working for some reason. as time passed, it became more and more difficult to sleep during the day to the point where i now have to take sleep medication to ensure i sleep for more than three to four hours before i go to work. during my days off, my sleep schedule almost always tries to revert to me staying up during the day and sleeping at night, and it’s an active issue trying to resolve it. i’m strongly considering changing what hours i work as a result.

i’m agnostic. i was raised in a nondenominational christian church and ended up not going back once i entered public school. when i lived with my grandmother, i encountered several denominations, which were apostolic, baptist, and pentecostal. needless to say, i’m very apathetic at best to religion. that doesn’t stop me from watching movies that include religion or make me automatically dislike media with religious themes. i’ve also retained a lot of information about christianity from my time in the church and my own studies which makes me very critical toward people misusing the faith. i don’t mind people who are religious! i just merely ask that you don’t approach me about the topic unless you’ve asked first.

i’m gay and trans. it’s in my about and my description and if you somehow missed both of those, i talk about it a fair lot. my identity is very important to me. i knew for the vast majority of my life that i was not straight or cis, but i didn’t have the terms i needed to really describe how i felt and wasn’t really able to admit it to myself until recently. however, that’s who i am. being lgbt is very important to me and is a very important part of my life.

i’m a restless perfectionist. it’s why you’ll see my theme change often (though this one is lasting well). it’s why my icon and mobile banner change. on my old tumblr account and on twitter, my @ changed very often, as did my entire layout + color scheme. i want things to be perfect, and that often means changing them. that also means i pretty much bust my own ass on my writing and my gifs and edits, and it also means i hate a whole hell of a lot of what i create because it’s never up to scratch and never what i envisioned it to be.

since i’m supposed to tag 11 followers, i’ll tag @halfpastmonsoon @yoshimiyahagi @hironoshimizu @sparktaekwoon @complicatedmerary @chatcsantana @underjacksumbrella

look that’s enough anyway if you actually read this... i’m so sorry

#txt