#i could make a really terrible joke but ill refrain

[peteypiessuperfamily]

This is the worst day of my life.

#i could make a really terrible joke but ill refrain #but somebody else must relate to having a post about your favorite ship immediately get ran over by a ship you like less but is more popular #also I didnt realize until a week after making the dc post that theyre literally the same post #same wording #same format #im so predictable #its embarrassing #stony #stevetony #superbat #the stony one has been around since like christmas and the other one has been around for like a week or two #smh #SORRY IM BIASED #this post is for nobody #IN CASE YOU DONT KNOW THE POST ON THE RIGHT IS MINE FROM MY DC ACC #IM NOT CYBERBULLYING I PROMISE

[egg-emperor]

Has there ever been a time where Sonic invades Eggman's base while he's sick?

Yes, Eggman can’t always get all the peace and rest that he really needs when he’s sick, thanks to Sonic's antics! Even if he knew about Eggman's condition, it wouldn't stop him from showing up to mess with his latest plans and creations. He'd just see it as another great opportunity because his guard is down and he finds it even easier to get through the security when he isn't in command.

So for Eggman, it's the worst time for him to show up because he can be weakened by his sickness and it's beyond his control. While getting sick is still quite rare for him, it hits a lot harder at his age and he prefers to stay in bed and sleep it off and expects everyone to let him do so in peace. So if Sonic arrives on the scene when he is, it's highly likely that he'll be trying to recover in bed.

If he's in a deep sleep where Sonic and his alarms can't wake him, it's a similar situation to this answer. Depending on how he's medicated, it can knock him out. But when he's interrupted while awake and just trying to relax, he knows he can’t trust his robots and security system to handle it alone. He has no choice but to jump into the action himself, no matter how tired and groggy he feels.

Even though he should take it easy and shouldn’t even leave his bed, he still rushes around. Forcing himself to be active while severely sick can cause even worse nausea, dizziness, and fatigue. He struggles to keep balance when it feels like his head is spinning, or if he's too tired and achy for his legs to support his body weight due to exhaustion. He might just collapse if he pushes himself too hard!

Sonic, of course, doesn't fail to notice his struggling throughout their encounter, along with how visibly miserable and worn down he is after his much-needed rest has been disturbed. He jokes and teasingly asks if he's feeling under the weather, which only makes Eggman try to push himself harder to seem unaffected and prove that he can deal with it. But that can only lead to disaster.

Sonic also finds amusement in the symptoms he can't hide, which flusters him. Examples include when he can’t stop sneezing because he has a cold and has to keep wiping and blowing his nose, can't stop coughing due to a sore throat, or he winces while moving because he aches or his stomach is turning. It varies depending on the type and severity of the sickness, of course.

When he's cold afflicted during a visit from Sonic, he has to keep holding tissues to his nose to hide the way it keeps running and tries to blow his nose repeatedly, which isn't easy to do when operating machinery simultaneously. Sonic laughs at his loud, uncontrollable, and comical sneezes, especially when he startles himself with their suddenness and they make his mustache rise up.

If he has a cough, he'll try not to talk much but easily forgets as he's so loud and talkative. Sonic gets suspicious because it's not like him to refrain and will mockingly ask if he's shy. Eggman will try to snap back but his voice will be extra gruff and croaky and it induces coughing fits. His throat will be even sorer after and if he hadn't already lost his voice, he'll have lost it almost entirely by then.

When he feels a lot of nausea from stomach trouble, sudden movements can further upset it and make him throw up abruptly. He has no time to react and can't hide it or hold back from puking on the spot. When it gets that bad, he's supposed to stay in bed and move very carefully. But he refuses to lie there and let Sonic wreck everything so as long as he's awake, he tries to take on the challenge.

But when his stomach is so uneasy, things get messy. One of the worst times was when he threw up all over his control panel after racing to his cameras to track Sonic. He threw up more while rushing down the halls, then buckled forward and puked again in one of his mechs because of the physical effort required to operate them. It also didn't help that Sonic made it shake and spin too much for him to handle in such a sensitive state!

He tries to hide his gagging and puking but his volume and urgency give it away. Sonic only stops the jokes when it's so severe that their fight comes to a halt because he can't stop throwing up. When it gets that bad, Sonic can't bear to look and urges him to leave it to the robots. Eggman's like “I wish I could but I’m stuck dealing with you myself” because he knows he can’t trust him to go easier on him or his robots under any circumstances.

But despite his best efforts, when he's in such a terrible condition he has no choice but to flee the scene and go back inside to change clothes, take meds, and try to recover. His assumptions are correct because he comes back later to see that Sonic wrecked his robots and base before leaving because he's sure to finish the job he came to do. He says it's not fair and doesn't count as a win because he was too ill to put up a fight.

Then he'll really start to regret turning away from a battle but it's not like he has much of a choice when he's in such an awful state. He also feels extremely embarrassed and even ashamed to be seen in such a miserable and vulnerable state by Sonic, especially one where he's helpless and covered in vomit. He'll try his best to seem unaffected by it but in reality he'll keep thinking back to it and feeling that embarrassment for a while.

And of course, Orbot and Cubot always have to clean up his mess. They can't argue when it's important for him to rest but it doesn't make them hate it any less. Especially when it comes to control panels and mechs as they don't have a good time cleaning puke out of keys, buttons, and levers. But they know it won't be the last time as Eggman never knows when to give up, even when he's terribly sick, so he keeps getting himself into those situations!

#hope you expected it to be gross because it's my specialty sdandsnfdfgh #sick eggman #emetophobia #headcanons #dr. eggman #dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #my post #asks

[ninwrites]

just like old times

also known as the ‘magnus bane & ragnor fell reunion special’ unknowingly inspired by ‘I Fought The World For Your Hand’ by @magnusbicon  💜 

read on ao3

---

“Charming little scrapbook you’ve got here.”

 Magnus let the door shut behind him, falling back onto it as though the ground had been pulled from beneath his feet – which, given the sight before him, might as well have been the case.

 “You could have at least sent an invitation.”

 Magnus tilted his head, pushing himself off the door with staggering footsteps. “You could have at least told me that you weren’t dead.”

 Ragnor took a long sip, his fingers curled delicately around a teacup from a set he’d bought Magnus at least three hundred years ago. Magnus had hidden them away after Ragnor’s … well. After he’d thought he’d seen his best friend die. Apparently he’d been wrong about that.

 “Should I have called?” Ragnor let his cup clink against its saucer. “Or just dropped in out of the blue, somewhere between the defeat of Valentine and Lilith’s uprising? Or simply crashed your wedding, as a memento of nostalgia?”

 Something warm flared and then settled in Magnus’ chest. Ragnor’s ghost would have been far kinder than this.

 “A letter by pigeon would have sufficed.” Magnus let his coat fall from his shoulders, casting it towards his wardrobe. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

 Ragnor summoned a matching cup, the ornate teacup floating through the air to fill it and his own. “Oh, quite a lot I imagine, but I’m not here to get philosophical. I’m here for you, my friend.”

 “I’m fine,” Magnus settled into the seat opposite Ragnor, taking the offered cup with a nod of gratitude. “I’ve been told that I’m positively glowing.”

 “Married life certainly seems to be treating you well,” Ragnor inclined his head toward the photo album, open to a two-page spread on Magnus and Alec’s first dance as husbands. “I am sorry I could not attend, I had some loose ends to tie up before I could return. I would have liked to see your happiness in person.”

 “Fortunately, it hasn’t run off on me yet.” Magnus took a slow sip from his cup, letting the heat course through him. “There is a joke in there, but I’ll refrain from pointing it out.”

 Ragnor raised a curt eyebrow. “How generous. No jokes about my complexion, how I’m positively green with envy?”

 Magnus grinned behind the rim of his cup. “Not yet, but if you give me enough time, I’m sure I could try my hand at a couple, mon chou.”

 “Heavens,” Ragnor rolled his eyes, pouting slightly. “I even missed your nefarious puns.”

 Magnus reached over, squeezing Ragnor’s hand – though in affection, or assurance, it wasn’t clear, not even to him. He believed that Ragnor was truly here, but cementing that knowledge wasn’t as easy as accepting it.

 “I had to protect you.” Ragnor explained, after a moment, both of them complacent with the moment, with each other. “If Valentine found out about you, that you were helping his daughter and the rest of the Shadowhunters, that you’d hid so many warlocks out of his reach? I hoped, if he thought I was dead, it would feed his ego enough for you to make a safe escape.”

 Magnus twisted his wedding ring around his finger. “I’m afraid escaping wasn’t my focus.”

 Ragnor scoffed inelegantly. “Yes, I can see that. I have to say, when I projected into your life, insisting that you chase after love, I didn’t see this coming. I thought the Lightwood boy would be good for you, but this…”

 “Before Alexander, I would have agreed with you. But he’s … something else. Something special.”

 “Then I’m glad you fought for it.” Ragnor knocked at Magnus’ foot with his own. “He’s good for you. I’d be disgusted by the sheer depth and force of it all if I wasn’t so happy for you.”

 “I’d love for you to meet him.” Magnus smiled, unbidden, at the thought. “I think you’d get along like a house on fire.”

 “Well,” Ragnor leant forward, placing his cup on the tray next to the teapot. “If you don’t mind the company, I was hoping I could stay a little longer. Not terribly so, I know better than to get between newlyweds, but I feel … quite dreadful, for tricking you the way I did, and for so long.”

 Magnus reached out and squeezed Ragnor’s hand, soft knuckles and coarse fingertips, wisened from centuries of magic and just as warm as they’d ever been. “Forget minding, I insist upon it. We’ll make a whole thing of it.”

 “I wish I could have told you.” Ragnor whispered, far more sensitive than he’d usually allow. “I couldn’t put you in any more danger than you’d have found yourself, but staying quiet while you held me, thinking I’d died … Magnus, I promise you, I will never put you in a situation like that again.”

 “Valentine is dead, my friend, Lilith is no problem of anyone’s, my father is floating in limbo somewhere, and not even the Clave can touch us now. I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt, or that I didn’t mourn you, because I refuse to lie about something so important, but I would never hold any of this against you. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now, and that’s what matters the most.”

 Ragnor shook his head, his eyes glistening defiantly. “You insufferable bastard.” He curses, lifting one of his hands to scrub the back against his eyes. “I should have known you’d be so understanding. Always seeing the best in others, dismissing their misgivings as though it was no slight, honestly. Catarina would have backhanded me if her little girl hadn’t been standing right there, I saw it in her eyes, but you-“

 Magnus waved the teapot and cups back to the kitchen and leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Ragnor’s neck, squeezing tight. “I am just happy to have my oldest friend back.” He smacked a loud kiss to Ragnor’s cheeking, delighting in the low grumbling that follows. “It does not do to dwell on the past, remember? Best to focus on the future. Ours has gold-leaf tiramisu in it.”

 “Magnus?” The front door creaked open. “You’ll never believe what I found out happened at our wedding, I can’t believe we – oh.”

 Magnus looked over Ragnor’s shoulder, unwinding one arm to wave cheerfully at Alec. “Hello, darling. We’re just having a moment, don’t mind us. It’s not often one of your best friends returns from the ‘not-quite-dead’ you know?”

 Alec nodded, slowly, as though hearing Magnus’ words but not quite understanding them. He dropped his briefcase on the nearby armchair, shrugging off his heavy jacket and laying it on top, realisation slowly dawning.

 Magnus just squeezed Ragnor tighter. He said he understood, and he did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get him back a little.

 “You must be Ragnor Fell,” Alec guessed, skirting the armchair until he could see Ragnor’s face.

 “Unfortunately.” Ragnor bristled. “I’d shake your hand, but this git is trying to pay me back for faking my own death, and I find myself unwilling to deny him that.”

 Alec laughed, breathy and bright. “I won’t pry you away. It’s nice to finally get the chance to meet you, I’ve heard great things.”

 “And not so great, I’m sure.”

 Magnus scoffed, finally pulling away. “You wound me, Ragnor, thinking I’d speak ill of somebody who was not there to defend themselves!”

 “I mean, you did tell me he once locked you in your own townhouse so that you couldn’t meet Camille for dinner, but I personally think it was a pretty nice move.”

 Magnus fluttered his hands, one at Ragnor – who was beginning to smirk like a smug cat – and the other at Alec, who looked far more pleased with himself than he had any right to, really.

 “We don’t need to get into that right now. In fact, we should do the complete opposite, and never talk about it, ever, again.”

 “I can’t stop Ragnor talking about it.” Alec pointed out, slyly. “That’s up to him. But I can promise that I won’t bring it up within the next twenty minutes, at least.”

 Magnus frowned. “That’s oddly specific.”

 Alec shrugged, bending forward to quickly kiss Magnus a belated hello, one hand resting on his chest. “I have to shower. You enjoy the catchup, it’s certainly long overdue.”

 “You might want to dress nice, love, we’re going to dinner. And before you ask, yes, all of us.”

 “I’m quite intrigued by your ability to capture Magnus’ heart so sweetly.” Ragnor admitted. “He’s quite certain that we’ll get along, and perhaps despite my better judgements, I find it hard to believe he’s wrong. Certainly not about you. He wouldn’t marry just anybody.”

 “I count myself lucky to be the one.” Alec squeezed Magnus’ shoulder, and pulled back, heading to the bedroom with the slightest skip in his step.

 “Oh, he is quite the charmer.” Ragnor relaxed against the back of his chair. “I see how he swept you off your feet. He treats you well?”

 Magnus shakes his head in disbelief. “Like I’m the only other person in the world. Some days it feels like more than I deserve, but I’ve never had reason to doubt his love.”

 “Good.” Ragnor smiled, tiny and real. “You deserve it, a love without fault or question. It’s good to see you so happy.”

 “Yes, well,” Magnus tapped Ragnor’s foot with his own. “It’s good to have you back.”

#my writing #my fic #malec #malec fic #shadowhunters #shfanficnexus #ragnor fell #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fluff #reunions #megan #magnusbicon

[cryoculus]

Can you do a part 2 to the ushijima soulmate thing? Please?

← Part One    

Part Three →

» Word Count: 4,736 words

I’m sorry this took so long! This work is also cross-posted on AO3 and it’d mean a lot if you left your feedback on this post or in the link! Make sure to read part one first because this won’t make a lot of sense if you don’t~

***

“Are you really sure this time, (Name)?”

The dubious ring to Mei’s words was borderline offensive, but given all the false alarms that you’ve put her through, you figure that the tone of voice was entirely warranted. You heaved a dreamy sigh as you fell onto her bed, arm resting on your forehead.

“I swear it’s him, Mei-chan. I can feel it in my gut!” you proclaimed.

“Uh-huh,” was Mei’s enthusiastic response when she turned her swivelling seat around to face you. “Are you just going to pretend that you didn’t say the exact same thing the last time some stranger thanked you?”

You stuck out your bottom lip in a pout at her pronounced disbelief. “I-I don’t know! It’s just that, when I talked to Ushijima-san earlier, it’s like—agh!” Burying your face in her pillows, you let out a frustrated groan. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“I’m just looking out for you; you know that.” Mei exhaled a long breath through her nose before getting up to sit next to you on the edge of her bed, stroking your hair. “I’ve seen you give your heart out to a bunch of people who turned out to be the wrong person already. I just—I don’t want you to keep making the same mistake over and over.”

Her voice held a hint of remorse, possibly for her prior indifference. But you knew more than anyone else that if there was anyone who was as engrossed with your soulmate as you were, it would definitely be Mei.

You shifted on her mattress, sitting upright as you stared at the words scrawled on your inner wrist. Not everyone had the reassuring soulmate mark on their skin; not even Mei. Most would call you special, some even said you were lucky. But you’ve always believed that having a generic set of words that anyone could utter to you on a daily basis was more of a curse than a blessing.

To add even more insult to injury, you were a terribly hopeless romantic. The moment a person would say, “Thank you,” your heart almost always skipped a beat, launching you into the mindset that you’ve found your match. And no matter how many times your hopes were smashed into pieces, you’d continue to think that the next person would definitely be the one.

It was no different when one of Japan’s top five aces greeted you with the same words.

Knowing from experience that the best thing she could give you was time to contemplate, Mei left you to your own devices as she worked on the homework assigned a week ago from her desk. Sighing, you wondered how she had the unceasing motivation to balance her school work and her volleyball career at the same time.

“(Name)-chan? Mei? Dinner’s ready!” Mei’s mother knocked softly on her bedroom door.

“We’ll be down in a bit!” your friend replied, putting down her pencil to stretch out her arms. When she observed that you were still deep in reverie, Mei brought her hand on top of your head in a playful smack.

“Ow!” you lamented, rubbing the sore spot tenderly.

“Quit overthinking,” she chided as she yanked you by the wrist, forcing you to your feet. “If that guy really is your soulmate, then I’m sure he already figured it out. I say you wait it out just until he makes the first move, as all gentlemen should.”

You shot her a wary gaze. “Mei-chan, I don’t think the concept of first moves is exclusive to a single gender…”

“Fine, fine.” Mei rolled her eyes. “But all this time you’ve been the one initiating all those failed attempts. Who’s to say being a little more patient won’t work in your favor?“

There’s a preemptive pause in your conversation, and the gears click stupidly in your mind the following moment. “Mei-chan, you’re brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“To be fair,” she began as she turned the knob on the door, “even if you’re a genius on the court, you’ve always been a special kind of dumb, (Name). Always barreling down life’s challenges head first.”

“Yet you love me.” You smirked, heading out of her room ahead of her.

Mei let out a wistful sigh. “Sadly, I do.”

***

On the first day of the playoffs, you ran into an ex-boyfriend.

You anticipated crossing paths with Oikawa one way or another whenever these tournaments rolled around. It happened every year, and you long suspected that he was doing it on purpose. A better part of you insisted that it was all coincidental, but from what you’ve gleaned from his personality in the short time you were together, Oikawa could be as petty as he wanted without feeling any sort of shame. It was no different this year.

“Yoo-hoo, (Name)-chan!” Oikawa called out in that irritating sing-song voice of his, slinging an arm around your shoulder with a nonchalance that didn’t suit your ill-fitting history.

You muttered a string of profanities under your breath. Damn it all. You just wanted to buy an energy drink from the vending machine in peace. Mei, who doubled as your personal bodyguard when the cunning setter tried to talk you into dating him again, stayed behind in the locker room to help your coach with some of the matching schedules for the day. You were defenseless!

“Oh, hello, Oikawa-san,” you said through gritted teeth.

Oikawa simpered, rubbing his cheek against yours. “Say, captain-chan’s nowhere to be seen. Who knew I could get to talk to you for more than ten seconds! Lucky~”

Scoffing, you pressed your palms against his chest, roughly pushing him away. He returned your gesture with a faux-angelic pout that made you want to slap him across the face. After your break-up, you slowly began to understand why Iwaizumi was under the threat of high blood pressure all the time. This guy was insufferable!

You could almost feel a vein popping in your head. “What do you want this time, Oikawa-san?”

“Maa, maa. No need to be so formal with me.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You called me Tooru-kun back in the day. Can’t we go back to those times, (Name)-chan? Give me another chance?”

“I believe (Surname) does not want anything to do with you, Oikawa.”

The familiar sound of Ushijima’s deep-set voice made your lips part in a muted gasp. Shiratorizawa’s ace emerged from one of the adjacent halls, hands stuffed in the pockets of his track jacket. His face was unreadable as he eyed the both of you intently. Oikawa, however, wasn’t as composed.

“Tch, you always want to stick your nose in every aspect of my life, don’t you Ushiwaka?” he snapped, that casanova façade of his immediately crumbling at Ushijima’s interference. “Why don’t you try minding your own business sometime, yeah?”

Ushijima hefted an eyebrow at his uncalled-for animosity. “Why don’t you refrain from preying on unsuspecting females? I believe Iwaizumi is not fond of that behavior of yours.”

“Iwa-chan isn’t my mom,” Oikawa sneered, but his cheeks flushed at Ushijima’s blatant reproach. “Y'know what? Go on ahead. Defend (Name)-chan ‘til the day you keel over, Ushiwaka. See if I care! She doesn’t give two shits about anyone besides her soulmate anyway.”

The setter’s words lanced through your heart without a moment’s notice, making you gulp nervously. You couldn’t even dish out some unapologetic remark as he strode back to where he came from. The words eluded you regardless of how strongly you loathed Oikawa, and you only noticed you were shaking when Ushijima placed a strong hand on your shoulder.

“I suggest that you don’t listen to him,” he told you, eyes roving over your trembling form. “Oikawa has always been…difficult. I know that very well. Were you in a relationship with him in the past?”

“Yeah. We were first years. I didn’t listen when people told me that he was a notorious prick.” You sighed, leaning against the wall as you tried to calm yourself. “That naivety came and bit me in the ass one day.”

Ushijima nodded in understanding, but didn’t try to probe about the specifics of your history with Oikawa, for which you were immensely grateful for. You’re aware of the setter’s blatant hatred for him, too, so if there was anyone that could sympathize with you, it would be Ushijima.

Well, one thing he probably couldn’t relate to you with was the fact that Oikawa was one of the many people you’d mistaken for your soulmate. Once you brought the matter up, the damn pretty boy had the audacity to laugh in your face. Apparently, Oikawa didn’t harbor any soulmate-identifying marks at all. He strongly believed that the whole thing was a sham, and even mocked you for believing in such. That was one of the worst break-ups you’ve had to date, and the fact that you’re bound to keep running into him during tournaments was something you were yet to come to terms with.

“You really didn’t have to stick up for me like that, but I appreciated it.” You spared Ushijima a sideways glance once you regained your composure.

“I simply did what I felt was right.”

A soft laugh rumbled in your chest before you fed the vending machine a thousand yen bill to finally make a purchase. You threw the ace a questioning glance over your shoulder. “Do you want anything, Ushijima-san?”

There was a momentary pause as he mulled over his response. “A Pocari would suffice.”

You punched in the buttons for two Pocaris and the machine dispensed just as ordered. Ushijima crouched down to retrieve the bottles while you collected your change. Once you shoved the coins in your pocket, the ace handed you your share.

“I will make sure to repay you sometime, (Surname),” he promised as he uncapped his drink.

“I’ll be waiting,” you joked, but from the solemn sincerity on his face, you figured he took your words at face value.

In the middle of the comfortable silence, you found yourself quietly scrutinizing the ace as he helped himself to his drink. You thought it was a sight that’s a little mundane for someone with Ushijima’s reputation, but it’s not like you expected him to drink Pocari out of a jewel-encrusted goblet. There’s just something about the domineering presence he harbors that made you forget the fact that he wasn’t some god that could overwrite your existence at the snap of his fingers. He was but a teenage boy unknowingly placed on a pedestal for his unrivalled talent.  

And the same boy could very much be your soulmate.

“Ushijima-san, c-can I ask you something?” Your fingers wrung tightly around the cold plastic bottle, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. At the back of your mind, you could already hear Mei scolding you for your impatience. But the timing was too good, too precise, wasn’t it? Ushijima could have walked by a different hallway when Oikawa had badgered you into rekindling your relationship. Yet, he swooped in at the nick of time, like some higher order orchestrated his entrance just when you needed it.

The ace raised an eyebrow, humming a noise in acknowledgement. “What is it?”

“Um…” You exhaled a shaky breath that you hoped went past his attentive gaze. “I know this is a weird thing to ask, but—”

All of a sudden, the previously undisturbed atmosphere was filled with the sound of your obnoxious ringtone. You cursed under your breath, fumbling around your pockets to retrieve your phone.

“Where are you?!” Mei practically screamed when you accepted the call, causing you to wince at her sudden harshness. “Our game starts in five minutes!”

“Aha, sorry, Mei-chan. I ran into someone.”

“Don’t care. Get back here this instant.”

“You sound just like my—oh. She hung up on me.”

Sighing, you shoved your phone back as you cast Ushijima a sheepish look. The courage you’ve built up ebbed away like a retreating wave from the sea, but at least that analogy guaranteed that you’d return to give it another shot. “You know what? Let’s just save it for another time.” You flashed him an apologetic smile. “I have to get going.”

Ushijima nodded earnestly. “You best give it your all, (Surname).”

The send-off stunned you for about half a second. It’s probably natural for him to remember what you talked about just yesterday, but you didn’t think it would be significant enough of an interaction for the ace to bring it up once again. You swallowed thickly, jamming your clammy hands into your track pants as your cheeks warmed at his encouragement.

You were about to turn on your heels to jog back to the locker rooms, but before you could get further away, Ushijima suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. Your eyes widened at the contact; mostly because of how toasty his hand felt against your skin than the suddenness of his action. How could any human being be this warm in an indoor space—

“I’ll be seeing you at Nationals,” he declared as if his word was absolute, but it’s not like you questioned that fact. Shiratorizawa had this tournament in the bag after all. Ignoring the way your heart fluttered at his words, you nodded eagerly.

“That’s a promise!”

***

The Spring Interhigh Representative Playoffs always held more tension to it than the first Interhigh of the school year—it’s always been that way since your first year in Niiyama. Your coach said something along the lines of it being a team’s second chance for a ticket to Nationals if they weren’t fortunate enough to come out victorious in the previous tournament. Almost everyone who had been denied the privilege always came back stronger, which made defending the title of Miiyagi’s representative every year all the more challenging.

Unfortunately for them, you loved challenges.

“One touch!” you yelled once you managed to deflect the ball high into the air. Once you landed back on the ground, you shot Karasuno’s captain, Michimiya, a lopsided smile. She made a noise of frustration before settling back to position, anticipating the ball’s return.

That was close, you sighed. I was sure she was going for a feint there. Who knew good ol’ Tendou’s guess blocks could save a life.

“Nice call, (Surname)-senpai!” Amanai, one of the team’s wing spikers commended as she sent the ball barreling down the opposing team’s side of the court. Two girls in the front tried to block it out, but Amanai’s shot went through their fingers, landing cleanly on the polished floor.

The referee blew the whistle that signalled your team’s victory, and you let yourself collapse onto the floor in sheer euphoria. Those damn girls from Karasuno weren’t easy to snag a win from at all. So much for an easygoing first day.

As your teammates clamored around you for that last tip-up, you simply laughed off their praises, insisting that it was your intuition that made you act and it was Amanai who secured the win.

“That reaction time seemed awfully familiar,” Mei chuckled as she helped you to your feet.

You batted your eyes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mei-chan.”

Your captain looked as if she was about to say some impudent remark, but then her cheery expression shifted to surprise, and then smugness. Leaning closer to your ear, she whispered. “Don’t look now, but lover boy’s watching from the stands.”

“Huh?” You tilted gaze around, only to be met with the same olive-hued gaze that never failed to mesmerize you every time.  

Ushijima didn’t display any outward reaction when you saw him sitting with his team. If anything, it’s Tendou that looked more excited that you’ve noticed Shiratorizawa watching your team’s first game.

“You totally stole my move!” the redhead squawked loudly, his shrill voice echoing through the high ceilings. “Beautiful execution though! I approve, (Name)-cha—ow!”

One of his teammates sporting ash-blond hair smacked his shoulder, blatant irritation painting his features. “Can you shut up for once?”

“Never!”

As the two prattled on, you found your gaze wandering back to their captain, who was still observing you with a somewhat unrelenting intensity. You gulped as you raised a hand to give him a small wave in greeting. The gesture had Ushijima’s eyes widening by a fraction, but he still returned it with a small nod that made your lips stretch into a minimal smile.

You haven’t told anyone about your little scuffle with Oikawa in the halls; by extension, Ushijima’s rescue given that Mei was too antsy to think of anything else before the game. Now that she’s free of that burden until tomorrow, you considered telling her about the whole thing once you got back to the locker rooms.

(But a tiny, illogical part of you wanted to keep those few moments with the ace to yourself.)

“Senpai, it’s time to go!”

Realizing that the court staff was already making preparations for the next match, you rushed back to as your team headed back to the locker rooms. And even if you were flung into a conversation as soon as you joined the fray, you knew that Ushijima’s eyes never left you for a second.

***

Naturally, Niiyama snagged the title of Miyagi’s female team representative on the last day of the tournament.

It didn’t come off as a surprise to anyone, since your school had always been the favorite to win the playoffs each year. And as you waited for the awards ceremony, your coach insisted that all of you watched the finals game for the men’s division to kill time. Your team was seated on Shiratorizawa’s side of the court, and like all veteran spectators, a majority of the audience had their hearts set on the powerhouse school’s victory, yourself included. 

Everyone trusted Ushijima to command the tides of favor whenever Karasuno gained the upper hand. He had the reliability of an unmovable ace, which made placing one’s bets on the team he’s in much easier because why wouldn’t Ushijima Wakatoshi go to Nationals on his last year of high school?

But as all kings did, Ushijima was struck with a downfall that nobody—not a single soul—had anticipated. At the end of the fifth set, Karasuno High put an end to Shiratorizawa’s long-served reign as the team who sat atop all else in Miyagi, and entitled themselves as your prefecture’s newest male team representative.

It seemed that not even the victors themselves could wrap their heads around the sudden turn of events. The impressive first year duo nearly screamed their heads off as the rest of the boys crowded that blond middle blocker who served as their first line of defense throughout the game. The poor guy had to sit out a set to get his fingers taped, too. You’ve been on the receiving end of Ushijima’s powerful spikes and serves, and you knew that putting a stop to them was no laughing matter.

But when your gaze meandered back to Shiratorizawa’s players, you could see some of them on the brink of tears. You supposed that the disappointment that made your stomach sink was nothing compared to what those who actually fought the losing battle on the court were feeling.

When both teams finished lining up to shake hands, the court was almost immediately tidied up in preparation for the awards ceremony. Your observant gaze never drifted too far from those boys in maroon. Some were letting the waterworks loose, but others retained a mask of neutrality. 

Tendou, however, didn’t seem as sullen as the rest. You weren’t sure if your eyes are deceiving you, but the redhead seemed to keep throwing glances at that blond middle blocker from Karasuno. But you couldn’t quite keep your gaze transfixed on him when Ushijima was right there, head held high like he never once lost a war.

I’ll be seeing you at Nationals.

“What the hell?” Mei articulated in disbelief, and you honestly couldn’t have said it any better.

***

Not an hour later, yours and Karasuno’s teams were lined up on the makeshift stage, grinning from ear-to-ear as the respective awards were handed out. The sporadic glare of camera flashes left spots dancing behind your eyes, but you couldn’t spare another thought at the uncomfortable sensation. Even if it wasn’t your first time heading to Nationals, the assurance that you’ll still be playing to represent the prefecture was all too surreal. You felt as if nothing could make this day any better.

“For the Niiyama Girls’ High School volleyball team, may we please call Miss (Surname) (Name) to step forward to be recognized as the Most Valuable Player.”

The audience applauded at the mention of your name, but the first reaction garnered from you was, “Say sike right now.”

“Shut up and take it, you idiot,” Mei elbowed your side. “Everyone agreed that you’re the one who practically carried the whole team.”

“Mei-chan, I couldn’t have done anything significant without you guys! Amanai scored a lot. E-even Iruka!”

“Senpai, give yourself some credit,” Amanai chided, shaking her head.

“B-But—”

“Alright, just like we practiced,” Mei intercepted before you could utter another protest. “On three. One, two—”

“Three!”

Your teammates crowded behind you in the cramped space and shoved you forward where the organizer, Sato Daiki, was already standing by Karasuno’s MVP. (He was the first year middle blocker who you found out went by Tsukishima.) You yelped at the sudden propulsion, keeping yourself from toppling off balance, and you could see that Tsukishima brat snickering none-too-discreetly.

“Congratulations,” Sato remarked with a warm smile, and you ducked your head a little so he could hang the complementary medal around your neck, muttering your sincere thanks.

In the preceding moment, you were required to pose for a photo with Sato and the men’s division’s MVP, so you flashed a grin that you surprisingly didn’t have to fake. You held the look for a few seconds, until your eyes caught a familiar figure watching from the stands.

Tendou seemed to be speaking to Ushijima about something, throwing animated gestures towards the vague direction of the ceremony in his usual Tendou fashion. His captain was composed as usual, but Ushijima looked like he was listening to his friend’s prattling, nonetheless. The sight made your toothy grin tone down into a lopsided curl of your lips.

In spite of that, the fact that Ushijima was sitting there and not standing here with you only reminded you of the promise that you didn’t really set to stone, but still looked forward to regardless.

When you sauntered back to your place in line, Mei almost immediately noticed the shift in your mood. “You alright?”

You nodded too vigorously to be considered sincere, and at the same time, your eyes managed to catch Ushijima’s even at the distance that separated the both of you. He held your gaze for a few moments before his mouth curved into a rare smile you’ve never seen him wear at all.

Forcing down the trepidation that swelled in your chest, you chuckled shakily, hoping Mei would let you off the hook just this once.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

***

Once the ceremony came to an end, you immediately bolted out of the gym before anyone could reel you back. You ran through the hallways and climbed up the staircase that led to the stands, not caring for those you rudely bumped into. That familiar surge of adrenaline thrummed in your veins as your heart practically screamed, It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!

To hell with Mei’s sentiments on patience. To hell with diving headfirst into uncertainty. You could feel it right down to your core that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your soulmate, and if you had to postpone your long-awaited union any longer, you’d lose your mind. Now that the playoffs were over, who knows when the next chance to finally own up to your suspicions will come?

As you rounded the corner that led to the destination you had in mind, you all but crash into a rigid frame. But before you could stumble to the floor, a strong arm managed to catch you mid-fall.

And that’s how you found yourself staring into the viridian green of Ushijima’s eyes up close and personal.

Though you wished to stay frozen in that moment for as long as possible, Ushijima—ever the gentleman he is—steadied you with both his hands, concern lining his features.

“Yo, (Name)-chan!” Tendou waved from behind him. “That’s funny. Weren’t you just down there a minute ago…?”

Ignoring Tendou’s question, you turned to the ace without a moment’s delay. “Ushijima-san! About the thing I wanted to ask you about the other day…”

It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!

And just like the other day, he mirrored the same expression he wore just before Mei’s phone call interrupted you. “Ah, yes. What would that be, (Surname)?”

For a moment, the considerate expression on his face beat your resistance into futility. All this time, you were too afraid to look him in the eye because you’ve always thought Ushijima’s stares were all-consuming. The fear of opening yourself up to the wrong person once more constantly loomed over your head. But for some, inexplicable reason, you knew that it wasn’t the case at all.

You inaugurated the meeting, eighteen years in the making, with a simple show of your inner wrist.

“Are you my soulmate?”

Ushijima stared closely at the two words marked on your skin. Thank you. A simple phrase that you heard on a daily basis. A phrase that cost you time and effort from people that didn’t deserve both.

And it’s the same words that Ushijima graced you with when you first spoke to each other.

It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!

White silence saturated the air for a moment, for a second, for a minute—until your hope steadily dissolved back into dread. Why was the curiosity in his eyes morphing into an inscrutable stare that you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of? Why did he look like he was about to—

“I am sorry,” Ushijima murmured with a discretion that forced apart the ridges of your breaking heart. “I believe you have the wrong person.”

“Oh,” was your automatic response, like the one word you could use to summarize the crushing dejection you felt was a simple oh.

You pulled your wrist back, hiding it behind you as your nails dug into your skin. You tilted your head back, praying he didn’t see the tears glinting from your eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.” You hastily wiped away the evidence of your rejection. “I should be used to this by now, hahaha! I mean, I get it wrong all the time, so…” Your voice trailed off when you noticed Ushijima still gazing at you with that irritatingly diplomatic tact of his. “Just—forget I said anything. I’m really sorry to have bothered you, Ushijima-san.”

Before Ushijima could say anything in return, and before you could make a bigger fool of yourself, you turned back to the direction you came from, and left.

***  

The drizzle of the shower head beating against your face easily masked the salty tears that slid across your cheeks. Each drop against your skin came in consistent intervals that only served to branch off the liquid emotion streaming from your eyes.

You wondered, if Mei had seen you now, would she still ask why you were crying? No, you weren’t crying. You were just taking a hard-earned shower after a long day. There’s definitely nothing more to it!

(You were so sure. You were so, irrevocably certain with him.

But you were also sure with Oikawa, with Yukihira, with Takahashi, with Watanabe, with—)

Your fist flung, and it hurt—smashing against the wall. You felt a wave of pain electrify through your nerves, jolting your arm, and yet it was nothing. You felt the hit, but nothing else. Just the water dripping down your hair. Just the shower clearing into view.

“No.”

You stared at the wall as you took a few deep breaths—in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“No more..” You turned the shower knob. You didn’t feel the thumping of the water on your face anymore. The tears have gone and so did the weight of it all.

It was time to move onto better things.

***

← Part One    

Part Three →

#haikyuu!! #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu fanfiction #hqfanfic #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #soulmate au #haikyuu hc #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #hqscenario

[peachriffer]

Review: Logic - Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

On his fourth album, Logic proves himself to a rapper but fails to be an artist.

Confessions isn't as conceptual as Logic's previous two efforts and that isn't necessarily a bad thing because Logic's concepts don't tend to be fully fleshed out anyway. The Incredible True Story features skits that don't tie into the songs at all and Everybody attempts to be more topical but fails because Logic only really knows how to rap about himself or how he's biracial or something to that effect. It's hard to understand the creative decisions that led to Logic making Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and why it's so disappointing without some context first so let's get that out of the way now...

Let me be clear: Logic is an incredible rapper. He's technically proficient, his vocals are easy on the ears, he's likable, charismatic, and expressive. He can sing (unlike most rappers who believe they can sing). He has always shown incredible potential but, in the years since the release of his debut, Under Pressure, he's failed to capitalize on that potential artistically. He borrows his style from his contemporaries, namely Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Kanye West, and Eminem. This is fine on it's face. It's okay to have influences but Logic tended to take this a little far. Under Pressure saw Logic wearing his influences on his sleeve to the point where I half expected to hear Kendrick's 'Sing About Me' refrain on the title track. Still though, I was optimistic about where Logic's career would take him, especially since he was so great at emulating other artists so early on.

The Incredible True Story brought us more of the same but also carried with it some of the best beats Logic would ever rap on in my opinion. Not only this but the album also brought with it a space theme that completely failed to tie into what Logic was even rapping about. Overall it was fine but it wasn't Logic's masterpiece yet. He still needed to develop into his own voice, sharpen his focus, and deliver a unique perspective on more topical things. I could sense a masterpiece in him. All of the pieces were there, this just wasn't the right time yet.

Then we had Everybody, another concept album and another failure to quite hit the mark. This album brought with it Logic's signature 1-800 Suicide Prevention song, a track with a solid message that would be dumb to argue against. Aside from that however most of the tracklist is loaded with duds and the messaging is inconsistent. This wasn't the masterpiece fans had been clambering for quite yet.

This finally brings us back around to the subject of this review, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, and why it's such a failure overall.

First off, after listening to this thing I struggle to understand why this album is titled "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" because Logic isn't confessing to anything, he isn't dangerous, nor is the album thought out well enough to have a 'mind' behind it at all. The project's title is irrelevant to the content of the record and was seemingly just tacked on because it sounded interesting or something. The Incredible True Story suffered from the same problem too as the Story it tells wasn't Incredible nor was it true.

Titles aside though, Logic's Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is terrible from start to finish. Individually the tracks aren't so bad but, when listened to all at once, I struggle to see how anyone could believe they'd made a cohesive album.

The title track kicks us off and carries little weight. Logic occasionally reaches to make a point but never does. He talks about things and makes observations that are fairly rudimentary about himself, his culture, and caring for one's self. And that's it. The track just leads to nothing substantial and continues to the next track. The dissatisfaction is overwhelming.

Homicide with Eminem is a major highlight for me, even if it's an isolated one. Eminem handles himself surprisingly well considering his abysmal output as of late too. The track introduces itself with Logic's father joking that his son is the greatest alive because he came out of his balls. Not only is this not funny but it doesn't connect to anything else in the song at all. Over the course of the song nothing notable in particular is said. This circles back to one of my core problems with Logic as a performer. He raps well but overwhelmingly finds himself without anything to talk about. He struggles to stay on topic for longer than two or three bars before changing the subject or providing a throw away line that carries no weight. Every word is low impact because each line is just filler to fill time until the next track where you could responsibly expect more filler.

On the off hand, however, when Logic does manage to say something consequential, the line usually borders on questionable to downright inappropriate. Take for instance the track 'Pardon My Ego' where Logic wishes he could have bipolar disorder so he could make an album as genius as Kanye's Ye. I could rant about this line forever. This is ridiculous on it's face and Logic's intention with the statement is unclear. He should understand having bipolar disorder won't help him to make better music but says the line anyway. He's weirdly complimenting Kanye but gives credit to his disorder for the success of the album. The two aren't necessarily related. Sure, Ye is, in part, about kanye's struggle with mental illness and how these experiences helped to form him into the man he is today. Though it's important to point out that Ye is more about Kanye prevailing despite the illness and not about how his mental illness helps him to make great albums. This point seems totally lost on Logic who seems to believe that mental illnesses are somehow like the real life equivalent to superpowers and that, if you're just mentally fucked up enough, you too could be a creative genius. This is a huge misconception.

This segways nicely into another thing that rubs me the wrong way about Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. It's an amalgamation of several ongoing tropes in hip-hop right now:

- Illusions to being different, being politically conscious, or woke.

- rapping about bitches, money, drugs, or being better than everyone else.

- Society being bad or expecting you to act a certain way.

- Social Media is addictive and is something you should ignore.

- Logic is 'killin' the game. He's a 'game changer'. He's a self-proclaimed Genius. He's biracial. He's this. He's that.

It's all just noise at this point and, truthfully, I no longer believe that Logic has the same potential to create the masterpiece I once believed he would. His latest album isn't about anything in particular. The tracklist could be ordered in any way and carry the same weight, which is next to none.

On the upside, the beats are well-produced and Logic is a proficient rapper. He sounds great over these instrumentals but this is about all the credit I can give the album before checking out completely. Nothing of substance ever happens on Confessions. Logic never has a topic and seems to just spit whatever he wants to in that moment. The best line he manages on this album is: "Scarecrow Flow, I'm outstanding in my field". It's a stroke of brilliance that never manifests itself again on Confessions.

Overall, the more I listen to the album, the more I struggle to find it's appeal outside of just being background music. The whole album is filler, loaded with Hip-hop's most rudimentary tropes and tracks that take up space rather than generate interest. There's no artistic vision to be found here, no plan, no surprises, no concept. The whole album just feels empty, without tension, conflict, purpose, a driving force behind it's creation, or anything to provide appeal or intrigue at all. Logic lacks depth of character and has nothing interesting to say. No new perspective or anything even remotely noteworthy to tell his listeners. Why was this album made? The answer to that question still eludes me and, for that reason, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is one of the worst, most uneventful hip-hop albums I've ever heard. I definitely recommend you sit this one out even if you kind of liked Logic's music up until this point. His charm is just non-existent on this project.

Highs: Homicide, Mama/Show Love

Lows: Pardon My Ego, The Title Track, Commando, Icy, BOBBY

#logic #hiphop #rap #confessionsofadangerousmind

[dybbukdoll]

A list of red flags to look out for in relationships, gathered from the book Why Does He Do That? by Lundy Bancroft. They apply to anyone, regardless of gender. Not all of these will be red flags all on their own, but are still things to be wary of, and could be indicative of future bad behavior. I’m terrible at reading people’s behavior, especially in the moment, so I have this written down in my planner and thought others might find it useful as well.

In Regards to You and/or Past Partners

Anger or resentment toward former partners without adequate reasoning, and/or speaks about them in a degrading or disrespectful way.

Does not take responsibility for anything that went wrong in former relationships, and may claim to have been “perfect to them.”

Puts you on a pedestal, claiming you are “not like other [insert identity]” or are superior to their exes.

Idolizes you, speaks of you as though you’re perfect, like a god/dess (a fantasy.)

Puts former partners on a pedestal, praises them as though they were perfect, and constantly compares you to them.

They Are Disrespectful

Ignores or refuses to understand/respect any aspect of your identity.

Doesn't take your opinions/views seriously, consistently attempts to discredit and belittle them.

Sarcastic at inappropriate times, makes cutting or rude remarks, or always has to one-up people (particularly in front of others.)

Holds double-standards between men and women.

Does not respect women or minority groups, makes generalizations or “jokes” about certain demographics, or expresses harsh biases.

Consistently speaks over or interrupts you, or does so to others.

Blatantly rude to service workers such as waiters or cashiers.

They Make You “Owe” Them

Overly willing to do favors for you, your family, or those who seem important to you.

Does “favors” that you have already expressed you don’t want them to do.

Overly eager to buy things for you or to pay for you, or does so without reason/prompting (especially if it’s something expensive.)

Does one or more of the above and acts like or insists that you “owe” them for it.

They Take Control

Consistently makes plans involving you without consulting you, or asking for your input.

Makes negative comments about your clothes, appearance, friends/family, hobbies, job/career, life goals, etc.

Insists their way of doing things is best, or that they know better, even in regards to things with which you have more experience or knowledge.

Insists (pressures) you do things (sexual or non-sexual) that you have expressed no desire to do or are not comfortable with.

They Are Possessive

Becomes suspicious about the people you speak to, interrogates you about the person(s) and your relationship to them, and may claim they are “afraid” of losing you.

Insists/demands you stop spending time with certain friends or people, or that you limit or end contact with them.

Calls and/or texts you all the time, and becomes irritated when you do not respond quickly.

Insists/demands you refrain from going to certain locations “for your safety,” or expresses a fear that you going there will prompt flirting, cheating, or general unfaithfulness.

Speaks about you like they own you; ex. “I won't let anyone steal you from me.”

They Are Self-Centered

Does not take responsibility for anything; acts as though nothing is ever their fault.

Always talks about themselves, and shows little interest in actually getting to know you.

Talks far more than listens, and never really listens (frequently doesn’t remember things you tell them)

Refuses to clean up after themselves in public places, such as parks or theaters.

Complains when you request to do something you enjoy, but always expect you to do what they enjoy.

Refuses to do anything you enjoy, with the exception of mutual interests.

Expects you to cater to them (emotionally, domestically, sexually) while your needs/desires go ignored.

Only does things for you if they expect to get something in return.

They Go Too Fast

Plans for a future with you (children, housing, jobs, etc.) while the relationship is still relatively new, or without checking if you are ready to discuss such things.

Does not consult you about such plans, or ignores any complaints you have about them.

Ignores your requests to take things slower.

They Are Easily Angered, or Intimidate You

Includes intimidation that appears unintentional, especially if they refuse to see it as a problem or claim it is your fault.

Any use of physical violence, or threats of violence against others.

Towers over you, puts a finger in your face, raises a fist, pokes, pushes, shoves, blocks your path to leave, or restrains you.

Yells or shouts over you, makes threats (including vague ones)

Drives recklessly and/or speeds when upset.

Punches or kicks walls/doors/surfaces, throws or breaks things.

Anything that makes you flinch, cower, or feel afraid (especially if they refuse to correct said behavior.)

Claims any of the above is an attempt to “make you listen.”

Treats animals with little regard, disrespect, disdain, or aggression.

Drugs/Alcohol, Sex, and Health

Any attempt to pressure, coerce, or force  you into sexual situations.

Claims sex is a physical “need,” or insists/implies it’s your responsibility to sexually satisfy them.

Refuses get tested for an STI/STD, refuses to disclose their sexual health, or lies about it.

Any attempt to pressure, coerce or force you into drug/alcohol use.

Drinks or uses recreational drugs on a regular/daily basis, or regularly drinks to the point of intoxication.

Uses drugs/alcohol as an excuse for harmful or inappropriate behavior.

Has un-diagnosed mental health issues or concerns, but refuses to seek professional help or refuses to acknowledge them.

Has diagnosed mental health issues or concerns, but refuses to take prescribed medication or treatment, and/or refuses to see a therapist.

Uses mental health issues (diagnosed or not) as an excuse for harmful or inappropriate behavior.

Uses a physical illness/disability as an excuse for harmful or inappropriate behavior.

Claims that they need you to recover, or uses you as a replacement for professional help.

Other Signs To Watch For

Treats you differently in public than they do in private. (ex. treats you with respect in front of others, turns cold and irritable when alone.)

Says they are are attracted to vulnerability, ignorance, naivety, or treats you as such. (This is especially a red flag if there’s an age gap.)

Flirts with others, checks out other people in front of you, has a history of cheating, or in general does/says things in an attempt to make you jealous or uncomfortable. (Some couples are okay with their partner checking out or flirting with others; this only counts when such matters have not been discussed and agreed on.)

Their friends and/or family are disrespectful to you, and they never step in to defend you.

Former partners claim they were abusive or controlling.

Please stay safe, everyone.

#my post #tw: abuse #tw: alchohol mention #tw: drug mention #abuse #mental health #relationships #psychology #emotional abuse #love #romance

[ghosthunthq]

Possession- chapter 3

From @frenchcirce

For @misskiku

Unedited and un-beta-ed, so I apologize in advance for any glaring mistake. Also, I lack sleep. Forgive me.

4 days prior- 6:00 PM

  “Why is it not looking like it should?” Mai cried, exasperated.

The mirror she was kneeling in front of was showing a rather disappointing reflection. The obi she had tried to tie by herself wasn’t sitting on her back and hips properly, thus doing a poor job at keeping the kimono in place.

Masako, kneeling beside her in her own perfectly fitted kimono, chuckled wholeheartedly.

“There there, I’ll help you,” she offered placatingly, the corner of her mouth still twitching under Mai’s indignant glare. “Get up,” she ordered.

Mai complied, grumbling.

“How can you wear this every day? Not only it is hard to put on by yourself, but it is kind of uncomfortable!”

“Tying the obi is an art, you know,” Masako remarked, not without pride, while rearranging the silken belt. “If not worn properly it may be bothersome indeed. Thankfully for you I had more than enough time to practice.”

The last part had been added with a hint of bitterness, and Mai could only wonder how much of a choice Masako’s clothing style was.

“Done,” Masako announced after a minute, letting her friend admire her work in the mirror.

“Thank you Masako,” Mai smiled gratefully. “You really saved me there. I had no idea we would need formal clothes.”

“You are welcome. You lend me your clothes during the Yoshimi case, we are now even,” the medium stated, eyeing her friends’ attire critically before giving an approving nod.

The team had been invited by Miss Akiyama in the ryokan’s restaurant for dinner, and considering the high standing of the place, Mai was pretty sure they were expected to come dressed up accordingly. Except her poor, part-timer and still in high-school self didn’t have anything suitable to wear. Thankfully she was almost Masako’s size, and the latter, having packed several of her kimonos, had been kind enough to lend her one of her spare.

  Ayako, looking dashing in a deep burgundy dress, entered the room to tell them it was time to go.

“The boys are waiting for us outside, but we can make them wait if you need more time,” she offered.

“There is no need to, we are ready,” Masako replied, and headed toward the shoji door with her usual poise.

  Mai flattened her hair, making sure for the last time there were no stray locks, and followed her roomates, praying she would make no faux-pas tonight.

  The men were standing outside the building wearing their regular clothes. Of course, Mai thought with annoyed envy, their outfits were classical enough to suit the place. Hers on the other hand… She glanced subrepticely at Naru, clad in his usual dark outfit, and tried to ignore how disappointed she was of not seeing him in his yukata. Though it was probably a blessing he wasn’t wearing it, she wasn’t sure she could handle a whole evening with him dressed like that without having a nosebleed.

  “Woah Mai, you look great!” Takigawa whistled when she appeared.

  She blushed, half-embarrassed and half-pleased by the compliment, waiting with anticipation Naru’s reaction. She immediately berated herself for doing so. Since when had she become so vain?

Naru turned toward her and she held her breath nonetheless. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed her outfit, but the telltale of his surprise immediately turned into something darker, a confusing mixture of annoyance and guilt. She deflated. This was not what she had expected.

  Ayako’s voice behind her was complaining. “And what about us, you ill-mannered monk?” she shouted, an irked eyebrow arched. “There are two other women here, shall I remind you? It is rude to play favorites.”

“Rude?” Takigawa repeated, outraged. “Because fishing for compliments isn’t? ”

“I would ask you to refrain to cause a commotion,” Naru’s cold voice commanded.

  That effectively quieted the bickering pair, temporarily at least. Even Mai recoiled, still troubled by the strange reaction he had shown. Then she realized her boss had ordered her to rest earlier in the morning, and that she hadn’t given him a report of whatever dream she could have had. Maybe that was the reason of his displeasure.

She walked toward him in small, careful steps, unused to the way her kimono was entraving her legs.

  “Ah, Naru,” she spoke, scratching the back of her head nervously, “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. I, uh, I tried to sleep like you suggested but I didn’t have any significant dream. Sorry.”

  He frowned imperceptibly.

“I didn’t expect you to have one so soon. We haven’t monitored any activity either.”

“Oh.” That was surprising. He wasn’t mad at her then? “Well, it was worth a shot, I guess.”

  Hesitation flickered on his features before he opened his mouth.

“Mai–” he started.

“Shibuya-san, Taniyama-san,” the manager of the ryokan greeted, before realizing the two of them had been talking. “Oh,” she gasped, putting a hand on her mouth. “I am really sorry I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“No no, it is okay,” Mai smiled politely to the middle-aged lady. “We were about to head to the restaurant. Thank you for your invitation,” she bowed.

“My pleasure. Your table has been prepared, please let me lead the way.”

  Naru nodded and the team followed their host. Thankfully their pacing was slow enough for Mai to walk without tripping.

  In the restaurant they were led to a separate area, where a table filled with food was waiting for them. Mai took place on the sitting cushion gingerly, afraid to stain Masako’s kimono.

“The drink will be served soon,” the manager bowed. “We have taken your special diet in consideration,” she addressed Lin and Naru. “Enjoy your meal, with the thanks of the Akiyama family.”

  Monk stared at the food with hungry eyes while Ayako glanced at it appraisingly.

“Did I already told you I love this case?” she smirked.

“You did,” Masako confirmed. “I am starting to greatly appreciate it myself,” she admitted.

“As long as whatever is haunting the place doesn’t choose this moment to bother us,” Yasuhara joked. “You haven’t sensed anything yet, am I right?” he asked Masako, seated next to him.

  Masako hid her mouth with her sleeve reflexively. “No I haven’t, the spirit may be hiding still,” she defended.

“Of course,” he placated with a sincere smile, “I am just glad you haven’t been importuned. Cases are often hard on you.”

  Masako blushed slightly, and Mai made a mental note to tease her for that later.

“I haven’t sensed anything either,” she mused. “But ghosts are shy, the activity will more likely increase in the next days.”

“The later, the better,” Ayako shrugged.

“The shinkan is almost entirely covered, if anything moves an inch or if a breeze passes through the room Lin will know it,” Takigawa exclaimed.

  Lin nodded graciously in confirmation, and the manager choose this moment to reappear with tea, beer and a bottle of sake.

“May I ask if you are satisfied with your accommodation?” she addressed Naru while pouring the drinks. “We encourage our guests to enjoy the hot springs in the most traditional way, so to stay true to the atmosphere we did not add any electronic device. The room we prepared for your equipment was the only one with enough power outlets.”

  Naru assured her that they were perfectly content and that everything had been done for the best.

“I am relieved to hear it,” the lady smiled. “I scheduled the interview you requested with my mother for tomorrow.”

  Mai’s eyes widened. Naru had requested an interview? Wait, without telling her? She had been promoted to investigator, yet Naru didn’t trust her to interview their client. She frowned, feeling betrayed, somehow.

  “I would ask you to be extremely tactful, she had been bedridden since my father’s passing away,” Akiyama-san added, sorrow maring her features. “They had spent a lifetime together, parting with him has been quite the shock.”

“Naturally,” Naru offered his best business smile. “Rest assured we will take her grief into consideration.”

  The whole table looked at him dubiously. Mai perked up. This meant she should be the one in charge, it was a well-known fact that their boss was terrible at handling people’s emotions.

  “Thank you,” the lady bowed.

As soon as she left, Mai leaned toward Naru, who was seated across the table.

“Naru, when are we interviewing Akiyama-san?” she asked eagerly.

  He raised an eyebrow.

“We?”

  Mai was struck speechless for a second, disappointment washing over her. She felt dejected that Naru didn’t rely upon her. Maybe he was really mad at her after all.

  “Well, I am your assistant, so I figured you would need my help. For, uh, taking notes,” she suggested meekly, hating that it sounded like a question.

“Lin will take care of it. Tomorrow I expect you to tour the facilities with miss Hara and miss Matsuzaki.”

  Mai nodded wordlessly, her throat tight and her eyes stinging. She wanted to ask for explanations, to complain, to have a shouting fight with Naru if needed. But everyone was having fun, eating and laughing, and she couldn’t bring herself to ruin the mood.

So she stayed quiet and looked forlornly at a food that had lost all of its appeal.

  If only she had spoken up, she would think later. But then, she didn’t know how much she would regret it.

#Ghost Hunt #GHW2018 #GHHQ #frenchcirce #misskiku #submission

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction: Resurrection Part 2

Part I

Part 3

Conclusion

Find this on wattpad

A/N: This is based on a request, though I have no idea if this is what anonym anticipated.

„I can’t tell you everything, but I assure you, Farley does.“

Shade repeated Mare’s words in his head. She’d nodded and smiled beneath her tear-stained face. “Really, you should go to her, she must be in Hall 4.” She’d hugged him once more and so he stood here, wringing his hands and expecting someone to stare him dead in the eyes and ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Shade shook his head. Mare shouldn’t have left him alone on Tuck, just ”brought back to life” and in danger of stumbling over his own grave. Fortunately he found his way to Hall 4.

Yet he was still utterly lost. He’d missed almost two years of life before this nice but strange Newblood Myra resurrected his dead body and called on his soul from wherever it had roamed. He couldn’t remember, he could only compare it to dreaming, like impressions swiftly forgotten and beyond his control. But he was still Shade Barrow and this was his body. It felt both familiar and uncanny at the same time. That might be the consequence of existing as a "ghost" for two years. Suddenly, he had the absurd idea what a silly anticipation his name had been and cackled. He knew he was more than "a shade".

He focused on the here and now. Diana Farley was in that building. What would she say? She hadn’t been present when he arose though Mare had implied that she knew while the rest of their family wasn’t on the island. He might see them soon, but until then, Farley would be aching to meet him. He hoped. As he was longing to see her, if only he felt ready.

He made the first step into the hall, trying to be quiet, perceptive to any movements around him. He didn’t need to venture far into the hall until he heard voices. There were panting and shuffling noises, like from moving crates.

“Too bad no one else bothers to help us with these records,” Farley said from around the corner. Shade stepped closer unintentionally, then stopped himself when he saw her. She was carrying a box with another man. He bit his lip and noticed for the first time that his heart did beat again.

“Well, you look terrible, General, so maybe you should take a rest,” the man prompted.

She snorted and shook her head, urging Shade to hide behind a beam. It felt cowardly, but the situation was too awkward to simply run into her.

“I didn’t sleep last night, as Clara is sick,” she replied. “She hardly slept either, and woke up coughing all the time.”

Her companion nodded with compassion. “I hope she gets better soon.”

Farley took another box and nodded. “She’s over there. I thought fresh air might help.” She sighed, and Shade turned away. She didn’t sound like she was talking about a comrade sharing her room, and his thoughts oscillated. He remembered there had been something weighing on them, nagging on him, just before he –

He shuffled away from the beam, turning again to the persons around the corner when they noticed him.

“Hey! Come here and help us,” Farley barked at him and before he was face to face with them, the box she carried fell down with a loud, clanking rattle.

Diana stared at him for seconds. Then she crashed into him.

He stumbled, and as he embraced her back instead of holding his balance, they fell to the ground.

“Brutal,” he mumbled, but hell, he didn’t care about his hurting tailbone as long as she was in his arms and breathing against his neck. She was so warm, compared to the cold lingering in his bones. If he could hardly believe he was alive, how was it for her?

She sobbed. Her hands grabbed his shirt while he stroked her in turn. “Diana … ,“ he began.

“I’m a coward.”

He startled but she went on. “I didn’t dare to watch it happen. What if it didn’t work? I didn’t want to know … whether ... “ She trailed off and shifted a little, the electric blue eyes in her tear-stained face fixing him. “I … ,” she tried again and failed. For a short time, he wondered about the other guy, then decided he didn’t care.

“Dee,” he said, returning her gaze as her fingers brushed over his face with amazement. She hardly blinked, hardly breathed and neither did he. His hands came to rest on her hips, the skin there having been bared by their tumbling. “You’re still too heavy for me,” he joked finally.

She chuckled. “And I never stopped loving you.” Her lips found his brow before she sat up and pulled him up as well. She looked ruffled and flushed and he wondered if he did too, if he was even able to blush again.

Diana cupped his head with her hands. “I can’t believe you’re real,” she whispered. “I’ve dreamed so often you were, and every time I woke up.”

He took her hands. “I am real. Diana, I’ve crossed oceans of time to find you.”

She couldn’t help smirking. “You’re two hours old and you’re already waxing poetic,” she replied with her crooked smile that was both a menace and a promise.

“Unfortunately,” he said, grinning back for her sake, “I can’t remember the lost years. I can’t relate to what you –“ She shot him a meaningful gaze that puzzled him. “But,” he added then, “I still love you too.”

A sigh escaped her throat. “Well, that’s nice,” she said, blushing a deeper pink. “Ah. No dream has ever prepared me to tell you … to introduce you … “ She didn’t find the words and his idea from before emerged again. His heartbeat accelerated, a shiver spread over his body that reminded him he was alive, alive, alive. But that didn’t help him with struggling between excitement and fear.

Do we really have…?

He cleared his throat. “Dee? Have you, I mean – “

She chuckled and wiped off her tears with the ball of her hand. “Come,” she commanded.

He hesitated, yet he stood up, shuffling his feet. He was back to life for mere two hours and she wasn’t having it. She pulled him closer as if afraid to let go of him though rejoice sparkled in her eyes, eyes that bore into his. He had to laugh. Her glare had only gotten worse over time. His amusement was short-lived, however, as she whispered, “don’t be afraid to meet your own daughter, Shade Barrow.”

He couldn’t help looking her over, from head to toes, as if that told him anything. For her, it was funny to watch him realize. He squeezed her hand, then cleared his throat. Again. “So you had a girl …?”

Her answering smile was radiant, yet it was hard for him to look at her. Damn it. She could still pierce his heart with those eyes and smirk and while he was absolutely unsure about how to react to those news, he’d be content as long as she was with him. As long as he was with her, as he’d pledged.

Yet he had to say something else, or do something, and Diana wasn’t helpful with her stare. She really let him boil. He decided it couldn’t be wrong to hug her again when a cry cut through the hall.

The sound broke Diana out of her stance. She mumbled something, spun on her heel and pulled him along. “Come!”

She rushed them around some corners and Shade found himself sprinting for the first time in his second life. “Can’t you be a little more tender?” he exclaimed. “I’m just – “ he trailed off when she stopped out of a sudden.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. And after their skin contact during the last minutes had been like a physical need, she just let go. She fell to her knees, bending towards a small child in front of her. The little girl was coughing but blinked at the sight of Diana - her mother - and stumbled to her.

Shade had to swallow. She can already walk, he thought while Diana stroked the girl's back as she coughed, with unusual tenderness.

In the end, he went down as well and crouched closer. The girl was slowly calming and starting to babble while Diana rocked her and Shade cursed himself for forgetting the name Diana had mentioned. Then the child turned her head and he looked into the replicas of his own eyes.

This. This is our daughter.

He drowned in the moment and Diana hardly made it better. She kissed her brow and said, "Clara, look, daddy is here." Clara wriggled in her hold and Diana loosened it, hesitating for a second before trying to give Clara to him.

He reacted too late and Diana sighed. "I know, it must be too much for you. You were literally dead, and I can't just order you to love her on the spot." She gave him an empathetic, but also disappointed glance while her hand brushed over Clara's hair absentmindedly. She obviously loved their daughter with every inch of her being but she was right: It was too much for him to grasp and make up for almost two years in a few minutes. He needed to learn so much, and not only about these private matters. How was the war going? What had Mare refrained from telling him? And why had the other soilder called Diana "general"?

But bleeding skies, that was for later. He leaned closer, on Diana's shoulder and touched their child for the first time. It was electrifying. Clara was undeniably theirs, a merger of both his and Diana's features and she was ineffably lovely.

He was crying. He tried to wipe the tears away and failed. "She's wonderful, " he managed to say, then twitched. "And hot?"

Diana blinked and blushed. "Yes, because she's ill, my poor dove." She caressed her again. "But she's badass baby."

The remark made him chuckle. Of course she was, given her mother. "I guess you're taking good care of her," he said.

A frown appeared on her face. "I don't need your approval."

"What? I didn't -"

She shook her head upon his reaction, a slight smile playing on her lips. She shifted her hold on Clara and kissed him. "Would you take her?"

He couldn't evade her again. "If you trust me that much," he jested.

She laughed again, earning her a confused look from Clara. She struggled with Clara who was grabbing her shirt and she seemed as curious as an infant could be. But eventually, he held his beautiful daughter his arms and Diana patted his shoulder.

"Welcome back. Now fucking help me."

He nodded gravely until happiness took over. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "as you wish, Dee."

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

A/N: The other guy's name is Kevin, but I found it unnatural to mention it in the dialogue. I might write a 3rd part from Farley's POV if I have ideas for a plot.

"Welcome back. Now fucking help me." -This was a Fade fic request.

FYI, Clara is ill because I am. Real life touches my writing, I’m sorry but I need outlets -.-

@clarafarleybarrow @mareshmallow @acourtofmareandcal

#red queen fan fiction #shade x farley #fade #shade barrow #resurrection #diana farley #clara farley #baby fan fiction #red queen fanfiction #king's cage #glass sword #steel scars #red queen #rise red as the dawn #red queen one-shots #resurrection ch 2

[cooliogirl101]

Hisana x Byakuya a mixture of 41, 25/26 and 15. That is a lot but I think these can really go together well. Thank you!

And here you have my way too long, 6000 word future AU scene of WTL (warnings: I took extreme liberties with the prompts). 

Kurosawa Haru maintains that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s just that…well, he’s worried aboutKuchiki-fukutaicho. He knows he’s not the only one either; she’s been unusuallyshort tempered these past couple of weeks and even the most oblivious members ofthe Fourth Division have noticed. Sure, part of it may be attributed to thefact that both her husband and her sister are currently on a 2-month longmission in the living world, but the other day she’d actually snapped at Ukitake-taicho before promptly burstinginto tears, mumbling an apology, and running off.

So yeah. Haru thinks he has decent reason to be concerned atthis point, especially given that fifteen minutes ago, Kuchiki-fukutaicho hadentered the Fourth Division headquarters (already an unusual occurrence, giventhat it’s half past noon and she’s normally in here by seven in the morning)with an incredibly distracted look on her face, before making a beeline forUnohana-taicho’s office without so much as offering a greeting to anyone in herway.

This is around the time that Haru decides it’s a good timefor a little extra spring cleaning (everyone knows that Kuchiki-fukutaicho is astickler for good hygiene; since it’s pretty obvious that she’s fairly stressedright now, what better way to cheer her up than by going above-and-beyond his usualcleaning duties?). If he chooses to sweep the corridor outside Unohana-taicho’soffice first, well, it only makes sense that he start with that area. Taichodeserves only the best, after all. And if he just so happens to sweep that areaa few more times than strictly necessary, hey, that’s just him being thorough.  

…okay, maybe it’s possible that the eavesdropping may nothave been strictly accidental. Harucan’t bring himself to regret doing so though, not if it means getting to thebottom of what’s been bothering Kuchiki-fukutaicho. After all, if he doesn’tknow what’s wrong, how can he help fix it?

“So, you’re certain then?” Kuchiki-fukutaicho’s voice comesfrom behind the door, sounding a bit shell-shocked. Haru frowns, straining tohear more (he’s also holding his broom about a foot off the ground, and it’s asign of how focused he is on the conversation happening inside the room that hedoesn’t realize he’s now sweeping the air). He can count on one hand the numberof times he’s heard his lieutenant sound so unsure, and it’s never precededanything good. “I’m really…?”

“Yes,” Unohanareplies softly. “You were right, Hisana.”

There’s a long silence and then Kuchiki-fukutaicho lets outa slightly choked noise, full of emotion. Haru swallows, hands clenchingtightly around the handle of his broom, because that? That had sounded like asob.

“I-I’m sorry,” she apologizes wetly. “I just…I-I can’tbelieve…”

“Take all the time you need,” Unohana says, gentle and kindand reassuring. Haru’s never heard her talk to a patient any other way, noteven in the face of the most terrible injuries, and while he’s always admiredthat ability of hers, he curses it now because it gives nothing away on how thesituation really is.

It must be bad though, for Kuchiki-fukutaicho to cry aboutit. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to figure out how he’s going to breakthis to everyone else. God, and with Kuchiki-fukutaicho and Rukia-chan out ofthe Seireitei—

It doesn’t matter, Harudecides firmly, hands tightening around the handle of his broom. It doesn’t matter that they’re not here,because she won’t be alone. She has me, and taicho, and the rest of the Fourth,and we’re all going to help her through this.

Haru tunes back into the conversation just in time to hearUnohana-taicho mention something about weekly health check-ups.

“—so that I can keep a close eye on things,” Unohana-taichosays in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “And of course, I don’t thinkI have to tell you to refrain from using kido and to stay away from anythingtoo physically taxing.” A pause. “In fact, perhaps it’s better if I take youoff active duty for the foreseeable future.”

“If you think that’s for the best,” Kuchiki-fukutaichoagrees.

Haru drops his broom. Dear god, it was worse than he’dthought.

“What.” Ogidou Harunobu says flatly.

“I’m telling you, it’s true!” Haru insists.“Kuchiki-fukutaicho’s really sick!”

With a sigh, Harunobu turns away and goes back to foldingthe bedsheets. “If you’re going to spread stupid rumors, couldn’t you have atleast bothered to make up something believable?”

“I’m not lying!” Suddenly angry, Haru grabs Harunobu by thearm and forces the other healer to face him. “Look, I was outside taicho’s officewhen they were talking, and it sounded really serious, okay? I wouldn’t jokeabout something like this.���

“Then you must have misheard,” Harunobu says, shaking hishead. “There’s just…no, it’s got to be a mistake. Besides, don’t you thinkKuchiki-fukutaicho would have said something?”

“When’s the last time Kuchiki-fukutaicho said anything inregards to her own health aside from ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me’?” Harusnorts.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Harunobu admits. “But I stillthink you’re overreacting. So she took some time off, what’s the big deal? Asfar as I’m concerned, she deserves it. Aside from trips to Inuzuri every twoyears or so, she hasn’t taken a single vacation day in her time here.”

“Look, I know it sounds hard to believe, but you weren’tthere. She—” Haru swallows. “—she was crying,man. And sure, maybe I don’t know exactly what she has, but I do know thatit’s serious. I mean, she took time off. Think about that for a moment, willyou? Kuchiki Hisana willingly went on amedical leave of absence.”

For the first time, a flash of uncertainty crosses Harunobu’sface.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he protests weakly. “She’sallowed to take some time off if she’s not feeling well—just because sherefused to when she broke her arm that one time…or when that Clown-facedbastard ‘accidentally’ poisoned her…or when she ended up with four broken ribsand a concussion after that spar with Ichimaru-fukutaicho…” Harunobu trailsoff, horrified, as Haru nods grimly. “Oh my god, she must be dying.”

“Kuchiki-fukutaicho?” Nakada Fujiko asks hesitantly as shespots the Fourth Division lieutenant in her office, pouring over a stack ofpaperwork. “Aren’t you…aren’t you supposed to be resting right now?”

“You too, huh?” Hisana smiles wryly, flipping over anothersheet of paper. “You’re the third person today to ask me that question, andI’ve only been here an hour. I’m guessing by the reactions of everyone herethat the secret is out?” Hisana’s voice is carefully blank and Fujiko takes abrief moment to mentally curse Haru. Ofcourse Kuchiki-fukutaicho would be upset; she’d barely had the chance tocome to terms with the news herself and the idiot had gone and blabbed her privatelife to the entire division.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad at you Nakada-san,” Hisana sayskindly. The other girl has a faint smile on her lips as she studies Fujiko,apparently having guessed the direction of her thoughts. “The news would havecome out eventually. Granted, I would have liked to tell Byakuya and Rukiafirst, but if people know, they know. Honestly, I should have known better,given the strength of the Seireitei’s rumor mill.”

There’s a spark of humor in Hisana’s eyes and Fujikoswallows, feeling her admiration for her lieutenant grow. She’s pretty surethat if she was inKuchiki-fukutaicho’s place, she’d be in bed and huddled under a dozen blanketsright now, not doing paperwork and cracking jokes to make some girl twenty ranksbelow her feel better.

“I…I promise to do everything I can to help you through this,”Fujiko vows, making a mental note to enlist a couple friends to help hercontain the rumors. Or, failing that, to help her stop any nosy shinigami frombothering Kuchiki-fukutaicho about her illness. She deserved the chance to tellpeople herself, when she was ready. “You just focus on taking care of yourself,alright? Anything you need, anything at all, just tell one of us!” To hermortification, Fujiko feels herself tearing up and she angrily forces them back.Kuchiki-fukutaicho was the one who was sick and she wasn’t crying, so why was she?

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Hisana says, lookingslightly surprised at the fervor in Fujiko’s words. It only makes her feelworse—for as long as she can remember, Kuchiki-fukutaicho has always beensomeone she’s felt she could turn to for any worries or troubles in her life.And for her to be so taken aback at Fujiko offering to return the favor…hadthat relationship really been so one-sided? “This is all new territory for me,I’m afraid, so I’ll need all the help I can get…” Her voice trails off. “Areyou feeling quite alright, Nakada-san?”

“I’m fine!” Fujiko squeaks, choking back the sob thatthreatens to escape. “I just…I want you tobe, that’s all.” At that, Hisana’s expression softens.

“Well, I can’t say that it’s going to be easy, especiallywith Byakuya gone right now and all,” she admits. “But I’m in the best possiblehands right now, I’ve got people I trust supporting me—” Here Hisana glances ather warmly and Fujiko can’t help but blush slightly at the implication. “—andthat’s all I can ask for, really.”

Fujiko leaves not long after, promising to stop by later anddrop off some homemade baked goods because “You need to keep your strength up,Kuchiki-fukutaicho!” Hisana watches her go, a slightly puzzled frown on herlips as she mentally reviews the other girl’s behavior.

She’d expected that a few people would get emotional at thenews and had anticipated some concern, just…not on this level. It leaves herfeeling equal parts touched and worried (Unohana-taicho had mentioned thatcompared to a human, her body would be put under a lot more strain and thus theassociated risks would be proportionally higher. Still, the way Nakada—andseveral other members of the Fourth—had been acting, you’d think she was dyingor something).

If they’re scared,it’s only because they care, Tenshi no Tsubasa points out.

Hmm. I guess you’reright, Hisana agrees, choosing to put the matter out of her head. I suppose I’m very lucky then, to have somany people care so much. Absently, she rests one hand against her stomachand smiles.

Yes, very luckyindeed.

“Well?” Haru snaps as Harunobu slips into the room, closing thedoor behind him. “What’d taicho say?”

“From what I’ve gathered, there’s a pretty good chance ofeverything turning out fine as long as she gets through the next few weeks.Apparently, the first three months are the riskiest period for things to gowrong,” Harunobu sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “What a time forKuchiki-taicho to be away, huh?”

“Hey now, let’s worry about one thing at a time here,” Harusays hastily, even as Hayashi Tadahiko pales at the thought of KuchikiByakuya’s reaction to his wife’s illness. Harunobu doesn’t blame him—the SixthDivision captain’s anger is a scary, scary thing indeed. So scary, in fact,that ‘sakuraphobia’ has become a legitimized disorder in the Seireitei.

There’s even a support group for it. They meet on Thursdayevenings. By the way things are going, Harunobu’s willing to bet that they’llbe getting some new members soon.

“What about you two? Anything new to report?” Haru continuesin a quieter voice, turning to the girls sitting in the corner of the room.“You’re the ones closest to her. How’s she doing?”

Harunobu watches as Kotetsu Isane and Tsukuda Ayame exchangea glance, before Isane turns to offer the rest of the group a weak smile.

“It’s been hard,” she admits. “But, well, you know Hisana.She’s trying her best not to let it show, to pretend that nothing’s wrong. Sheactually got in a shouting match with Iemura-san over it yesterday, kepttelling him to ‘quit coddling her’ and to ‘stop wasting division resources byassigning healers to stalk her.’ Even threatened to send him on a week-longmission to the Rukongai if he didn’t listen. Which honestly, we should haveexpected. I mean it’s Hisana; ofcourse she’d hate the thought of troubling us.”

“Stupid,” Ayame sniffs angrily, wiping at her eyes. “As ifshe could ever be a burden. But ofcourse, she doesn’t see it that way, and now she’s…she’s—” Blowing her noseloudly into a tissue, she stands up and promptly runs out of the room. “Excuseme for a moment.”

“…Kuchiki-fukutaicho’s been getting worse, hasn’t she?” Haruasks solemnly as he watches Ayame go.

“She fainted in the hallway today,” Isane confirms quietly.“If Hanataro-kun hadn’t been there to catch her…” Her voice trails off. “It’sgetting more and more difficult to keep this from the other squads too. I knowYamanaka-san and Nakada-san are trying their best, but people have started tonotice that…well, that something’s wrong. Hard not to, when she can hardly keepanything down these days, sleeps twice as much as she used to, and walks aroundwith a constant low-grade fever.”

“Does anyone actually know exactly what is wrong with her?” Tadahiko asks curiously. “I mean,judging by the symptoms, the most popular theory is that she has some kind ofreiatsu-draining, nutrient sucking parasite that’s attached itself onto one ofher vital organs, but Unohana-taicho and Kuchiki-fukutaicho are the only oneswho know the details. Wouldn’t it be easier to help if we had a better idea ofwhat’s going on?”

“Yes, let’s go and ask Kuchiki-fukutaicho to tell us all aboutthe dangerous parasite currently sucking the life out of her. That’ll cheer herup,” Haru snaps.

“Haru,” Harunobu says warningly, before turning to Tadahiko.

“I did consider talking to taicho in more detail, but she’smade it clear that she has the situation in control for now. And besides, if itever gets to the point where it’s out of even Unohana-taicho’shands—realistically, what are the chances of any of us being able to do anything?” Harunobu points out reasonably. Atthat, Tadahiko deflates.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, looking down. “Ijust hate being so helpless, you know?”

Harunobu nods in agreement, running one hand through hishair.

“Believe me, I feel the same way. Still, just because wecan’t do anything about her condition doesn’t mean that we’re useless. There’s plenty of things we cando to help.”

“Really? Like what?” Tadahiko asks dubiously.

“Well for starters, you can stop running away every time thephrase ‘vaginal discharge’ comes up,” Isane suggests, hiding a smile behind herhand. From where she’s sitting next to her, Yamanaka Aiko scoffs in agreement.

“I still can’t believe that out of all the body fluids we’vehad to deal with, that’s the oneyou’re most uncomfortable with. It’d almost be funny if it weren’t so sad,”Aiko says in disgust, flipping her long, blonde hair disdainfully. “For god’ssake, you’re a healer. Woman up.”

“Oi!” Tadahiko says indignantly, flushed red withembarrassment. “So what if I’m a little uncomfortable with stuff that comes outof, um—” His face turns an even brighter red as he stumbles over his words.Harunobu sighs and covers his face with his hands. “—that specific part ofKuchiki-fukutaicho’s body? There’s nothing wrong with that. And besides, isn’tthe expression supposed to be ‘man up’?”

In response, Aiko lifts a delicately groomed eyebrow.

“Hmm, let’s think about this,” she says sarcastically. “Ourcaptain’s a woman, and not even Zaraki-taicho dares to cross her. Ourlieutenant’s a woman, and when she speaks, captains listen. In fact, out of ourtop five commanding officers, four are women. Face it, if the phrase ‘man up’has a place in any squad, it’s not in this one.”

Healthy skin glow, myass, Hisana thinks viciously to herself as finds herself throwing up in abucket for the umpteenth time that day. Ifthat so-called glow isn’t just sweat caused by episodes of projectile vomiting,I’ll eat my blanket.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone throw up that much in mylife. You must be getting one hell of an ab workout,” Yamanaka comments, tone acurious mixture of disgust, awe, and concern. She hands Hisana a wet washcloth.“Here, you look like you need it.”

“Aiko-san!” Ayame scolds from where she’s holding Hisana’shair out of her face. “Have some tact, will you? Hisana-san, don’t listen toher, you look fine—”

“Nah, Yamanaka-san’s right. I’m not exactly a glamoroussight right now,” Hisana waves her off, wiping her mouth with the offeredwashcloth. Leaning back against her pillow, she smiles tiredly up at them. “Thankyou, by the way. I know I’m not exactly the most pleasant company to be aroundright now, so I just want you to know how much I appreciate you putting up withme.” One side of her mouth quirks up in amusement. “And to think, Byakuyadoesn’t even know how lucky he is; bastard’s already managed to dodge a monthof dealing with my mood swings and general grossness completely by accident.”

“If Kuchiki-taicho’s the type to complain about somethinglike this, then he’s not half the man he pretends to be,” Ayame says, voiceabruptly sharp. “And you don’t need to thank us for looking after you. It’s theleast we could do.” Hisana blinks, a little taken aback by the other girl’schange in tone.

“Well, I’m grateful nonetheless,” she says cautiously.

“Don’t worry about it. Like Ayame said, we’re here to help,”Yamanaka says lightly, causing Hisana to frown at the note of forced cheerfulnessin the blonde’s voice. The entirety of Squad 4 has been on edge around her allmonth, and while she knows she’s been rather moody lately, she hadn’t been that bad, had she?

“Well prepare yourselves, because it’s only going to getworse over the next couple of months.” Which is definitely something she’s notlooking forward to. It was one thing to know, objectively, what was going tohappen, and another thing entirely to actually experience it.

“Is there a reason why we can’t use healing kido to helpalleviate the symptoms?” Ayame asks, voice carefully neutral. “It does seemlike this whole thing is taking a rather large toll on you.”

“Something about my body being in a hyper-defensive statewhere it’ll reject just about any unfamiliar reiatsu, even most types of healingkido,” Hisana says absently, before noticing the look of horror on Ayame���sface. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean as far as side effects go, it’s afairly rare one, but it does happen occasionally. Honestly, I’m more concernedabout the drain on my reiatsu.” Fainting like that had been humiliating, and she’d rather not have arepeat performance. Iemura’s reaction hadn’t helped things either. Seriously,that man was like the king of overreactions—it had been one measly dizzy spell, hardly the end of the world.

“You mean this isgoing to get worse?” Aiko asks, not quitemanaging to conceal the dismay in her voice.

“Tell me about it. I’m beginning to see why this doesn’thappen that often in the afterlife; I’m half-convinced this is going to kill me, and I haven’t even gotten to the grand finaleyet,” Hisana says grumpily. And to add…well, injury to injury, Unohana hadbanned her from eating any ramen for the next seven and a half months, evengoing so far as to replace all the ramen in the Kuchiki clan kitchens withspinach (how???). Tenshi no Tsubasahad laughed at her for hours.

With a sigh, she turns her attention back to where Ayame andYamanaka appear to be having a nonverbal conversation with eye contact andinteresting expressions alone. “At least Byakuya’s going to be back soon. I’vemissed him,” Hisana says wistfully. “I do hope he takes the news well. I mean,I’m almost positive he will, but it’s going to be a pretty big shock for him.”Chewing on her bottom lip, she narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “Maybe I shouldline the floor with cushions first, just in case he faints or something. He’skind of a sissy at times; he might not take a fall as well as I did.”

“What do you mean we have to break the news toKuchiki-taicho?” Haru yelps. “Are you insane?!”

“Look, I don’t like this either but the alternative is himfreaking out in front of Kuchiki-fukutaicho. And you know he will freak out,” Aiko points out. “Soit’s either him freaking out in front of you beforehand, or him freaking out ather, and I know which one I prefer.”

“The second one!” Haru hisses frantically. “I mean, theoretically there are rulespreventing captains from killing off ordinary officers left and right, but youand I both know that’s total bullshit or else Kurotsuchi-taicho wouldn’t stillbe leading the Twelfth. I’m too young to die, Yamanaka-san.”

“He wouldn’t kill you. It would make Kuchiki-fukutaichosad,” Aiko points out reasonably. “Maybe maim you a bit, but I hear scars areconsidered pretty manly nowadays.”

Remarkably enough, this does absolutely nothing to make Haru feelbetter.

“Well, why can’t youdo it then?” Haru glares at her. Aiko raises her eyebrows at him.

“And risk this face?I don’t think so,” she snorts. “Please, it’s clear that between the two of us,sacrificing your looks would be the lesser tragedy in the grand scheme ofthings.”

“What about Ogidou then? Can’t he do it?” Haru asks, afterpushing down a sudden, murderous urge to punch his fellow Fourth Divisionmember. His mother had raised him to never hit a girl (unless she hit himfirst—then she was fair game) and he wasn’t about to disappoint her now. Evenif Yamanaka did deserve it, in hisobjective, unbiased opinion.

“His looks are better than both of ours combined, so that’sa no,” Aiko says, idly inspecting her nails. “Besides, you were the one to tellthe rest of us about this, so it’s only fitting that you extend the samecourtesy to Kuchiki-taicho, don’t you think?”

Unable to refute that, Haru slumps against the wall,defeated.

“I hate you,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I know,” Aiko says, patting him on the back. “If it makesyou feel any better, I promise I’ll come up with a better story for your deaththan ‘he got killed by a bunch of angry flower petals.’”

“Um, K-Kuchiki-taicho? Do…do you have a moment?” A voicesqueaks from behind Byakuya. A quick glance downwards tells him that the voicebelongs to a skinny kid with round glasses and messy brown hair. He’s wearingthe Fourth Division uniform though, which gives Byakuya pause.

“Yes?” He asks, turning slightly.

“Um.” The kid gulps, swallowing heavily. A bead of sweatdrips down his face onto his uniform but he doesn’t seem to notice as he wringshis hands together nervously. “It’s actually, uh, somewhat of a delicate matterso if you could just follow me into—or out here is fine!” He amends hastily ashe sees Byakuya’s eyes narrow slightly. Patience waning, Byakuya cuts him off, alreadyeager for this conversation to end.

“Is the matter urgent? I’m afraid that I have somewhere t—”

“Hisana’s dying!” The kid blurts out. A fraction of a secondlater, he seems to realize his mistake as he covers his mouth with both hands,but it’s too late. Whirling around, Byakuya’s gaze sharpens as he refocuses onthe boy.

“What did you say?”Byakuya asks dangerously, only for the boy to fall to his knees, struggling tobreathe against the sudden onslaught of Byakuya’s reiatsu. With a frustratedgrowl, Byakuya forces himself to reel his spiritual energy in before proceedingto drag the boy up and slam him into a wall. “Speak,” he commands, ignoring thesound of bones creaking beneath his hand. “I swear to you, boy, if this turnsout to be some sick joke of yours—”

“It’s true!” He gasps out, eyes blown wide with terror. Hiswords are undeniably sincere though, even as he instinctively reaches up withboth hands to claw at the grip currently holding him captive. “I-I’m tellingthe truth!”

He doesn’t even manage to scratch the skin and distantly,Byakuya feels a twinge of pity towards the boy for trying.

“S-She’s b-been sick for over a m-month now and at first itd-didn’t seem so b-b-bad but she’s only been getting worse and K-Kuchiki-fukutaichosays she’s gonna be okay only…onlyher reiatsu’s c-constantly depleted these days and yesterday Iemura-san hadt-to carry her in ‘cause her stomach hurt so bad and she was crying and none ofus knew what to do or how to help and—” Byakuya drops him as if burned andflash-steps away, leaving the sobbing boy to collapse against the wall. Hecan’t bring himself to feel any guilt though, because there’s a nauseating,hollow feeling spreading from the center of his chest that’s consuming allrational thought. He’d thought it was odd that Hisana hadn’t been at the gatesto welcome him back, but this—

Shinigami, as a whole, are not an overly religious group ofpeople. Now, as Byakuya frantically extends his senses, reaching out for thepresence that has come to signify home tohim, he finds himself praying for the first time in his life.

Byakuya senses her before he sees her and the boy is right,Hisana’s spiritual energy is dim, fardimmer than it usually is. At his sudden entrance, she looks up startled,almost dropping the plate she’s holding.

“Byakuya! You’re back early,” Hisana exclaims, lookingflustered. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour, I haven’t even finishedmaking din—” Her voice trails off as she registers his appearance. “Issomething wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

When he doesn’t answer, she steps forward hesitantly, takinghis hands in her own. Byakuya can’t help but notice that her hands arefreezing, and he feels his grip tighten involuntarily.

“Byakuya, sweetheart, you’re scaring me. Talk to me,please,” she pleads, stepping closer to him. “Is it Rukia?” Her face pales. “Isshe hurt?”

“Rukia’s fine,” he replies, voice coming out oddly distant,before looking down at her intently. “Are youokay?”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She asks, bewildered.

“I was just stopped by one of your subordinates, and—” Hebegins only to be cut off mid-sentence.

“Ah. Someone told you,” Hisana cuts him off, realizationdawning on her face. A scowl forms on her face. “Honestly, can’t anyone herekeep a secret? You’d think they’d never heard of patient-healer confidentialitybefore.”

“Yes, someone told me—as they should! Hisana, how long wereyou planning on keeping this from me?” He demands, fear bleeding into anger.

“I was hardly ‘keeping this from you.’ You were on amission, what was I supposed to do?” Hisana asks, frowning at him. “And foryour information, I was going to tell you tonight. After dinner.” Glancing atthe dining room table, Byakuya belatedly registers that it’s covered with hisfavorite dishes, and he feels a sharp pang of remorse. He can’t even imaginehow terrified she must have been these past few months, how nervous she musthave been to break the news to him, and here he is yelling at her instead ofoffering her any support.

“I’m sorry, Hisana,” he apologizes genuinely. “I’m not angryat you, I’m just frustrated at myself. I should have been here, been at yourside—” Honestly, what had Unohana been thinking, not informing him about this?Mission or no mission, if he’d known that Hisana needed him, he would have droppedeverything and opened a Senkaimon home then and there.

“Hey, you’re here now and that’s all that matters,” Hisanasays soothingly, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

“Of course. I swear to you Hisana, I’m going to do all I canto make sure you get through this,” Byakuya promises earnestly. “What kind oftreatment options have you discussed thus far?”

“…treatment options?” Hisana asks, confused.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Byakuya sayshurriedly. “I understand if you don’t want to. Just tell me what I can do to make thiseasier on you.”

“Um,” Hisana says distractedly before shaking her head,clearing the confusion from her face. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing,really—”

“What is it?” He asks softly, reaching out to cradle herface.

“Just…” She hesitates, not quite meeting his eyes. “Someoptimism would be appreciated, please. I’m not asking for a lot here, just asmile or something—”

“Of course,” Byakuya replies immediately. If she needs himto provide a positive presence in her life, he can do that. He will do that. “You’re going to be fine,everything’s going to be alright—”

“Not about that!” Hisanacries out, frustration warring with sudden, sharp disappointment on her face. “Willyou stop focusing on me for a secondhere? For god’s sake, of course there are going to be risks! I knew that and Iaccepted them, and…and I thought you didtoo, but apparently not because all you and everyone else can focus on is thebad stuff! I don’t care about stupid stuff like the nausea or the occasionalfainting spell or not being able to eat ramen! Okay fine, some sympathy is nice,but I thought that you would at least be a littlehappy about this!”

“Happy?” Byakuyarepeats in disbelief. “How could I possibly be happy about you being sick? About possibly losing you?” At that,Hisana falters.

“Wait, what?” She asks, blinking.

“And I…I don’t know what you want from me here,” hecontinues agitatedly, ignoring her. “I’m tryingto be strong, to be supportive, but you…do you have any idea how it feels, when it seems like every time I turn around,you’re getting poisoned or getting caught in a training accident or…or stumblinghome half-dead after yet another missiongone dreadfully wrong? And now you’re sick enough that you have the entire Fourthscared about your wellbeing, and this is somehow worse than all the other times you’ve been in danger because I…Idon’t know what to expect and I can’t fightthis and I can’t lose you, Hisana, I just can’t—”

“Byakuya, Byakuya, calm down. Breathe,” Hisana instructs,taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “Now, you’re goingto have to help me out here, because I have no idea what’s going on. What inthe world are you talking about?”

“One of the healers…one of the healers in the Fourth stoppedme just as I got back from my mission and told me that you’ve been sick, thatyou’ve been getting weaker and that…that you might not survive—”

“Oh my god,” Hisana interrupts, realization dawning on herface. Releasing him, she steps back and pinches the bridge of her nose with onehand. “Byakuya, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?” He asks hopefully. “You’re going to be okay,then?”

“More than okay,” she confirms. Glancing at him, she takes adeep breath before continuing. “Byakuya, I’m not sick. I’m pregnant.”

There’s a long silence.

“…come again?” Byakuya asks numbly.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, offering him a tentative smile.“With child. Knocked up. Carrying your baby—”

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he reaches out to gripher by the shoulders, shock bleeding into something he can only describe aswonder. “You…you are serious?”

“Yes I am,” Hisana says, laughing a little now. Her eyes arewet and Byakuya doesn’t need a mirror to know that his are as well. “You’regoing to be a father, Byakuya.”

“I—” He chokes on his words, voice heavy with emotion.Kneeling down so that he’s eye level with her stomach, he reaches out beforehesitating. “May I—?”

“Of course,” Hisana says softly, pressing his hands againsther stomach. She hasn’t started to show, not yet, but Byakuya imagines he canalmost feel where the baby’s heartbeat is.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he whispers, feeling awed and morethan a little giddy. “We’re going to be parents.”

“Now there’s the reaction I was looking for,” she teaseswarmly. “You had me really worried for a while there…” Her voice trails off,causing Byakuya to look at her worriedly.

“What is it?”

“I’m a little concerned about the fact that the divisionresponsible for all things medically-related mistook the signs of pregnancy forthe symptoms of some mysterious, life-threatening illness,” she admits. “Although, this explains so much. You know, two days ago I asked Isane to bring me some teaand she knocked over three healers, elbowed two others, and nearly scaldedherself in her haste to get it to me? It isvery sweet of them to be so concerned about my wellbeing, though.” With asigh, she glances towards the door. “I suppose I should head over there toreassure them, make a formal announcement or something. They’re probably stillfreaking out.”

“Mm. Do you have to go now, though?” Byakuya murmurs,pressing a light kiss against her stomach. He tilts his head up to look at hermeaningfully and smiles at the pretty pink blush spreading rapidly across hercheekbones. “I’ve missed you so.”

“I, uh—” She clears her throat, voice coming out noticeablyhigher than normal. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to leave an hour or so later—”

“Two,” he interrupts smoothly, feeling a rush of satisfactionas her cheeks darken even further in response. “You’re going to want to makethat two hours, love.”

“Someone’s feeling ambitious tonight,” Hisana teases asByakuya slides his hands up to her waist, pulling her close. “Very well, two itis then—”

This, of course, is the exact moment Rukia comes crashingthrough the window, hair a mess and eyes frantic.

“Nee-chan, you’redying?!”

Extra Notes:

“You dumbass, you were supposed to break the news to himgently so that he wouldn’t freak out!Not freak him out even more!”

“Look, I panicked, okay? Besides, if you think about it, weweren’t that far off…I mean,technically she does have areiatsu-draining, nutrient sucking parasite att—ow, okay, okay, I got it, stophitting me already!”

Also, if Hisana thinks that people are going to stop withthe coddling and the annoying overprotectiveness and the constant hovering, sheis sadly mistaken. In fact, things actually get worse because the other divisions find out and then she has to dealwith people from the rest of the Gotei 13 in addition to the Fourth. Hell,Yumichika actually bans everyone in the 11th from swearing in her generalvicinity because “What if the baby hears??” And then someone absently asks thequestion of who gets to be the baby’s godparents, which kicks off a series of themost violent, overly-competitive fights since the Seireitei Olympics that tookplace twenty years ago (which, coincidentally, had also occurred as a directresult of Kuchiki Hisana’s actions).

As far as the fight for the title of godfather goes, thecompetitors include, but are not limited to, Ukitake (who turns out to besurprisingly ruthless), Gin (“Oh fuck no,” Hisana says when she hears about it),Ikkaku, Yumichika, Renji, and Zaraki (who joined more for the constant fights,than out of any desire to be godfather). “You must be delusional if you think I’mletting any of you lunatics near my child,” Byakuya says, eye twitching andlooking one step away from throwing Kuchiki dignity to the wind just to punch Zarakiin the face.

The fight for godmother is subtler but no less vicious (“Youalready get to be aunt! What the hell do you want to be godmother for?” Rangikusnarls at Rukia, who’d froze all of her sake bottles the night before). Hisanaand Byakuya wake up one morning to find ‘Yoruichi for godmother’ written inhuge letters along the west side of the Kuchiki manor (“How??” Byakuya asks indisbelief. “She’s in self-imposed exile right now!”).

In the end, they settle on having Ukitake and Kyouraku asco-godfathers (“Fucking unfair,” Renji grumbles. “They teamed up against therest of us, how was anyone else supposed to have a chance?”) and Unohana asgodmother (“That is going to be one scarily protected kid,” Ikkaku muses. Offin the distance, Aizen quietly makes a mental note not to involve the newKuchiki heir in any of his plans until he attains immortality. He’s confidentin his abilities, not stupid).

So the prompts for this one were “Don’t die on me, please”, “I’m sick,” “I’m dying,” and “I’m pregnant.” Which is pretty much a recipe for angst if I’ve ever seen one, but I didn’t really feel like going that route and so I went with this instead. Hope you enjoyed it anyway! 

Extra notes: As for why no one (except Unohana) figured out that Hisana was pregnant, well there are multiple reasons:

1. Having children is really fucking rare in the afterlife, and is pretty much only limited to nobility and/or those with high spiritual energy (aka highly ranked female shinigami)

2. I headcanon that most noble women, when they get pregnant, are looked after by their own family doctors (who specialize in prenatal care), rather than the Fourth.

3. The few pregnant women that do go to the Fourth usually go during the later months of the pregnancy. So most healers aren’t nearly as familiar with the earlier symptoms. 

4. Finally, by the time the symptoms became obvious, most of the healers already had it firmly entrenched in their minds that Hisana had some kind of debilitating, incurable disease. 

P.S. Reviews/comments are the lifeblood of my creativity! I spent waaayyy too long on this lol, so I’d really appreciate hearing what people liked about it. 

#walk two lifetimes #Anonymous

[knightfury1895]

Lestrade’s Visit

Inspector Lestrade is as reliable - and punctual - as I remember him. All the same, I do feel some resentment when my Boswell (who had been convalescing on the settee with his watering eyes closed and a handkerchief covering his nose until the little man arrived) sits up with a bright smile, somewhat similar to the one with which he addressed me when he realised that I was alive.

I (somewhat brusquely, I must admit) gesture for Lestrade to sit down whilst feigning interest in his reason for his arrival - after all, I do know why he is here. However, he ignores me and hurries to take to Watson’s side, urging him all the while to remain seated.

“Doctor Watson! Are you all right?” the irksome inspector asks as if I have not described my friend’s condition to him at all. I watch with growing irritation as he takes Watson’s hand and sits beside him on the settee. “Your neighbour told me that you were here, but I assumed that you were tending to Mr. Holmes - not that he has been caring for you.”

I will not growl. I shall not give the irritating little man the satisfaction. How dare he!

Watson coughs into his handkerchief and gives a quiet groan. “Holmes has been… very supportive.”

“Really?” Lestrade smirks at me. “I never would have thought that he was capable of it!”

I shove my hands into my trouser pockets so as to avoid giving any indication as to how tempted I am to wring the fellow’s neck.

My Boswell closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, the action urging me to check the clock (again) and calculate how much longer it is before he can take another headache powder.

“That is unfair Lestrade,” my dear friend chides the imbecile beside him. “Holmes is very considerate - well, when he remembers.”

“Thank you Watson.” What a charitable fellow he is. Humph! Well, if they are going to band together against me I shall leave the doctor in the care of his new best friend and get on with arranging my newspaper clippings and amending my common-place books. Lestrade clearly considers himself to be the better qualified of the two of us and Watson would appear to be in agreement with him.

While I am working quietly, I hear Lestrade whisper in a conspiratorial manner to my friend of old. “Do you think I’ve upset him?”

“What? Oh, he shall soon calm down when he realises that we were joking,” the doctor responds with a dreadfully unpleasant-sounding sniff. “Though I suppose that it was rather unreasonable of me - Holmes truly has been very solicitous in his manner toward me ever since his return from… well, ever since he came home.”

I refrain from looking up from my work - it would never do for them to know that I am listening.

“He has hardly left my side since I became unwell,” Watson adds quietly.

“You say that as if it were offensive!” Lestrade remarks with some surprise.

There is a long pause and I continue to pay close attention to my work as if I were completely oblivious to their discussion. If Watson truly needs room to breathe I shall remain in my bedroom tomorrow. I massage my forehead, which has not ceased to pain me since I awoke, privately wondering whether it would be terribly selfish of me to take one of the headache powders from our supply when my companion is suffering so horribly.

“It is not that,” my Boswell groans. “I merely… I am unaccustomed to being tended in such a manner… the last time that anyone did, it was by… by Mary…”

I stiffen. Poor Watson! How could I have failed to realise or understand? What a dreadful friend I am!

“You can hardly blame Mr. Holmes for that Doctor.”

“No. No, of course not - and I don’t. I am truly grateful to Holmes - and deeply touched - I did not expect such support from him or anyone else. But I know not quite how I feel at present and… and…” he gives a somewhat shaky sigh. “Forgive me Inspector - you no doubt think me ridiculous.”

“Not a bit of it!” Lestrade assures him emphatically. “I dread to think how I’d react if I lost my wife.”

Watson’s immediate reaction is a strangled, half-stifled sob. “I hope that you shall never find out.”

I feel my throat constrict and swallow carefully. It is incredibly difficult for me to hear the suffering in my staunch biographer’s tone, for I have always considered the fellow to be the stronger of the two of us - I could never go to war, as he has done, nor endure many of the things that he has. This battered, beaten Watson is not the man - the metaphorical anchor - that I knew before my exile and this situation terrifies me.

“Is there anything that I can do?”

I glance up in time to see my friend of old shake his head and pat the inspector’s arm. “No, I don’t think so. I suppose I just need time.”

Lestrade nods and again takes his hand. “I’ll drop by again to see you tomorrow, if you and Mr. Holmes have no objections.”

How nice of him to remember me - this is, after all, my house!

“Thank you Inspector. I shall try to be -”

The Yarder cuts him off quickly. “You shan’t have to try to be anything on my account Doctor Watson - you should never have to put on a special act around friends.” That said, the little fellow approaches me and all but drags me from the room, out onto the landing outside.

“Lestrade! I must protest!” I fold my arms and suppress a shiver.

“You two really need to sit down and talk to each other - properly. Have you given him a chance to tell you how he feels, or anything?”

I shrug. “Watson has never been the sort to do that - if anything, I imagine that he writes such things down in his journal.”

His eyes light up. “That’s an idea! How about trying this: get some cheap paper and both of you sit together, write down all the things that are bothering you - if you have anything troubling you, that is - and then burn the paper when you’re done. You never know, it might do the doctor some good - and I’m sure he’d give it a try if you’re prepared to.”

“It is certainly worth a try. Thank you.”

He shrugs and scratches at his ear. “It’s something I get my son to do, when he’s upset about something - sometimes he gets so troubled that he has a job getting his words out, so I make him sit down in the corner, put what he feels on the paper and then he folds it up and gives it to me, to burn in the fire. He can usually talk to me or his mother after that.”

“Ingenious,” I congratulate him.

He shrugs again. “I am not sure about that, but it seems to work and that’s the main thing.”

I shall have to try it. At this moment, I shall be prepared to give anything a try if it might only help my Boswell - he certainly would appear to need more than mere medicine, for that seems to be doing little more than temporarily easing the worst of his symptoms.

“You do not mind my coming back tomorrow, do you?” the little fellow asks of me, as if he knows perfectly well that he has irritated me.

“Of course not!” I assure him quickly. “Your support is appreciated Lestrade - greatly appreciated. Forgive me, I am simply not myself today.”

He frowns at me with a somewhat critical expression. “Are you all right? Those in the position of carer do tend to be forgotten somewhat and you do have to take care of yourself as well as the doctor.”

I nod and wave aside his concern. “I am always all right! Until tomorrow Inspector.”

“Until tomorrow then Mr. Holmes,” he returns with a small smile. “I’ll see myself out - you had best get back to Doctor Watson and your nice, warm fire.”

I wait until he has hurried down the stairs before I lean against the balustrade beside me and run a hand over my eyes. I have barely stopped since Watson fell ill, had not exactly rested well even before that and I am now feeling quite done up. I would like nothing more but to curl up somewhere warm and quiet and sleep for an eternity.

Later. I shall sleep later.

#to return from death #lestrade’s visit #multipart #chapter twenty-two #part twenty-two #hurt and comfort #grief #illness #friendship #advice #my stories #classic Sherlock Holmes fan fiction

[gulescamisade]

Alaska: Day 6

DAVE: -at this point, he's probably right up against karkat and mituna. karkat for the purposes of comforting him, and mituna because he's the warmest motherfucker here. and daves likely warmer than mituna, so win-win. he's wide awake, shivering, in an undershirt and boxers. His head is pounding although he feels tired, the dizziness still very much a thing, so much that it's making him sick. he's doing everything he can to stay grounded, which means highly relying on emotional defenses he used a long time ago. GOTTA KEEP GOING. GOTTA STAY ALIVE. even if he feels like he's going to puke-

MITUNA: -His left arm is essentially just for show by now. After it essentially breaking against the wing of a buzzard his arm being separated at the joint entirely, it was useless. Well except for consistently reminding him that he's in excruciating pain. Dave moving causes lava to fire through his nerves, making him scream awake and vomit from pain. These megaman boxers do nothing.-

DAVE: -widens his eyes at the scream and vomiting and turns to look at mituna incredibly apologetically- s sorry

DAVE: k kind of a d dick way to s say s s sorry but i r really am

MITUNA: -He sniffs, wretching a little before regaining what little composure he has. At least this pain distracted from the screams in his head. He doesn't think he could bear hearing Terezi rn-

MITUNA: a7 lea57 i know i75 57ill a77ached hehe FUCK

MINDFANG: -With their talking shes starting to stir from what could supposedly be called sleep, not that she had been able to get more then a few minutes now and then. Shes not far from the pile of boys and she opens her one eye to look at them.-

DAVE: hahaha yeah -he's not quite sure he can make it out of this without frostbite. damn his vulnerable human anatomy and his fucking back which is making it hard to move at all- so

DAVE: anyone got a p plan

MINDFANG: I have.... 8een considering...options. -Takes a short breath in between every few words.-

MITUNA: 5park5 are 57ill ou7 of commi55ion

MITUNA: really 5hor7 lived -Leans more on Dave even though holy shit this hurts. Get this warmth-

MINDFANG: My powers are.... also... still unavaila8le. MINDFANG: I attempted....using them while.... you were sleeping. -Directed at Mituna. Yes she tried to pry into your mind, but sadly to no avail.-

MITUNA: dick move

DAVE: ch challenge one of those asswipes to a r rap battle -chattering teeth- h hey whos that one g guy who l likes troll p pokemon

MINDFANG: Smart actually.... If it.... worked on you... then i could consider...trying it.... on... our guards.

DAVE: ho dont do it

MITUNA: youre 7hinking abou7 7av and ruf

MINDFANG: I just said I cant-- -She hisses and then cringes immediately after. Instant regret her ribcage is onfire.-

DAVE: hey maybe if we just g glue ourselves to each o other we can have o one functioning b body

MITUNA: wi7h wha7 dildo hole

DAVE: good question

MINDFANG: Do you...have...an answer?

DAVE: fuck no

MINDFANG: Then your idea...is useless.

DAVE: d did they also j jack up your s sense of humor

MINDFANG: No, 8ut you seem... to have never had any to 8egin with.

MINDFANG: Also...Fuck jokes right now.

DAVE: burned

DAVE: iced

NYALAH: -with as much blood loss, the trauma of injury that her body has endured, and the lack of treatment, Nyalah is quite literally struggling to be alive right now. The only indication that she ISN'T dead is the shallow tick of her pulse. Otherwise, her blood matted body remains bound and crumbled. Too still against the frozen, terrible conditions of their imprisonment.-

MINDFANG: Refrain from mentioning...ice. -Shes shivering already. Underwear and tanktops do not make for good snow gear.-

DAVE: fire

DAVE: -poor nyalah... he wishes he could help her-

MINDFANG: -Please dont die Nyalah, thats a lot of bodies.-

MINDFANG: 8etter.

DAVE: you know what would be cool

DAVE: having a robot limb

DAVE: hows that workin out for you serko

MITUNA: i could u5e one righ7 abou7 now

MINDFANG: -Shes staring so hard at dave right now.-

MINDFANG: -Maybe if she thinks hard enough he will choke on his own spit.-

MINDFANG: If we survive this...

MINDFANG: Ill 8e certain you get one.

DAVE: thanks

DAVE: youre the real mvp

MINDFANG: You are welcome.

NYALAH: -at some point, her breathing is becoming rapid pants. Limbs twitching with tiny convulsions.-

MITUNA: 5hi7

MINDFANG: -Nyahla gains her attention. Oh dear, looks like the cat isnt going to survive after all.-

MINDFANG: -She frowns. Its really a terrible way to go.-

MITUNA: no no no no no no no -Flops and starts trying to inch to her-

DAVE: anybody know anything medical DAVE: that might help DAVE: -also attempts crawling toward her. Shit his back is SCREAMING-

MINDFANG: Not...without the supplies to...8ack it up.

MINDFANG: -She looks away from Nyalah now, out of respect.- 8e 8etter off ending her suffering.

DAVE: wheres her main injury coming from

DAVE: where is she bleeding out the most -he is working his way out of his under shirt, ripping it with his teeth so he can get it off. he may just have to use it to warm her-

NYALAH: -that would be the stapled gash from the vulture beak on her side. It's been agrivated as they were tossed around and not exactly been allowed to heal. She even lies on her belly as an unconscious attempt to guard it. And with the blood that had seeped from the crushing of her horn, things were not looking up for her.-

DAVE: -he decides YES he will use his shirt to warm her, and just kind of identifies her injuries so he doesn't hurt her, laying the torn shirt over her curled body and positioning himself so he's against her where it's least harmful-

MITUNA: -Gently flops over her to keep her warm-

NYALAH: -after a half hour of difficulty, her breathing begins to stablize and she passes out once again. Still breathing.-

DAVE: -we're doing good. mostly-

NYALAH: -it's another half hour before she starts to stir. Sniffing at the bitter air. What might be Dave's hair.- (hff)

NYALAH: (daven)

DAVE: no the better d dave -ITS SO COLD BUT SHES AWAKE AND TALKING THATS GOOD-

NYALAH: ....none better d than daven only ask him -It's strange. She's not so raspy or slurring at her words like she usually is. Could be she hasnt had nip in a while or. Who knows. She curls closer to him.- huddle

DAVE: ok thats t tmi but yeah huddle -WARMTH-

NYALAH: -shift shift. There's someone draped on her.-

MITUNA: -hisses- ow fuck

NYALAH: wait

NYALAH: -slowly starts to pry herself to sit, regretting her own actions but. She's gotta.- psion

NYALAH: -sniffs him.-

NYALAH: dislocation? -asking for a friend. She's sitting up more now, face scrunched up in pain. There's still a considerable welp on her cheek from being slapped around.-

MITUNA: -Groans- yeah and i 7hink i75 broken below the elbow his arm is having a bad time-

NYALAH: kay -hffs, starting to shrug off Dave's shirt. Using only her toes, she stuffs the rag into Mituna's mouth.-

NYALAH: stay -Now bringing her feet over to set by his shoulder. The contortionist cat. Keeps him in place.- sorry in advances

NYALAH: -and then applies a swift force to snap the joint back into place.-

MITUNA: -His scream dies in his gag. She's forced in back in place but disturbed the stab wound that caused the dislocation in the first place, blood gushing from his shoulder.-

NYALAH: shhhh -picks the shirt from his mouth and presses it against the wound. Brow furrowed in concentration. Even using that much force was agrivating her own wound.- n33ds catalyst

MITUNA: oh my fucking FUCK

NYALAH: lay still -doing her best to staunch the ooze of blood. Eyes bright with pain.-

DAELOS: - swings back into consciousness. he wasn't even aware he has slipped in the first place, he's so cold. he can't believe what he's seeing at first, Nyalah moving around after sustaining such heavy injuries. His snorty breath coming out in puffs as he drags himself over.-

[[ The Expunger isn't around currently, and the legislacerators that are there don't seem to be doing anything to stop their talking or mending one another. One of them simply watches. ]]

NYALAH: -puts her whole blood stained paw foot on Daelos's face.- alive

MITUNA: -Choking back sobs, the air stinging his cheeks- 57op moving dunka55

DAELOS: - Shocked for a second, and then kisses that bloody foot- I can see that

DAELOS: - He has nothing to offer but his weight. He leans it in to help her with Mituna-

DAELOS: - It should make things go faster-

NYALAH: -gross. Totally helping Mituna spoon with Daelos.-

MITUNA: -Jesus Christ his world is on fire. It's hard to tell if the screaming in his head is his or the voices-

DAELOS: - Gently crushes you-

NYALAH: -looking that one Legislacerator in the eyes as she attempts the wiggle her biocuffed arms under her butt. Gonna sit on these arms and manuever them up to her front.-

SEAKRAIT: -watches her do this... and the other legislacerators are too preoccupied looking out around them. She doesn't do anything to stop Nyalah.-

NYALAH: -okay cool. Uses her still bound front paws to keep pressing the shirt to Mituna.- NYALAH: sp33k to me

MITUNA: 7hi5 big blue 7ain7fuck i5 colder 7han fi5h nook

DAELOS: Rude... e%ceedingly rude -he will keep lovingly crushing u tho-

NYALAH: best things in life are cold as fish nook NYALAH: fur example NYALAH: fish nook -chirring as best she can. Comforting.-

MITUNA: -Maybe one day...he will know-

NYALAH: -Pls.-

MINDFANG: -Yall are being gross.-

DAELOS: - Scandalized snort. - Really Nyalah

NYALAH: its survival

MITUNA: -Wonders how Feferi is, suddenly-

FEFERI: -Pretty glubbing dead! Like always!-

MITUNA: -Lol get rekt-

NYALAH: -keeping her arms close to her middle, she is giving these biotech cuffs a careful look ver.-

NYALAH: -discreetly shows them to Daelos for him to have a peep at. He's the one who might know how they work and all.-

DAELOS: - Has an intent peep.-

DAELOS: - Of course he knows how they work, but he kind of averts his gaze. He doesn't want to cause a scene and get someone else battered or killed-

NYALAH: -That's good enough for her. She starts to scoot off and inspect Mindfang.- mrrp

REDGLARE: -She's been pretty quiet-- it's hard to tell the difference between her being awake and her being asleep, aside from the speed of her breathing. Her eye opens, and she casts a glance towards the group-- failing to linger for more than a second on each face-- before closing it again.-

MINDFANG: -Her eyes are shut, she was trying to at least pretend she was asleep in hopes that maybe it would give her a brief reprieve from the pain she was in with fractures and a break or two all over her ribcage. At least she hasnt lost a lung yet.-

MINDFANG: -When Nyalah approaches though her eye squints open.- .........What are you doing. -Keeps her arms wrapped around herself.-

NYALAH: -sniffs her.- s33ing

NYALAH: -scoots painfully past her to inspect Redglare.-

REDGLARE: -her leg is gross. bad and getting worse a little too rapidly. She doesn't acknowledge her outwardly.-

MINDFANG: You yourself should 8e resting....

MINDFANG: Its impressive you are still 8reathing now...Do not push it.

NYALAH: -hffs and sacrifices her own shirt to attempt to bind Redglares leg with. All she's left with is a sports bra and how visible and equally gross the gash on her side is.- im pushing it

NYALAH: til i cant push no more

MITUNA: -Groans-

 REDGLARE: -opens an eye again to look at her. She's not sure she understands this... why she's doing this.-

NYALAH: -because it's the harder thing to do. Also she almost died about an hour ago and is probably only moving out of adrenaline shots.-

DAELOS: - Silently gets emotional about this cat. -

KARKAT: =She's doing it because she's a good person and someone has to. He's not really responding to all of this just watching it. Heartwarming as it is. He's just been stupidly crying on and off in the cold but at least someone's got their shit together=

[[ Seakrait straightens up and looks elsewhere pretty quick, almost like she's hearing something no else is. ]]

SEAKRAIT: Yes, sir.

SEAKRAIT: Everyone on your feet!

NYALAH: butt face

NYALAH: -stays huddled with Redglare.-

DAELOS: Nyalah, obey them

DAELOS: Please

DAELOS: - Panicked-

NYALAH: -okay well she's going to stay to help Redglare stand then.-

REDGLARE: -She blinks her eye, looking up at Seakrait. Her voice is kind of quiet as she murmurs.- l3g's w34k. N33d to-- ngh. -holding onto her support.-

REDGLARE: ...Th4nk you.

SEAKRAIT: Orders are to relocate, -she snaps to the rest of the legislacerators.- \|/e're taking them to the pitfall.

KARKAT: =Great. a hole to put them all in=

MITUNA: 7ha7 game 5uck5

NYALAH: -quickly skirts her arms up behind her back and bows with the pain of having to stand.- i have two whole leg

NYALAH: and you two good horn

NYALAH: its even exchange

REDGLARE: h4h.

SEAKRAIT: -She reaches out and grabs onto Karkat's arm, deciding to drag him along in front of the group.- Move.

DAELOS: - Does his best to stand. It's not easy. One leg is useless and his good one is split at the foot. He wobbles. -

NYALAH: -limps along with RG.-

[[ Legislacerators still flank the group on all sides, encouraging their trek. ]]

KARKAT: =clenches his jaw and fights to not jerk his arm back. But he's just so goddamn tired of this and their game=

REDGLARE: - it's one dang slow trudge, that's for sure.-

DAELOS: - He tries to take a step. He falls. -

MITUNA: -He's trudging along-

MITUNA: -Stops for Daelos-

SEAKRAIT: -oh gdi. She snaps back at Mituna and Mindfang- You two get him moving.

REDGLARE: -glances over at Daelos... Eye drifting towards Seakrait again as she barks an order.-

REDGLARE: th1s wh4t you s1gn3d up for?

DAELOS: - Maybe he could shuffle if he has a wall to lean on or if the ground was not snow but at this stage he cannot walk. It's humiliating of course but not compared to the rest of their situation. -

MITUNA: how do you propo5e we do 7ha7 nookbrea7h

SEAKRAIT: I propose you do it. -ignores Redglare-

MINDFANG: -Glares right at Seakrait the entire time shes bending down to help Daelos up.-

MINDFANG: (8est to keep moving, they seem to h8 dead w8.) -Internal screaming as helping to take any of his weight feels like torture.-

MITUNA: -Tries to lean down to try and help him up-

DAELOS: - He's too mortified to say anything. He tried to avoid leaning on Mindfang as much as he can. - I apologize

MINDFANG: (Dont 8other. You are not the one who had the 8rilliant idea to maim a prisoners foot when you want them to-- -hff- move.)

[[ The group continues to be led by Seakrait through the forest, snow drifting gently around them in a too-beautiful discordance to the stains in the snow they leave behind them. Eventually, they see a familiar daunting figure in the distance, waiting nearby what is becoming ever more apparent as a giant hole in the earth. ]]

REDGLARE: -She laughs. Weakly and dryly.-

NYALAH: -presses her good horn at Redglare. One eye shut tight.-

SEAKRAIT: -She pauses just by the cavernous hole, releasing Karkat none too gently and looking over the crowd.- I'll do the honors, High Legislacerator.

KARKAT: The honors. Right. Like there's any honor to be had here. =He's just ready for the hole= Have fun.

SEAKRAIT: -She quickly sets up an automatic pulley system in the ground for climbing, tying the harness around herself, and then she moves toward Redglare. Looks like she's first.-

SEAKRAIT: You're lucky your survival will be left up to fate. But I'm not betting on it. -grabs onto Redglare's arm-

REDGLARE: -She pulls away from Nyalah.- p4ss3s for 4 tr14l, th3s3 d4ys, do3s 1t?

THE EXPUNGER: -gazes at the little crowd, chin high.- Don’t you worry. We’ll come back to retrieve your bodieS aS well, but only after Sufficient time haS paSSed to enSure you are dead. Luckily rot doeS not Set in So quickly in cold environmentS. You will Still be identifiable.

KARKAT: =He just tiredly looks up into the sky and sighs wearily= Fuck yourself on my horn when you come back. It'll be frigid enough for you.

SEAKRAIT: -She heads close to the hole, then grips Redglare tighter in her hold before shimmying them both over the edge and slowly... beginning to lower them down. Redglare can see the drop down is incredibly steep; it's unlikely most anything would survive a straight fall.-

REDGLARE: -it certainly is. She's mostly dead weight, anyhow.-

NYALAH: -shivers in the whole cold. Unable to protest or do much more than watch.-

SEAKRAIT: -They descend at a reasonable pace, but once they're a good twenty feet or so down, she holds Redglare tighter -- closer -- and begins to whisper.-

SEAKRAIT: (Don't speak. Be as quiet as possible down here. No one will hear you, but something else might. If you hear anything down here with you, don't let it find you.)

SEAKRAIT: (Focus on keeping yourselves alive as long as you can. Your leg is poisoned, but it won't kill you yet. I'm going to give you the antidote, bite down on it.)

SEAKRAIT: -She glances down to see how far they are from the floor of the cavern; it's about eight or ten feet now.- (If you understand, struggle.) -And then she moves to press her mouth to Redglare's for just a moment, slipping something pill-shaped inside with her tongue.-

 REDGLARE: -uhm. UHM?? She might have struggled ANYHOW regardless of her understanding-- and she's not sure she does. Poison... antidote... no noise. She's helping them, maybe?? She squirms and struggles, letting out an MPH as she swallowd the pill down a raw throat.-

SEAKRAIT: -And she drops Redglare about six feet from the floor, laughing loud enough that she's sure the High Legislacerator will hear before ascending once again, leaving Redglare alone.-

REDGLARE: -The spark of clarity left, at least, keeps her quiet as she finally hits the ground, with a start.-

SEAKRAIT: -SHE'S COMING BACK UP FOR THE REST OF THE GROUP. One by one she's lowering them down-- Karkat, Dave, Mindfang, Nyalah, Mituna, Latula, Aranea... and then finally, Daelos. Needless to say, he's more of a struggle. She says nothing to any of the others, but once Daelos is down, she spits on the ground of the cavern before ascending for the final time, and it hits the rock with a little plink.-

KARKAT: =A plink=

[[ A PLINK. ]]

MITUNA: -Two in the plink one in the stink-

[[ Shortly after they're left in the cavern, they will feel their powers begin to return. Also, it sounds like there's wind howling above; the storm on the horizon has finally reached their location, and the blizzard is kicking up. ]]

REDGLARE: -She does some very quick sign language as each is lowered. Silence. Danger. Time.-

NYALAH: -she had no powers to begin with but does take swift breaths of the icy air. The storm brewing. She shivers terribly.-

MITUNA: -Groans, but his eyes flicker, ever so gently-

KARKAT: =Silence, danger, time. He glances up hearing the storm=

KARKAT: =He's also going to go look at the plink=

DAELOS: - He's soon leaning into her, just like he had been with Mituna, except now he's trying to keep her warm, although since he's a blue blood it doesn't count for much. At least his hair is warm. -

[[ Funny enough, there's a pill in that plink. ]]

KARKAT: =A pill. He stares at it. It stares at him and he stares at it and it stares at him=

[[ It's sort of slobbery, but it looks like it has some kind of fluid inside. ]]

[[ You know. One of those fish oil looking pills. ]]

KARKAT: =Absolutely disgusting.=

KARKAT: =He can't believe that twat cheeked her vitamins from this morning=

[[ KARKAT PLS ]]

KARKAT: =COME GET YOUR PILL DAROLD=

MITUNA: -Soft crackling-

KARKAT: She spat this out.

MITUNA: (guy5 guy5)

DAELOS: - He doesn't realize he's been poisoned or realize that pill is for him-

MITUNA: (im ge77ing my 5park5 back)

REDGLARE: -She points at herself, her leg. Signs 'cure.'-

[[ Also on the plus side, the cave is a lot warmer than the surface, but chillier under the hole. ]]

NYALAH: -maneuvering her arms back in front of her. Looks to Redglare signing and Daelos's leg. Hhhhh. Alright fine.-

NYALAH: -picking the pill from the goo and stuffs it in Daelos's mouth. Keeps her hands clamped there and makes sure he eats it.-

DAELOS: -???? -

NYALAH: -rip in fucking pieces.-

DAELOS: - HORSE GROANY NOISE OF SURPRISE. but yes he supposes he would swallow this. -

REDGLARE: -signs JUST DO IT. like the shy le beef-

NYALAH: -also stuffs some snow in his mouth to help it go down easier.-

NYALAH: -eating some snow herself. Om.-

DAELOS: - NOW GET YOU FILTHY PAWS OUT OF HIS MOUTH-

KARKAT: =Don't it keeps him quiet=

KARKAT: =He just looks to the cave and starts to walk there=

NYALAH: -when the deed is done, she slinks off after Karkat. Clutching at her side.-

KARKAT: =How far back does this cave go? Is there any wood here? Is there a deeper part where he can just fuck right off?=

[[ The area of the cavern they're in is pretty vast, so it'll take some time to navigate the perimeter, but from first glance, there don't appear to be any exits. ]]

DAELOS: - Following this, he continues to eat the snow that looks the freshest-

REDGLARE: -Seems like the first and only time they'd be able to treat their wounds without being under duress. Her flask would've actually been useful if they didn't take her. Damn.-

[[ There are some fallen leaves and logs around beneath where the hole is above, rotting slowly. ]]

REDGLARE: -instead she starts to mill around the ground. Looking for some good, sharp rocks.-

KARKAT: =Relatable. But he looks around=

[[ Rocks are, at least, in abundance here. Such as sharp, pointy stalagmites and stalactites, for example, but there are probably some other chips and things around. ]]

NYALAH: -doing her best to wipe the grime from her wound with snow. The less she moves, the more the pain catches up to her. She actually has to stop and lean up against a boulder, just to focus on breathing and not vomiting.-

[[ The snow probably won't help Daelos and Nyalah with hydration too much, with the cold lowering their body temperatures and making it more difficult for their bodies to retain the moisture, but it at least wets their mouths. ]]

REDGLARE: -She wouldn't know Flint from any other kind of rock, so she's just looking for something that's sharp enough to scratch marks into the walls of the cave. Maybe having some concievable goal is enough to stop thinking about what she saw just last night.-

MITUNA: p5557 7ula

LATULA: -HEY BRUH DONT MIND HER SHE IS TOTALLY STILL TRAUMATIZED- LATULA: tun3z???

 DAELOS: - With the help of the cave wall he's able to slowly drag himself to his feet. As long as he leans against it, he can follow it in a circle, keeping his eye out for anything that might be missed. -

NYALAH: -finds some crevice to curl into, holding herself as she comes close to passing out again. So cold.-

MITUNA: 5how me your hand5

DAVE: -he definitely needed some help bring the only pathetic human in the group. his fingers and toes are lookin pretty blue, it's a little concerning. his back aches every time he moves, he stopped shivering a long time ago, when they were still outside. now when he speaks he's mumbling into his numb arm just lying there- theresno mmm snow

KARKAT: =Dave doesn't look good at all. Karkat looks at him then walks over to try and cover as much of him as he can= Sh. =cups his hands between his own= We need a fire going.

MITUNA: -Ahead of you, Kark. He's floating logs over, stacking them in a pile. His eyes glow, and his head swims from the concentration. Suddenly, optic blast, but it's weak, drying the logs more than anything rn-

LATULA: -She holds em out... fingertips are a little black.- dud3 your 4rm

LATULA: 4r3 you gonn4 b3 good???

MITUNA: Mnnnngh

LATULA: oh SH1T!

LATULA: dud3 FUCK!!!! TH4T WORK3D?

DAVE: -his hands are numb between karkats- gotta keep goin to the tunnel underground

[[ The logs give them the SMOLDER. ]]

KARKAT: =Blows warm air on Dave's hands= We need fire. If we find a hot spring down there you can punch me.

[[😘 ☁️]]

MITUNA: -Oh thank fuck. He stops, and starts blowing on the logs trying to get that fire going-

DAVE: how much time we allocate for naps DAVE: we cant waste time

REDGLARE: -LOOMS WITH A PAINFUL LURCHING STEP and holding up a rock.- (m4rk th3 w4lls wh3r3v3r you go. 1f th3r3 4r3 tunn3ls 4nd you g3t lost. c4n follow th3 l1n3s b4ck.)

KARKAT: Dave. Shut up. I'm getting you warm. Shut. Up.

REDGLARE: (surv1v4l f1rst. work out sh1fts. st4y qu13t.)

MITUNA: -Guess who has a fire going?-

NYALAH: -a little too quiet in her corner. Everything is being too much for her body.-

LATULA: -holds her hands over it...-

[[ The logs slowly catch into little flame at Mituna's encouragement. The wind howls overhead, sending heavier snow down through the hole. ]]

LATULA: th4nk fuck1n god...

KARKAT: =Thanks Mituna. He's putting Dave closest to the fire and sitting behind him. Snug up against his back=

DAELOS: - He carefully nestles Nyalah in his arms and slowly brings her closer to the little fire. Maybe being warm will do her good. His brow is cinched with worry. -

MITUNA: -Makes a psionic barrier at the top of the hole. Fuck you snow. This is a terrible long term plan btw. He's quiet, concentrating-

LATULA: -hand on his shoulder- uh

LATULA: 1t 41nt push1n too hard 1s 1t? 1n th3 br41nm34tz?

MITUNA: 5h we go77a re57

NYALAH: -definitely 100% unconscious again, even as Daelos keeps her close.-

DAVE: remember when youwere hella wrm

MITUNA: (ju57 le7 me be u5eful)

KARKAT: =mumbles against Dave's shoulder= Remember when I gave you that manicure? =It was like, not even a few days before all this. Holds up Dave's hands to the fire and just tries to focus on him=

LATULA: ...1m proud of you b4b3z.

DAVE: -pauses- ohyeah

DAVE: sall fucked up now

DAVE: youre so quiet (arewe whispering)

LATULA: but 1 sw34r to sh1z 1m gonn4 b34t your butt 1f you push yours3lf to f4r.

LATULA: >8P

MITUNA: ehehehe be7 on i7

KARKAT: I guess.

DAVE: -his breathing is a little shallow- im gonna go to bed while everyone elsisleeping now

KARKAT: =Makes a face against him and scrunches his nose= Run out of jokes already...?

DAVE: yeah

DAVE: ran out of em

MITUNA: -Keeps this roof going, it's just collecting snow. Good news is it helps keep the heat trapped too.-

KARKAT: Okay.... just. (Get up later.) =mumbles and holds him but lets him rest=

MINDFANG: -Shes returning from having done a quick survey of the immediate area of the cave. And also she had felt the need to move just to keep her brain working again. The sense of getting her mental powers back had come with a huge relief and now she is joining the rest of the group by the fire. Arissa carefully sits down and starts to dig her fingers into the joints and spaces of her metal arm to clear out snow and ice that she had felt trapped in there for hours.-

DAELOS: - While Nyalah sleeps he carefully melts snow in his hands and tries to wipe away the debris around her ruined horn without making the wound bleed again. -

DAELOS: - It would hurt if she were awake so now is the time-

ARANEA: -she's been conscious probably?? she's in alright shape, comparatively, though her chest hurts like a motherfucker and it's been keeping her quiet. she can't stop watching dave.-

NYALAH: -too exhausted to even protest or react to the streak of pain. She's out like a light.-

DAVE: -if he just...closes his eyes... a little...-

KARKAT: =Rest... but just let it be rest.=

KARKAT: =On second thought he's a finicky motherfucker and just all of this is settling wrong to him= ...Mn. No. Okay. Just. No jokes then. =Dave is so squishy and vulnerable, no sleep for you asswipe=

DAVE: are we spooning

KARKAT: Yes. You're welcome little spoon.

DAELOS: - He notices the way Aranea is staring intently at the poor little human and gives her a questioning glance, looking up from Nyalah for a moment. -

ARANEA: -catches his glance, meeting it with an unyielding concern. she scoots closer to daelos and fixes her attention on nyalah instead for the moment. she wonders if she can help her now...-

DAVE: -he is starting to fall asleep again- k

KARKAT: No kays.

KARKAT: Hum one of your dumb raps.

DAELOS: - Scoots to make room for her, she feels to cold nudge of his nose as he talks in her ear. - (Are you alright)

ARANEA: -turns her head to brush cheeks with him- (I'm... Just concerned.)

DAELOS: - Sighing- (Well... there is certainly cause for it)

DAELOS: - He always imagined he would die in a hole but he wants something better for his loved ones and crew members. -

MITUNA: -He keeps asking for death. And yet....-

DAVE: -hums something unintelligible that kind of sounds like my humps-

ARANEA: -she shares some of the light eminating from her fingertips with nyalah. she will likely stay unconscious, but hopefully it will be a more restful kind of sleep. the pain inside her head should begin to subside. concentrating is difficult for her, but her own strong sense of self preservation is motivation enough to keep trying to exercise her abilities. they have better chances together. and after what she saw yesterday, she isn't exactly willing to let anyone else fall at the hands of those bastards.-

DAELOS: - Seeing this warm his heart. Perhaps... just perhaps there is a chance they will make it out of this. He nuzzles Aranea gratefully. -

DAELOS: Thank you

ARANEA: -leans into him, only nodding in response. but maybe some of that light will transfer to him too...-

MITUNA: -He's sweating next to the fire, quiet with the strain of all this snow accumulating on his barrier. His brain is a muscle that hasn't been exercised in forever. A time ago he'd be able to do this no problem. He grunts softly, trapping the collected snow in a psionic bubble and moving it past the entrance of the hole to plop that huge pile somewhere else. Sorry guys, no ceiling for a while. He breathes a little heavy-

DAVE: -he's been practically forced to stay awake because concussions are great and karkat won't let him go to sleep anyway. he's still pretty out of it, but the warmth seems to be doing at least something. he ain't dead yet right?-

MITUNA: -He's really tired you guys-

DAVE: -tired club-

MITUNA: -snow starts drifting into the hole-

TEREZI: =Would have been proud of them.=

DAVE: -rude ass dead rude ass-

MITUNA: -Gdi Excalibur-

TEREZI: =shup=

MITUNA: donde...e57a...la biblio7eca

MITUNA: me llamo 7 bone la arana di5co7eca

DAVE: -watches mituna even if he looks blurry-

MITUNA: -Come on Dave you know this one-

MITUNA: di5co7eca

MITUNA: muneca

MITUNA: e5 en bigo7e grande pero man7eca

DAVE: manteca bigote gigante

DAVE: pequeño

MITUNA: la cabe5a e5 nieve

MITUNA: cerve5a e5 bueno

DAVE: -takes a good minute before saying the next part- buenos dias me gusta papas frías

MITUNA: lo5 bigo7e5 de la cabra e5 cameron diaz

DAVE: -another minute- yeaboi

MITUNA: -Soft bomb noise-

DAVE: -breathes- when are we

DAVE: gettin out

MITUNA: no7 ye7 bu7 youre bein pa7ien7 a5 fuck -A snowflake lands on his nose. He's exhausted, but he's still floating a couple logs to the fire. The wet logs snap and crackle with moisture-

DAVE: were gonna

DAVE: get out of here

MITUNA: yeah i know -He glances up. He's only gonna rest a little while longer before continuing to keep the cold out for everyone. Just thirty minutes alright? He doesn't even know how long thirty minutes will be...but still.-

MITUNA: fuck america though dude

[[ Mituna could try counting 1-Mississippi, 2-Mississippi all the way up to 1800-Mississippi. ]]

[[ It's even the spirit of USA! Amurrica, frick yeah! ]]

MITUNA: -Fuck you America-

DAVE: dude dont

DAVE: youre doin some stuff

DAVE: you gotta calm down

DAVE: with your teleport

DAVE: teleconnecticut

MITUNA: i go77a...do 5ome7hin....even if i75 ju57 givin your 5orry a55e5 a chance 7o re57....ehehe

DAVE: we have a fire were good to go

MITUNA: i75 no7 57rong enough ye7

ARANEA: -she's been drifting in and out of consciousness. being cool blooded as she is, the cold is taking it's toll on her. but being slightly delirious, she doesn't think much as she starts wiggling in dave's direction, her hand out towards him.-

DAVE: -watching aranea and this hand thing she's doing and it reminds him of movies and dead people and angels and all he can do is look at her- im dead now

MITUNA: lmao lucky cock5ucker

DAVE: oh nope im alive

MITUNA: poor bi7ch

ARANEA: -ha... is he likening her to an angel? dont' be silly, boy. she touches his shoulder, or hand, or whatever she can get ahold of first and lets the little bit of warmth she has to offer extend to him-

DAVE: -just like that, he feels it...a warm sensation putting feeling back into his fingers and his toes. he watches her carefully as this happens, without a doubt a little confused and delirious with hypothermia but...it appears that his fingers and toes begin to lose their blue color-

MITUNA: -Grins a little, but he's so tired. His head lulls back, eyes fluttering closed. Just for a moment. Just for thirty minutes.-

ARANEA: (We're going to get out of here.) -affirms what he was already saying... if he had any doubts, he couldn't possibly now.-

DAELOS: -LOUD SNORING ON NYALAH DURING THESE TOUCHING MOMENTS.-

DAVE: -his gaze meets hers and he slowly nods- were gonna

NYALAH: -no worries. She's affectionately chewing his neck fat in her sleep.-

MITUNA: -Probably about 44 minutes later he puts the psionic ceiling back up-

[[ Sleep MORE. It means you need it! ]]

DAELOS: -Except at some point he wakes up. His sleep is rather restless. And other than Nyalah chewing on him, he notices that Aranea has left his side and wiggled more towards Dave. And they're holding hands.-

DAELOS: 👀!

DAELOS: -Well. It's cold and humans are fragile. Perhaps it's merely kindness. He tries to go back to sleep.-

DAELOS: -He finds it a bit difficult to stop low key watching them, though.-

ARANEA: -for once doesn't notice when she's being given extra attention... she's zoning in and out a little too much while still looking at dave.-

DAELOS: -MMmm.....-

DAVE: -his fingers are moving a little now that they actually feel like they exist. he's not sure what's happening now but he also doesn't have the sense or strength to get up and do something else-

DAELOS: -On second thought, he doesn't want to look at this anymore. He's gonna slowly just turn so he's facing the other direction. And eventually he'll be able to sleep.-

#cranktankerousGeneticist #coltishdaedalian #nemeanCatapult #academicgeniality #trojanabstruse #gladiateCarnifex #technologicgodot #gnarlycradz #abscissionGalliard

[giancarlonicoli]

Why do experts, CEOs, politicians, and other apparently highly capable people make such terrible decisions so often? Is because they’re ill-intentioned? Or because, despite appearances, they’re actually stupid? Nassim Nicholas Taleb, philosopher, businessman, perpetual troublemaker, and author of, among other works, the groundbreaking Fooled by Randomness, says it’s neither.

It’s because these authorities face the wrong incentives.

They are rewarded according to whether they look good to their superiors, not according to whether they are effective. They have no skin in the game.

Seasoned readers of Taleb will be pleased to see the so-called “experts problem” pop up in living color in Skin in the Game: Hidden Asymmetries in Daily Life, Taleb’s latest collection of essays on risk, rationality, and randomness. According to Taleb, dentists, pilots, plumbers, structural engineers, and “scholars of Portuguese irregular verbs” are real experts; sociologists, policy analysts, “management theorist[s], publishing executive[s], and macroeconomist[s]” are not.

The difference is that, when people from the first list are wrong about something, it’s obvious from the results and they suffer; they have skin in the game. Bad teeth, crashed planes, and leaky pipes are bad for business. People from the second list rationalize by substituting a different theory. They were not really wrong but just early, and, if they’re lucky, which is to say skillful at apple-polishing, earn promotion after promotion by not failing utterly. (Financial advisors can argue that the fiduciary standard is the most powerful tool for putting them in the first list.) Skin in the Game is full of insights like this, some recycled from his earlier work but many of them new. It is well worth the relatively quick read.

Despite the many good qualities of Skin in the Game, Taleb’s work, including the present volume, is often infuriating. He is too sure of himself, too unkind to his enemies, too full of bluster and obscure humor. Acting on his belief that some kinds of experts are worthless, he has populated the book’s dust jacket with anonymous tweets instead of celebrity testimonials. Here’s the first tweet: “The problem with Taleb is not that he’s an ass— (spelled out in full on the jacket). He is an ass—. The problem with Taleb is that he is right.” I agree.

Asymmetry, or why we are ruled by the most easily offended

In chapter two of Skin in the Game, entitled “The Most Intolerant Wins,” Taleb asks why we seem to be governed by the most easily offended. You have to refrain from smoking in the non-smoking section, but you don’t have to smoke (that is, refrain from not smoking) in the smoking section, which, by the way, is much smaller. Few people really care whether you say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, but the latter has become de rigueur in some circles. Almost all soft drinks are kosher.

The reason, Taleb explains, is that, for any given issue, there are a few people who care deeply about it and a great many people who do not. Those who care are spurred to action, even violent action in the case of religious or political passions. The rest of us, wishing to be left alone, rarely fight back with equal vigor. The results of this process include the increasing domination of Taleb’s beloved, multi-religious Lebanon by Muslims, for whom conversion to Islam is irreversible. Conversion away from Islam is at least theoretically punishable by death; Christians and Jews don’t much care if you leave the faith.1

In ancient Roman times, Taleb explains, Christians were the intolerant minority that pushed their views on the Roman majority. That’s how Christianity eventually became the official religion of the empire in 323 A.D. Times and players change but the principles of human nature remain the same.

Almost all soft drinks are kosher because it’s relatively easy to make a drink kosher. So manufacturers put forth this small effort rather than have two kinds of each drink, one for observant Jews – a fraction of a percent of the total population – and one for everybody else.

If this argument sounds familiar, it’s recycled in much more general form from Frédéric Bastiat, the great 19th century French economist. Bastiat wrote that, for any given government action, such as a tax levied to subsidize some activity, there are a few people who will benefit greatly by it and they will work day and night to see it enacted. The great many who stand to lose will typically only lose a few pennies and will put forth little or no effort to prevent it. Thus the number of rules, regulations, taxes, handouts, and special favors granted by government grows exponentially with very little acting to restrain the growth.

These are just a few of the asymmetries of daily life to which Taleb’s subtitle refers. Once you understand the principle, you’ll see it in everything.

Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup

The New York deli called Lindy’s is famous for its clientele of Broadway actors and comedians, and for having food so bad that it has inspired a bevy of jokes including the one that starts with, “Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.” But, Taleb tells us, it is also well-known among mathematicians and other scholars as the place where the Lindy effect was first observed. This is the idea that the age of an inanimate object is a good indicator of its future longevity:

Broadway shows that lasted for, say, one hundred days, had a future life expectancy of a hundred more. For those that lasted two hundred days, two hundred more. The heuristic became known as the Lindy effect.

Likewise, Judaism, 3,500 years old, will probably last another 3,500; Scientology will be lucky to get another 60. Shakespeare will last longer than Stephen King. Even living things that do not age on a particular schedule, like trees, tend to follow this rule. It could be because the old ones, having survived, are anti-fragile, a concept from Taleb’s earlier book by that title; they are not just robust, but gain further robustness from exposure to stresses. Or maybe, like Shakespeare, they’re just better.

This principle is very powerful and Taleb applies it to many topics, with the Lindy theme running through the whole book. Academia, for example, sometimes resembles an athletic contest in which the hardest-working or most aggressive participants appear to win. It should not. “The winner is the one who finishes last,” said the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein; that is, the academic whose theories are least easily overturned, most enduring, had the best theories.

Investors would do well to understand the application of the Lindy principle to their enterprise. Indexing as a concept is about 75 years old; value investing is even older.2 These great ideas are unlikely to be overturned any time soon. Instead, improvements around the edges are the best we can expect. The latest idea for earning alpha, whatever it is at the moment, will almost certainly turn out to be a flash in the pan, easily arbitraged away by the time it can be widely implemented.

Why are there so many employees?

To illustrate how the principle of skin in the game applies to labor contracting, Taleb compares the behavior of two private jet pilots. Bob is a freelance contract pilot who is sometimes useful to your little airline but is at other times too busy hauling Saudi princes to fancy resorts to do the work you need done. The result, an occasional stranded planeload of people, is disastrous for your business.

The other, a pilot-employee – I’ll call him Bill – does more or less what you want, including working overtime in a pinch. Why the difference? Taleb writes,

People you find in employment love the regularity of the payroll, with that special envelope on their desk the last day of the month, and without which they would act as a baby deprived of mother’s milk… [H]ad Bob been an employee rather than something that appeared to be cheaper, that contractor thing, then you wouldn’t be having so much trouble.

Economics dictates that employment is just one of many ways to contract for labor, and a particularly inflexible one that requires you to pay the employee whether you can keep them busy or not. You’ve probably considered replacing employees with contractors in whatever business you operate or work. Yet there are a lot of employees! Taleb’s tale provides a clue to why: “Every organization wants a certain number of people associated with it to be deprived of a certain share of their freedom.” Employment is the only legal way to achieve that sort of dependent relationship.

What’s the connection to skin in the game? We tend to think of freelancers and entrepreneurs, such as Bob the pilot-contractor, as risk takers, skin-in-the-game players. And they are. But, as Taleb reminds us, “skin in the game is not [about] incentives, but disincentives.” You don’t want the employee to do what is best for himself in the short run – that’s what contractors do – so you set up an alignment of interest between his long-run welfare and yours. As an employee with a family and a mortgage, and considerable costs if he has to get another job and relocate, he has skin in your game.

That’s why we have so many employees.

Two very different kinds of risk

Since investing is applied philosophy, Taleb’s whole book is relevant to investors, but the most directly applicable part is Chapter 19, “The Logic of Risk Taking.” He draws the distinction, fundamental but rarely fully understood, between ensemble probability and time probability. (Like double-entry bookkeeping, this is one of those wonderful ideas that’s obvious once you’ve heard it; less so in advance.) Ensemble probability involves a risk faced by a population at a given point in time, such as that of a hundred people visiting a casino once, where each person can make a one-time, double-or-nothing bet involving his or her entire fortune. In that single visit, about half of them will be ruined. The other half, having doubled their money, will be perfectly fine.

Time probability, in contrast, involves an ongoing risk faced by an individual over time. Consider someone visiting a casino 100 times in succession, also making a double-or-nothing bet involving his entire fortune. In 100 visits, that person will be ruined; usually ruin will occur after just a few visits. No one who behaves this way will ever be fine.3

With ensemble probability, then, as Taleb explains, “the ruin of one does not affect the ruin of others.” With time probability it’s the opposite: once you get a sufficiently bad outcome, the game is over and you cannot become un-ruined.4

This distinction is relevant to investing because the risks investors face involve time probability, not ensemble probability. In most aspects of life, we are accustomed to thinking about risk in the ensemble sense: a football team has a 2-in-3 chance of winning a game, a disease has a 10% mortality rate. So we are familiar with that kind of risk, and comfortable extending the concept to other aspects of life.

But, in investing, the state of a person’s wealth at any point in time is contingent on her wealth at the previous point in time; returns are cumulative; investing exposes us to time risk, cumulative risk. We are not typically able to do the mental approximations needed to think about that – if the risk of getting in a car accident on the way to work is one in 10,000, what is the risk of driving to work 10,000 times? (It’s not 100%, nor is it insignificant; it’s 64%. You should go to work anyway.5)

Thus, we need to be very careful when relying on intuition to tell us about investment risk. Investing involves more risk than you think. We also need to be wary of extrapolating from the past (and avoid the temptation that comes from the fact that it’s so readily accessible). Paul Samuelson famously said that “we have only one sample of the past,” meaning that far more things could have happened than did happen; there’s only so much you can learn from studying history. But it’s just as important that we will get only one sample of the future! The return pattern that we will experience is just one of the infinitely many possible ones, and it will not be the one that we “expect” statistically; it will be something different, possibly very different.6

Are you an IYI? I hope not

Consistent with his famously combative persona, Taleb takes pot shots – frequent and vigorous ones – at intellectuals, or, in his acronym, IYI. An intellectual yet idiot (IYI) is someone who is beloved by the public for his or her knowledgeable airs but who is actually full of baloney, having no practical sense. Taleb considers Steven Pinker, author of Enlightenment Now and a current darling, to be an example, and calls him a “journalistic professor,” not the psychologist and linguist that he obviously is. (I’m reviewing Pinker’s book, favorably, in an upcoming Advisor Perspectives.)

When one gets past the gratuitous insult, however – Taleb doesn’t think much of journalists or professors – he has a point. When a real expert strays from his own field, he is susceptible to making the foolish mistakes of an amateur, except that an amateur is likely to be humbler.

Taleb has not convinced me that Pinker is a wandering amateur; maybe it’s Taleb, not Pinker, who is wandering too far from the core of his knowledge. Intellectuals, whether or not IYI, must, when turning against their kind, be on guard against becoming AIYA: anti-intellectual yet ass­­­­—. (Pardon my French; Taleb inspires it.) At 16, I fit the description; I do not think Pinker does.

Dedicated to the one I love?

Book dedications are rarely interesting; they usually feature one’s parent, spouse, or teacher. But, in an odd twist that allows us to see (a little) into Nassim Taleb’s mind, he dedicates Skin in the Game to two well-known people whom I would have praised less lavishly. First, Ron Paul, “a Roman among Greeks”; second, Ralph Nader, “a Greco-Phoenician saint.”

In a self-referential joke, Taleb’s comment about Ron Paul reverses the dedication of his earlier book, The Black Swan, to the great mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, “a Greek among Romans.” It took me a bit of effort to find out, by searching through Taleb’s tweets, that he admires the Romans’ practicality:

As I came to realize...[,] the Romans were no-B.S. Fat Tonys; they resented grand theories and favored prudent and progressive tinkering. Much of what they built, from constitution, to Roman law, to bridges, to low income housing, to their literature, to their imperial administration (still around in the structure of the Catholic church), has survived 2000 years.7

Paul, a doctor and former congressman from Texas, is an honorable man who often stands alone in objecting to his colleagues’ expedient political follies. I’m not sure (and Taleb doesn’t say) why that makes him a Roman, but maybe an encomium is deserved; I would not have singled him out.

But Ralph Nader a saint? He certainly sacrificed personal income, and subjected himself to harassment, when making the case that U.S. auto companies were making dangerous cars; he had skin in that game. But Nader has a dark side. Despite having taken a poverty vow and very publicly living like a monk, he revealed a personal fortune of $3.8 million in his 2000 presidential election filing – not a large fortune but not monkish either. He has also founded nonprofit organizations that do research of dubious quality, and his latest crusade is a meaningless fight against share buybacks (an important mechanism for enabling investors to get cash flow out of their portfolios). Nader is an odd choice for sainthood.

Skin in the game everywhere

Like many authors who’ve discovered a principle that they believe applies in many aspects of life, Taleb isn’t shy about discussing every aspect he can identify. They include the role of looks in choosing a surgeon: don’t choose a dignified, handsome one – one who looks more like a butcher “had to have much to overcome in terms of perception.” Military interventionism? He’s against it, arguing that policy analysts who make war from comfortable offices don’t know what it’s really like on the ground and have no personal stake in the consequences. Religions, at least at first, demand extreme sacrifices from their adherents because their leaders know they can only hold the tribe together if its members can see that fellow members have sacrificed too: “The strength of a creed,” Taleb writes, “did not rest on ‘evidence’ of the powers of its gods, but evidence of the skin in the game on the part of its worshippers.”

This campfire-style storytelling makes the book seem, in places, more like a collection of loosely related essays, as I referred to it at the outset, than a coherent book. This approach has an upside and a downside. It’s easy to read parts of the book without losing the train of thought, since many of the parts were written as magazine articles and stand well on their own.8 The downside is that, if you try to read the book as a coherent whole, you’ll find it too full of interruptions and asides.

Conclusion

Taleb’s writing is nothing if not lively. What other philosopher, let alone investment writer, creates characters like Fat Tony, a worldly-wise trader who cares little for book learning; Yevgenia Nikolayevna Krasnova, a neuroscientist with three philosopher ex-husbands who writes a runaway best-seller called A Story of Recursion; and Nero Tulip, a thinly disguised version of Taleb himself? Taleb entertains, educates, and infuriates all at once, a heady combination for readers who score high on curiosity but frustrating for those who are just in a hurry to gather information and get on with it. This is Sunday afternoon, not Monday morning, reading.

Mercifully, Skin in the Game is also relatively short, unlike Taleb’s previous book, Antifragile. It can be consumed effectively by a casual reader and does not require sustained attention.

Skin in the Game is not Taleb’s best book – that’s Fooled by Randomness – but it’s his most accessible. I highly recommend it.

Laurence B. Siegel is the Gary P. Brinson Director of Research at the CFA Institute Research Foundation and an independent consultant. He may be reached at [email protected].

1 Some Jews say a prayer for the dead upon learning that a fellow Jew, especially a family member, has left the faith; this “punishment” has not done much to stem the rate of intermarriage or the decline in Jewish religious fervor.

2 Index funds, as a concept, started with Jack Bogle’s senior thesis at Princeton in 1951. Value investing traces its origins to Graham and Dodd [1934]. Graham, Benjamin F., and David L. Dodd. 1934. Security Analysis (first edition), New York: Whittlesey House/McGraw Hill.

3 The probability of surviving 100 successive double-or-nothing fair bets with one’s fortune intact is about 1 in 1030, the latter representing a number far larger than the number of seconds since the universe began.

4 I’ve further simplified Taleb’s already simple example by making the bet double-or-nothing and the odds 1:1 (that is, a 50% chance of winning, a fair bet). Taleb’s example involves smaller losses.

5 The right way to think about this is to start with the probability of not getting into an accident, which is .9999. One then takes this number to the 10,000th power, for a result of a (rounding) 36% chance of not getting into an accident in any of 10,000 trials. Thus the probability of getting into an accident is .

6 This is also the point of my article with Barton Waring, “What Investment Risk Really Is, Illustrated,”.

7 Taleb’s Facebook post of August 21, 2015, https://www.facebook.com/nntaleb/posts/10153269370143375. I’ve corrected a number of typos.

8 Or chapters of the forthcoming book were serialized in magazines – it’s hard to tell which.

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League of America #7

Terrorstrike is a near perfect name for a guy whose super power is teleporting into anal.

I don't get it. Why doesn't Killer Frost just get into a lesbian relationship with Fire? Problem fucking solved!

Three pages in and so far Terrorstrike's penis has not teleported itself into anybody's anal cavity. I bet this cover was one of those lying covers that never show the actual truth of the story! Terrorstrike does arrive but not by anal teleportation (I fucking knew it was too good to be true!). Instead he just walks up to the entrance of the Unnatural History Museum, explains that he wants to see the Jackalope, exposes the cat on his shoulder hidden beneath his hoodie, and murders the guards. No wait! He refrains from murder because he needs to explain his origin story and then his motive for being in this comic book. The guards area all, "Um, hey, dude? Could you back off? Nobody cares about aliens ejaculating into your central nervous system as much as you think they should. It's probably why your wife and son can't stand you." If I were one of the guards, I'd probably just let him see the jackalope. But then I'm a terrible employee who never feels loyalty to my employer simply because they're paying me to expend precious moments of my finite life doing things they want me to do. The cover lied in another way: this guy's name is Terrorsmith. That's worse than Terrorstrike! No wonder nobody notices or respects him! You don't stick the most boring last name in the English language onto a fear invoking concept if you want to demand respect. Terrorstrike could work. Terrorsmith just means a lot of people are going to respond, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith. But I'm kind of busy here." I suppose if Bloodlines had been more interesting, I would remember more about Terrorsmith. I think I do have his appearance in Showcase '94 but I probably haven't read it since, um, you know...1994. Terrorsmith turns the guards into monsters. Get it? He creates terrors! Although can you really call two monsters attacking a museum terrors? It's not like they have brown skin and yelled "Allahu akbar!" That was another joke for my conservative readers! Of course, the real joke is that conservatives and the media seems to only think that terrorism is terrorism if the attackers are Muslim. If terrorism is committed by a black guy, it's gang violence. If it's a white guy, it's mental illness or loner who has no fucking connection with other white guys just because he's white and stop being ridiculous because guns are good and shut up. See how jokes work, Internet Scolds? It might seem like I'm saying, "Hey! Muslims are terrorists who are worse than Terrorsmith's monsters!" But what I'm actually saying is, "Hey! Why the fuck do people continue to only use the term 'terrorism' when Muslim attackers are involved? Seems like an agenda there, no?"

I love when people use vulgar in the way most people don't read the word vulgar. Also I love Lobo.

Lobo is busy beating up another alien in a casino somewhere while Black Canary shrugs and sighs and looks askance at the camera as the end credits roll. Terrorsmith has a whole cadre of monster cats that follow him around. Did I use cadre correctly? Sometimes I wish I had an editor because Googling takes too long. It's easier to just ignore an editor when they say, "You can't say so many offensive things!" But they also know all the words I don't know. So sometimes they're useful. During the battle with Terrorsmith's monsters, The Atom crashes into an Unnatural History display of Dr. Sivana's fossilized time pills. Oh, that's convenient! I mean, I don't know how it's convenient but I'm pretty sure it will wind up being convenient. I wish he'd crashed into the display just to the right where they keep Dr. Sivana's time suppositories. Killer Frost moves in to stop Terrorsmith alone. That's because he can't turn her into a monster since she already thinks of herself as a monster. That's like that time that woman touched me and tried to turn me into a God and I didn't change because I'm an atheist and apparently we all believe we're God. Or something. I don't really understand Christians who think they're smart instead of dull say that. How does not believing in gods suddenly turn into believing that I'm my own god? I just said I don't believe in God but I do believe in myself! If I thought I was my own God, that would be a paradox, dum-dum! If the idea that atheists think they're their own God comes down to the fact that they believe they're in control of their lives and their decisions then Christians think they're their own God as well. They make decisions all the time whether or not they point to the sky and wink sexily at God for the help. They especially make their own decisions when they decide that there are certain ideas in The Bible or aspects of church dogma that they can live without acknowledging. Anyway, I only like to associate with people who can determine right from wrong without somebody else having to explain it to them. I'm fairly certain a good percentage of religious people who believe the only way somebody can know right from wrong is through religion are sociopaths. Because I've never been taught religion but I was raised in a house constantly full of cats and learned a good deal about love and empathy which stand in as pretty good markers for determining whether an action is right or wrong. Sure some actions are ambiguous. And some are judgment neutral, like masturbation. If you don't think masturbation is a right/wrong neutral action, you've probably been told how to feel about it. How can you tell if making and eating a sandwich is right or wrong? I guess it depends on what's in the sandwich and what religion's list of acceptable food products you go by. It's so much easier being an atheist! Nobody ever tells me my peanut butter and semen sandwich will send me to Hell. No wait. Everybody does. That was a poor example. The Atom never gets to use his time pills because Frost's plan of threatening Terrorsmith with an agonizing death works to get him to change the guards back. Killer Frost is all, "Terrorsmith couldn't hurt me because I already see myself as a monster!" And The Atom is all, "But my penis doesn't think that! I mean my brain! I'm not trying to save you simply because I want to have sex with you! I mean, I want to have sex with you, I do! But I don't want my dick to freeze off when we do it. So I sort of have to save you! But I'd also want to save you if you were a man too! But then I wouldn't want to have sex with you! So you can see how I probably should have shut up and never opened my mouth at all and just went about trying to help you because you're my friend. I mean, we can be more than friends if you want, of course. You know? To do the sex!"

Don't worry, Frost. He's a guy. He's totally interested. I mean, he'd wrap a jellyfish around his dick if somebody said it felt as good as fucking.

Terrorsmith winds up in Belle Reve where maybe — just maybe! — he'll become fodder for the Suicide Squad. I know they generally don't like working with villains who aren't super popular these days. But at some point, they're going to need to kill somebody or the name is going to lose all meaning (if it hasn't fucking already). There's probably a generation of youths who can't figure out why the fuck the comic is called Suicide Squad. Youth: "So they, like, all want to die or something?" Elder: "No, no! It's just the missions are so dangerous that it's practically suicide to go on them!" Youth: "Wait. The missions are dangerous? Since when?!" Elder: "Well, I mean, that's the premise." Youth: "You're shitting me, right?" Elder: "Don't swear. And stop smoking in front of me. And stop having sex outside of marriage!" Youth: "Well why don't you stop being racist and homophobic?!" Elder: "Touché, young one! Touché! You have taught me this day!" This issue did not have enough Lobo for my $2.99.

#Justice League of America #DC Comics #Steve Orlando #Jamal Campbell