#/found out an artist i really liked deactivated some time ago too. it's like hearing a star you've always wished on went out while you were

[keeps-ache]

i dunno, i think it's funny when people do not read a bio before interacting. like here's a caution sign- oh never mind, there you go lol

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Inked

Still on hiatus. But I found an old piece of writing and I revamped it just a smidge! It was originally published in 2018 on calumh-excess. Which is now deactivated. Hooray for finding pieces!

Calum's been watching Jay for a while. She's cute, talented, but a bit of mystery. Should he really give into her? What will it take for him to admit he has a crush?

Enjoy my masterlist (on hiatus)

______________

He watched her sometimes for far too long. The way her tongue stuck out as she pulled the skin and her hand worked steadily with the needle made it hard for him to resist. Her face always seemed to catch the harsh fluorescent lights and reflect it back so that it twinkled against her skin. A slight sheen, but nothing just of ethereal. He wasn’t even interested in any new ink, not seriously anyway. He had slowed on the ink train, but the shop his tattoo artist owned was a nice place to hang out sometimes. When he wanted to get out of his house but didn’t want to actually go somewhere, he could hang out here, listening to the buzz of the tattoo gun, poke his hand at trying a design here or there. They weren't great. He hadn't considered him this kind of artist, but the shop felt like a second home.

Besides, having her around was a more than welcomed bonus.

He wasn’t even sure what it was about her. She showed up about a year and a half ago, under an apprenticeship. Calum’s artist was unsure of her, much like everyone else that asked to work under him. A hazard of the job, according to the job, according to Calum's artist. However, her drawings spoke volumes; the colors and line work were impeccable. She had talent and knew it without being cocky about it. Well, sometimes she wasn’t. Calum watched her run into the occasional asshole that tried to belittle her; she always put her foot down in those situations. He didn’t fault her.

Today’s no different. When Calum walks in, he greets the guy at the front desk, eyes searching for her. He spots her in the back with her oversized frames creating a small glare over her brown eyes. He never quite got the appeal of the grandma-shaped glasses trend, but on her, they worked. She looked wise but soft. The glass pulled him in, felt like she was seeing into his soul. Maybe she was; maybe the pain made people more vulnerable than they anticipated--entrusting someone, a stranger in some ways, to permanently mark you and not fuck it up. Whatever the reason, looking at her felt timeless. Like she had seen it all, and you are just waiting for you to spill all the secrets.

“You finally going to get some new ink?” Calum’s artist teases.

Calum shakes his head, turning his attention away from her. “You finally took her training wheels off?”

“Your girlfriend’s got mad skills. I couldn’t baby her forever. Jay works hard on each piece, learned fast. Got a steady ass hand and pretty gentle for handling a needle.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, because you haven’t hardly even talked to her. Go for it, you wuss. What’s the worst she says? No?”

Calum exhales a chuckle. "I mean, the worst she stabs me with the tattoo gun. But considering the ink I'm already sporting, I doubt that's really all that bad.”

“Jay would not do that unless you asked for it, ff course. But really, go on, ask her out.”

Calum glances back at Jay. It’s a nickname. No one in the shop calls her by her full name. The only reason Calum heard it was when a client came asking for her. Jay was quick to correct them.

She wipes, clearing excess ink, before dipping back into the small cup. Jay smiles up at her client. Calum's sure they appreciate the reprise. Getting tattoos weren't always fun, but bearable enough to forget about it and get more.

Calum turns his gaze away. “I recommended you to a friend,” he says, hoping that he’ll escape the teasing. It’s not likely to happen. But at least he tries to minimize the ridicule.

"I appreciate it. Are they a first-timer?"

"A second-timer, but they're visiting town and want some new ink. I figured best not to fuck them over."

The two men laugh before Calum's escorted back to look through some new designs. Just in case something sparks his interest. Calum's visit is supposed to be short, but there's not much else on his to-do list for the day. He could kill a few hours here.

When Calum comes out from the back, after spending too much time pretending art was ever a talent of his, he looks for Jay again. She’s not in her corner, nor is she at the front. Calum shrugs, figuring she might have gone for lunch, or home depending.

As Calum walks to his car, he checks his phone. Nothing major's happened.

“Leaving so soon?” A voice states. Calum knows that voice, a little gravelly, mostly sweet. He’s dreamt of it every so often. He prays to hear it when he visits the shop.

He turns to Jay, who leans against the bricks. A vape is wrapped in her fingers. “Gotta get some dinner, maybe make a run to the grocery store," Calum returns. "I've gotten lazy."

She nods. “This reminds me that I can't survive off BLTs forever," she laughs.

"You could try, but I think you'd need other vegetables and some fruit in that mix too."

She pushes up on her glass with a nod. "Ah, yes, gotta get the whole food pyramid." It goes silent between them and Calum gives another nod, raising a few fingers to signal his departure while still keeping his phone in a secure enough grip.

"Hey, wait!" Jay calls out again, taking a half step forward. Calum turns to her. "Can I give you something before you leave?”

Calum nods, not trusting his voice. What would she give him? She nods back to the front door, taking back that initial half-step. “It's inside. Give me like two minutes.”

She disappears inside and Calum stands, his phone still in his hands, staring at the spot she once stood. Just as quickly as she disappeared, Jay reappears. In hand is her portfolio. She flips through before stopping and slides the heavy-duty drawing paper out.

Calum stares down at the green and black drawing. It’s his face, for the most part, that stares back at him. It’s distorted by a crystal ball that glows green. Inside are some instruments and something else, but right now he can’t really put it all together. His eyes keep moving over the lightning bolt, the crystal ball, the uncanniness of his face on a piece of paper, his three-dimensional face somehow translated perfectly into a 2-D space.

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” he breathes. “Thank you,” he says looking back up to her.

She shrugs with a smile. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously, this is so fucking awesome. I’m going to frame it,” he gushes. He’s too excited to be nervous, or be embarrassed. "What are the dimensions?"

“I'm just really glad you don’t find it too creepy. I was watching you a couple weeks ago when you stopped by. It just sort hit me, the image of the crystal ball and lightning bolt; I had to draw it,” Jay elaborates. "And it's 8.5 by 11--standard printer paper size."

Calum shakes his head, staring over the drawing again. It feels so delicate suddenly in his hands. It’s almost like Jay recognizes the change in his handling. She shuffles her load in her hands and pulls out an empty plastic over. “Here,” she laughs handing it over. “So it doesn’t smudge or anything if you're worried."

Calum slides it in. “Thank you. Again. Seriously.”

“You’re welcome, Calum. Good luck with your grocery store trip and dinner,” Jay nods and then heads back inside. Calum watches the way the denim stretches across her hips, the way her hair billows just a little in the breeze of her strut.

For a moment, Calum can't move. The weight of the paper in his hand is hardly ounces, but it holds him--traps him to the point of the sidewalk. Jay thought enough of him to draw him. What did it all mean? Should he have found the courage to ask her out? He could walk back inside. But what if she didn't like him like that? Would it be too weird?

Calum blinks up into the hardly settling sun and thinks to himself, the second he can come back here, it better be with a bit more courage and possibly a gift certificate. No one can be made about free food, right?

It’s months before Calum can visit the shop again. The tour is a whirlwind and he only gets a few days off between legs. Not long enough to get back home or feel like he had any energy to drive out to the shop. But now that he's settled back in at home, he knows exactly where he's going.

It’s not his typical practice to just walk in and ask for a tattoo. But given the ink already on him, worse things could happen. When he pulls open the door, he notices it's kind of slow. Jay greets him at the front desk. “Hey, stranger,” she grins.

“Hey, how are you?” he asks in return.

“Pretty good. How was it? The tour? See any cool places?”

He nods. “Yeah, got to explore a few cities.” He taps his fingers against the wooden desk. “Do you have an appointment anytime soon?”

Jay shakes her head. “My 2 o’clock had to reschedule. I’m here until 4 before I see anyone. Why? What's tickling your fancy?”

“I was wondering if you could do a tat for me? I know this is very last minute and if you need me to come in another day this week, I totally can.” His words run into each other; his palms start to sweat. He wipes them on his jeans.

Jay laughs, holding up a hand. “Whoa, pump the brakes. One, what are you looking for?”

“You know that drawing you did for me?” She nods. “I was kind of hoping you could create something with just the crystal ball and lightning bolt. I know the drawing itself is kind of big.”

A grin lifts her cheeks; Calum’s heart settles for a second. “I think I can do that. Where are you thinking to put it?”

“Inner bicep.” He watches her gaze land on his arm. The t-shirt is baggy, he at least thought about that with enough advance.

“Give me 30 minutes to come up with some sketches.” Jay pushes away from the front desk and heads to the back, but not for calling to the shop to watch the front desk.

Calum slides into the seat at the front, leg bouncing as he settles down. This isn’t even his first tattoo, but the nerves flood his body. His scalp tingles. The thirty minutes move by too fast, but also too slow simultaneously. The seconds feel like hours but move by milliseconds.

Eventually, Jay resurfaces, waving him over to her. He walks back and looks at the sketches she places out in front of him. There are two different ones. One’s a bit more minimalistic, which is her style, with the lightning bolt in the background and a simple crystal ball at the point. The other is a bit bolder, the ball has a slightly warped edge where it connects to the bolt. It looks like the bolt is melting the glass ball.

“I can whip up more if neither one of them are quite right. But I wasn’t sure if it wanted something a bit more crisp and sharp or not,” Jay explains.

Calum admits that most of his tattoos are more cleaned up and sharp. He likes the idea of playing with a new style. “I like the second one,” he says, tapping it.

“You sure?” He nods, he’s never been more sure of something in his life. “Which bicep? Let me line it up and make sure it’ll fit.”

Calum lifts his left arm up for her. Laying the stencil over his skin, Jay notes she has to make a couple small tweaks. But after that, she’ll be ready. They discuss full color, or just outline, or shading, price, and a few other details before Jay concludes with, “Hop in my seat. I’ll be there soon.”

Calum nods and walks over to her station. Her stuff is already laid out, probably for her canceled 2 o’clock. It’s about five more minutes before Jay returns with the final stencil. Calum rolls up the sleeve of his shirt before she places the stencil. Happy with the placement, he stretches out on the table.

Jay gets herself ready before she brings the needle over his skin. The first puncture always makes him jolt a little, the first jab of pain causes his heart to race. “Do you plan on relaxing now that you're back home?"

"Yeah, for a little bit. I might go see my family, but I know we'll be back in the studio soon. Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

"I mean exciting things happen every day at this place. But it's not like I could recall them all now."

Calum hums, acknowledging her statement, but not quite sure what to say next. Luckily, Jay's faster to fill in the silence. "You do realize you didn’t have to get a tattoo to have a real conversation with me?” Jay teases, pushing up her glasses.

Calum’s cheeks heat. “It’s not like that,” he chuckles.

“Well, that’s how it seems.”

“You were always busy when I stopped by. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Not always,” she laughs. “But it’s alright. You’re going to have plenty of time while I’m stabbing you to say all those things you didn’t.”

A chuckle escapes him; of course, Jay would have this sense of humor. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m paying so much for people just to stab me and act as a therapy. Maybe I am a masochist.”

“So are a lot of people. Sometimes you just take the emotional pain out in the physical realm.”

“I always imagined people that worked in a tattoo shop to be more heavily tatted,” Calum hums, taking in scattered ink across her arms and one pokes out from the V in her t-shirt.

“I focused it more on my back and legs and not so much my arms. I’m getting there. So, why this one today?”

Calum goes to shrug, but stops himself as he hears the gun nearing his skin again. “Not really sure. It looked cool. I guess it also serves to remind me that fate isn’t linear. There’s going to be twists and turns, maybe some trouble. And that’s okay. Don’t be afraid of the journey. Also, it's really fucking cool art.”

Jay hums her laugh, “Why thank you. Wise brain you got there. Besides, it seems like you also have people you keep close to you.” She eyes the initials and the name under the bird. “Whoever they are to you, I hope you all stay close.”

“Those are my parents' initials,” he explains. “And my sister’s name. They’ve been with me through it all--I love them dearly.”

“So sweet. I wish my parents and I were closer. I tattooed my brother’s jersey number on me. It was my first tattoo.”

“What did he play?”

“Soccer, or for your kind, football.”

“Hey now, it’s played with the feet, it makes much more sense.”

Jay laughs, wiping off excess ink. She cocks her head to the side a little, then goes back in for the black ink. “I’m only teasing. Us Americans are so dumb sometimes. Like why is our football not called something else? Literally, the only thing that happens with the feet is the running. We carry the fucking ball.”

“I’ve wondered that as well!” he laughs. "Does your brother still play?"

“Yeah, the whole knucklehead still plays for his college.”

“What position?”

Jay laughs. “I'll have you know my job as the older sister is to show up and cheer him on. Something defensive? I don’t remember off the top my head.”

“I’ll give you credit for that. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“He does until he sees with me in face paint on and then he’s acting like he doesn’t know me. Oh, oh wait, I think remember what he does. It’s defensive,” she pauses, lips pursed together, “something fielder.”

“Defensive midfielder?” he asks.

“Yeah, that. But like I said, I show up when I can and scream. That’s it. When he’s old enough, I’ll buy him a beer after his games too.”

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen, we’re three years apart.”

“The only sibling you have?”

“Nah, got a baby sister too. She’s fifteen. If you’re impressed by my eyeshadow thank her. Because she’s the one that taught me how to do it.”

Calum finds himself staring at the red and gold coloring her eyelids. “It looks really nice,” he breathes.

“Why thank you.” She pauses to bats her eyelashes. “I even managed to get those godforsaken falsies on right too. They look good, but the raise hell.”

“I think you’re the first woman I’ve met in LA that’s not obsessed with makeup,” he notes.

“Oh, you were doing so well. There are a lot of people of who aren’t huge in the makeup scene.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries to backtrack. “I’m sorry. In my experience, it’s not like that. They’re hiding the fact they aren’t wearing makeup--embarrassed by it or something.”

Jay nods, pushing up her glasses yet again. “Yeah, it’s not easy. We’re told to be perfect, but in reality, we’re just like everyone. We’re human, imperfect and flaw-full and beautiful.”

“Not in spite of, but because of.”

“Exactly,” she chuckles. Silences settles in around them. Calum wonders why she said she was closer to her family, but the way she talks about her siblings doesn’t match. She’s cheering her brother on at his game; she’s sitting down to learn makeup with and from her sister.

“Can I ask a bit of a personal question?” he asks.

“What kind of personal? Do I get a lifeline?”

Cal exhales a laugh. “You can always say no.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Why say that you’re family isn’t close but you clearly take a lot of pride in your siblings?”

“An observant one on my table, I see. It’s my parents. They don’t like that I’m pansexual, say I’m going to hell. My siblings don’t fucking care. I’m still the crazy-ass sister that loves and supports them.”

With a hum of acknowledgment from Calum, it goes quiet again around them for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He knows it doesn’t really fix anything for her; it doesn’t take away the potential years of her suffering. It’s the only thing he can offer her though. It feels right to say.

“Oh, no need for you to be sorry. It’s not like you threw me out of the house.”

“Ouch. You’re making it though right?”

“Yeah, now that I work here, things are on the up and up.”

“That’s good; I’m glad.”

“Thanks.”

“Favorite tattoo you’ve done?” he asks, wanting to hear her voice again.

“This one,” she laughs. “Though I had someone ask for a pin-up witch, which was also pretty fucking cool to do.”

Calum remembers seeing that on her Instagram. “That one was amazing! Her lips looked so good; I know that’s a strange thing to admit.”

“Don’t worry. I am quite proud of that myself.”

“Do you have a favorite tattoo on you?”

“The blue jay on my shoulder. My parents would take me on walks when I was still an infant. According to the legend, while they were sitting on a park bench a blue jay landed on me. I didn’t cry; it didn’t hurt me. It just landed for a second and then flew off. They called me Blue Jay ever since. I just shortened the nickname as I got older.” She gives one more wipe. “Finished. Check it out.”

Calum sits up, walking over to the mirror. He grins seeing the melting ball sitting against his skin. He grins over to Jay. “It looks amazing. Thank you.”

“No problem.” They head back over to her station. Jay cleans it and wraps the fresh ink. Calum carefully gets his sleeve back down with a little help from Jay. He pays their agreed price with his card, but slides two fifties over to her. “You do know that’s more than double a twenty percent tip right?”

Calum shrugs. “Is it? I’m bad at math,” he grins. “Treat your sister to a new palette or something. Treat yourself to something.”

“Thank you. Now next time, you come by, I hope we don’t talk while I’m stabbing you repeatedly.”

Calum shakes his head, a grin still on his face. Of course. He had forgotten to get the gift certificate. But possibly asking Jay to dinner wouldn't be such a bad idea. “Give me your number and I can promise the next time we talk, it won’t in your chair.”

She holds out her hand, waiting. He hands her his phone, after unlocking it. She puts her number in. She goes to hand the phone back but just before his fingers touch it, she draws it back. "I mean it--actually text me. I adore memes, dogs, TikToks, your favorite songs."

"I'll actually talk to you. I promise."

Jay hands over his phone with a smile. Calum steps outside the glass doors. Why should he wait? He could do it now. For fuck sake, the last hour had been the groundwork for a clear sign a date was absolutely an option. His fingers hovering over her name. He taps it, and then presses for a call. Holding the phone to his ear, he listens to it ring for a second.

“I can still see you, you know?” Jay laughs.

Calum turns around, catching her leaning against the front desk. “I told you the next time we talked you wouldn’t be inking me.”

“What can I help you with, Calum?”

“Dinner, tonight-- I may have ordered too many appetizers for just little old me."

Her laugh trickles in over the speaker. She drops her head, giving it a shake before looking back up to him in the afternoon sun. “I think I can help you with that. Give me the time and place."

Calum rattles off the name of a restaurant that he had been wanting to try. Nothing too upscale, but not something that would be too casual. "How does 8 sound?"

"I love it there. I'll see you at 8."

“Bye, Jay.”

“Bye, Calum.” As he walks to his car, his phone buzzes yet again. This time a text from his artist, I’m being fucking replaced, I see. I can’t be too mad since it’s Jay. Calum laughs as he slides into his car. Maybe he is getting replaced; maybe he’s not. Calum’s not sure. He is sure that he needs to figure out if he can make reservations and what to wear for tonight.

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 5, daily life (Part 2)

Note of the author: Exams are a bitch but I’m bitcher

Also, please expect the AU to get a new chapter every two weeks from now on.

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

...

...

"What am I, really?"

...

"My mind feels like it's going to shatter into pieces."

...

"It hurts."

...

--

Day 18 since the beginning of the game.

6:30 AM.

Shuichi woke up to the sound of his alarm. He had put it on so he would be ready by 7:00 AM- the time everyone chose to reunite and finally go through the tunnels.

With newfound energy, he made his daily routine.

He had packed a few things he wanted to take with him in bags they had found at the warehouse.

Tsumugi and Kiyo's notebooks, some of the items the others gave to him as a souvenir, but he preferred not to pack too much stuff as he would have to take both Ryoma's weapons and a part of the foods and drinks for outside.

Once ready, he pushed the door of his room. Kirumi and Miu were already there. There were a few packages at their feet.

"Good morning, Shuichi! Ready to go?" the street artist called.

"Good morning!" he approached them. "What are those for?" he asked, pointing the objects.

Kirumi handed him one. "Those are the food packs with a bottle of water. Make sure to take one."

He opened his bag and did as told.

Shuichi had just noticed that Miu didn't put on her leather jacket, and Kirumi had put her whole uniform back on.

"Oh... Did you two decide to switch back to the usual uniform?"

Miu shrugged. "I kept the jacket in my bag. If we go through the tunnels that ain't going to be the most practical thing to wear."

"As for me, this is a similar situation. Besides, I asked Rantaro to reinforce the bandages, and this is also in case we have to brave the cold outside."

It's true that they had no idea what was waiting for them. Sure, if nature managed to grow trees inside the academy, then outside shouldn't be that bad.

But if they were in the middle of nowhere and had to walk days to find even one person alive, then surely they would need enough clothing.

However... 

He kept thinking back at what they learned from the flashback lights. The meteorites. The ultimate hunt. The funerals. The people claiming mankind deserved damnation.

The academy is the only place they know is safe from potential dangers. But considering the current situation, to get out was better than to kill each other for a time limit.

For now, they had to focus on their main objective.

To get out of here.

The others were ready, but...

"Where are Rantaro and Ryoma?"

The two soldiers hadn't shown up yet.

Kirumi had her monopad out. "They are both in Ryoma's lab. I'm supposing they're doing the final touches to the equipment."

The monopads...

"Shouldn't we leave the monopads here? Monokuma can track us if we keep them..." Kokichi noted.

Good point.

"The rules say the monopads mustn't be damaged. They don't say anything about being left here." Kirumi explained.

What was the point of following the rules anymore? Were they even going to be chased by the exisals?

Only Monodam and Monokuma could control them, but if they were outside the academy, could they really do something to them?

Perhaps with Ryoma's weapons, they could work things out.

Shuichi found strange the fact that Monokuma didn't try to stop them, though.

Maybe it was because they hadn't broken a rule yet. But they would break the first rule once they step outside the academy.

... He really hoped Ryoma was indeed living up to his talent.

They took care of the last details and before they knew it, Rantaro opened the door, everyone suddenly turning to him.

He looked even more tired than yesterday, somehow. Had he even slept?

"... The weapons are waiting in Ryoma's lab. We can't bring them all at once here."

The group went to the fifth floor. Shuichi had this uncomfortable feeling in his chest, like he knew things would go wrong, but he repressed it. This was their only chance, and they had no choice but to do it.

Ryoma was waiting in front of the lab. There were several machines that looked like guns, and two heavy weapons behind.

"Is everyone here?" he asked.

"Yup. No one's missing."

"Good." he took the smaller guns and gave one to each. They were black and dark blue with a symbol resembling the one on Ryoma's beanie on them. They were lighter than Shuichi expected. "Let me explain how these guns work."

"They aren't normal guns. I guess you could call them hacking guns. You put the ammo in, you aim for a machine and it's done for. That's what we're going to use for the traps."

He distributed several sets of tiny blue bullets.

"Let me give you a demonstration."

He took his gun, opened a small chamber on the side, inserted a bullet, and closed it. He aimed at one of the Monokuma statues near the stairs that were usually moving somehow and pulled the trigger.

The wings of the bear replica started vibrating, then completely froze. The statue wobbled and fell onto the floor with a loud crash.

"Woah..."

He put the gun back in his bag. "I'll give you enough ammo for you guys to be safe, but don't use them too much. We have limited resources."

Ryoma gave them about ten bullets each. "Each bullet gives you 50 shots. There's an indicator on the gun showing how many are left. You can only insert one bullet at a time."

"As for the heavy weapons, they will be for Rantaro and I, so you don't have to worry about them."

The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "What are these for?"

He took one of them and put the strap around him. "Heavier weapons for heavier targets. You should know what I mean."

... The exisals.

Those weapons looked dangerous. Surely they would be enough to resist Monokuma's mechas. Especially if there were only two of them.

Rantaro took the second one without a complaint.

These looked really heavy though. Was their training enough to help them carry such bulky weaponry?

It looked like it, and that was a terrifying thought.

Kaito looked at Ryoma. "You managed to do all of these in one night?"

He shrugged. "That's kind of my talent. Besides, I only had to do the hacking guns from scratch. The heavy weaponry had already built-in pieces in the boxes."

Did he even sleep? That still must have taken a huge amount of time.

"Is everyone ready?" Rantaro asked, putting his backpack on.

The violinist observed his gun for a moment.

"... Yes."

They all made their way to the death road of despair.

It was tough for the two soldiers to fit their giant weaponry into the manhole, but that was not a huge problem in the end.

"This is it..." Miu muttered. "We're leaving."

"No regrets. The others wanted this for us. We cannot fail." Rantaro took a step forward, facing the tunnel. "We got an opportunity to escape and we cannot afford to miss it."

He turned to them. "I understand the doubt, but if we all want to survive, that's what we have to do."

"So no going back. Got it?"

Shuichi nodded.

He still had doubts about everything. About the outside world. About Monokuma. And...

Was there really a traitor among them? If so, they hadn't even tried to stop them- they let them do whatever they wanted.

Surely, they would have a way to stop them, right?

Unless...

Would it put their identity in danger? If they even tried to suggest this was a bad idea, they would be suspicious in the eyes of everyone.

... Or it was because they knew they couldn't escape?

So many questions ran through his head, but for now, he had to follow Rantaro and the rest of them.

They entered the tunnels, Shuichi firmly gripping his hacking gun. He checked the indicator. 50 shots left to use wisely.

He was ready.

He could hear their footsteps echoing through the dark tunnels as they walked in silence.

Shuichi heard a strange noise from behind him, and not even a second later, Kirumi turned around and shot the origin of it.

The bomb that was flying towards them fell to the ground, surprisingly not exploding.

"These guns work wonders!" Kaito exclaimed.

"Kirumi, I thought you didn't use guns for your missions... I didn't think you would have such a precise aim." Shuichi turned to the mercenary.

"Because I don't use them doesn't mean I don't know how to. They simply are not my first choice of weapons."

"Please try not to rely on one person too much, we're going to waste time unnecessarily if we have to give ammo to her over and over again." Ryoma advised.

"Got it!"

The walk through the tunnels was surprisingly easy thanks to their new weapons. Whenever a trap activated, they shot a bullet at it and it was done for. It almost felt like a video game.

Sometimes several of them had to shoot at once because of the number of traps, but what was an impossible challenge for them two weeks ago was now more than doable.

It felt good to have a sense of control. To be superior to the robotic bear forcing them to do all this.

... Could they even use the hacking guns on Monokuma? Of course, that would be against the rules but... Once outside and thus breaking one of the rules, they could deactivate him, right?

Or even if the plan doesn't work for some reason, they could still try to defeat Monokuma and end the game.

Even if the supposed mastermind made more copies of him, they still had plenty of ammo and weaponry to deal with an army of them.

But for now, he had to focus on what was ahead.

Some of the traps, unfortunately, couldn't be deactivated, so sometimes they still had to run as fast as they could.

None of them ended up getting injured though.

After what felt like an eternity of running and trap deactivation, they stopped in their tracks. He looked up to see...

... The door. The end of the tunnel, right in front of them.

"We... We made it..."

"Is that the exit?" Miu approached the thing.

"There's a shutter, though..." Kokichi noted.

Perhaps they could disable it with the guns.

Shuichi couldn't help but smile. "We did it... We can finally get out..."

"Are we sure this is the outside world, though?" Kaito asked.

Ryoma approached the panel in front of the door. "I doubt it would be a dead end. As strange as this academy is, there has to be a way out, somehow."

But... He could still feel the unsettling feeling he had prior to the trip here.

Why wasn't Monokuma here trying to stop them? Was it because they had weapons?

Was it because he had changed his strategy?

"Let's finish this."

Ryoma took out his gun and...

*Bang!*

He shot the control panel.

The electric shutter turned off, and the light turned green.

Lock disabled.

"It's... over?" Miu's eyes widened.

"Then let's go!" Kaito exclaimed.

"Hold on, we still have to be careful. We do not know what's outside." Kirumi took out her gun, changing the bullet inside it.

Rantaro and Ryoma put their own aside to take the heavy weaponry they had carried all the way here.

They were ready.

They pushed the door.

But the moment they thought they would feel the fresh breeze of the outside...

They saw it.

A city in ruins, a red sky looming over them, and not a single trace of humanity beyond that door. It was the apocalypse.

A scene full of despair.

With the harsh wind blowing on them, Shuichi suddenly felt unable to breathe, like everyone else.

He saw some of them falling to the ground, and it wasn't long before he himself fainted.

The last thing he saw before drifting into unconsciousness was Kirumi heading towards the panel with difficulty.

Trying to... close the...

... door...

...

--

...

After an unknown amount of time, he woke up.

Shuichi slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurry around him.

He sat up, trying to make out the scene before him.

The door was closed, and everyone was on the ground, slowly waking up as well.

"What... What is this?"

He tried to stand up, taking deep breaths.

"What the hell was that??" Kaito yelled.

"Why is everything in ruin?? What the hell happened?" Miu exclaimed, hands on her head.

"That was definitely the outside world, but... How did it end up like this?" Ryoma stared at the door.

Kirumi slowly sat up from the control panel.

"We didn't get to see much but I think that was enough to say the outside world isn't a solution anymore."

"B-B-But how d-did this happen?? W-What... What happened?" Kokichi couldn't even form a sentence.

Shuichi tried to apprehend what he just saw. "The outside world... Is in ruins...?"

"Then... If the outside world is in ruin..." Miu muttered. She suddenly put both of her hands on her mouth. "Kaz-"

The violinist's eyes widened. If everything was in ruin then... Where were their loved ones?

Were they-

"No... Nonononononono-"

"Then..." Ryoma looked at the door with concern. "Was this game of 'kill to get outside' a lie?"

They all wanted to leave but this... This was the outside world?

Was everyone dead? Were they the only people alive? Was the entire outside world like this?

"So! You finally learned your lesson?"

A robotic voice called. Monokuma appeared in front of the door.

"This is the outside world you all have been trying to achieve! Isn't it splendid?"

...

He couldn't believe this.

"If you thought I would let any of you leave, then that's wrong! I didn't stop you *because* I knew you couldn't leave! Did any of you think your lovely headmaster wouldn't be more careful?"

...

No one was able to mutter a single word. Everyone was dead. The outside world was no more. They were fighting for a world that didn't exist anymore.

"This is where I shall give you the second motive!"

...

He wasn't even listening anymore.

"Although... Now isn't exactly a good time, is it?"

...

Huh?

"It would be better if every one of you was awake for the motive announcement!"

Everyone... Awake?

"Rantaro...?"

He heard Ryoma's voice from behind.

Rantaro was still unconscious on the floor.

"Rantaro!!"

The weapons maker put a knee down next to him. He placed a hand on his chest and let out a sigh of relief.

"... He's breathing. Only unconscious."

But... Why...? Why was he the only one still unconscious?

Miu ran up to him as well. "What should we do? What happened to him? Why isn't he awake?"

"I don't know, Miu. I don't know."

"Wake up! Please!" she cried. "Please..."

But her tears couldn't bring miracles.

The medic was sleeping. And nothing on his face indicated a peaceful sleep. He looked terrified, like the rest of them right now.

The others approached him as well, ignoring the bear.

"Hey! Pay attention to your headmaster!"

...

No one did.

"Give him some space. He needs to breathe."

"How are we even going to get back to the academy? Do we wait for him to wake up?"

"No! He needs more than just resting! He needs to be taken care of!"

"What, you can carry him?"

"W-We also have his stuff to carry..."

Kirumi put a knee on the floor. "... I'll carry him. Someone will need to transport my equipment and Rantaro's, but I can try to carry him."

"Really? You have the strength?"

"I don't see anyone else volunteering. I can give it a try. He doesn't look too heavy."

"HEY!"

The bear yelled from behind.

"I said, I have the motive to show you guys!"

"Shut your fucking mouth! No one needs you to-

*Bang!*

Before Shuichi could think, a gunshot was heard.

But it missed its target.

And the one who tried to shoot...

... Was none other than Ryoma, who had just stood up, gun in hand.

He glared at the bear with frightening blue eyes. The glare similar to Rantaro's.

"... None of you learn their lessons. It is quite sad."

"Shut it. If you think you're going to get away with this entire game of yours, you are sorely mistaken."

He wrapped his finger around the trigger.

"I missed on purpose just now as a warning. Leave us alone or I'll make sure to use each and every one of your pieces as I please."

"So now, do yourself a favor and get out of here."

There was a long silence.

"... If you think a single toy will make me comply, then you did not learn a single thing from this game. I feel sorry for you."

"The rules are quite clear. Any violence against the headmaster is prohibited."

Ryoma didn't move.

"Oh well, since one of you is still out, I can't exactly give you the second motive, so for now... Buh-bye!~"

Finally, Monokuma left.

And silence settled in the room once more.

Ryoma lowered the gun and put it back into his bag.

"... We're going to have to think of a new strategy. But for now it's useless to stay here any longer."

Shuichi tried to push his worries away. "W-What do you suggest?"

The weapons maker pondered for a moment.

"There's nothing left to see here. So we can go back to the academy. That's our priority for now."

"Kirumi, you'll carry Rantaro since he doesn't look like he'll wake up anytime soon. Kaito, I'm going to ask you to take his weapon since you're probably the second strongest here-

"I'll do it."

They turned to Miu. "... I'll take the gun. I'm a bit stronger than I look, you know?"

Her voice was low, almost shaking. She must still be in shock.

Shuichi remembered the day Kokichi and her were locked up in the lab. When she carried him back to the dorms.

Perhaps she was indeed the stronger of the two.

"... Alright. I know better than to underestimate people by their physical appearance."

"I'll take Kirumi's bag and one of you take Rantaro's. Then we're out."

Kaito was the one to take it this time.

"We'll think about what we just saw once we're out. For now, there's more urgent."

Shuichi nodded.

They took everything they had and walked back to the entrance.

He realized Ryoma managed to take the lead rather quickly. But right now, it was not a bad thing, considering their mental state.

The walk felt long, as the silence and the shock was making the atmosphere heavier and heavier.

The violinist looked at Kirumi, who had Rantaro on her back. She didn't look like she was struggling much carrying him.

He had no idea how the medic was holding up. What was the deal with him?

He asked himself that question so many times already, and yet he never got the answer.

Everyone was exhausted. Good thing they didn't have to deal with traps on the way back.

They had prepared themselves just to see the outside world is nothing but ruins?

This felt so wrong.

The group arrived at the entrance, but a problem immediately surfaced.

There was no way Kirumi could climb the ladder with Rantaro on her back.

"... Shit. I forgot about that part." Ryoma muttered.

"W-What do we do, then?" Kokichi asked.

There was a long silence.

"I can still try to climb the ladder, but we will need to find a way to make sure Rantaro doesn't slip off."

"Too dangerous. We can't risk his life for this."

"So what do you suggest?"

Ryoma looked at the manhole, then back at the group.

"One of you stays here while we bring back the weapons to my lab. I'll come back after to watch over him."

"Why not just leaving us the weapons? We know where your lab is." Kaito raised an eyebrow.

"I want to make sure the weapons are safe. I'm not leaving any of them in the hands of that stupid bear."

Good point.

"Then... Who stays?"

Miu crossed her arms, looking away. "Well... Kirumi carried Rantaro the entire way back, so... Perhaps we should give her a break from carrying weapons. Her back must hurt like hell."

... She still didn't know, did she?

Ryoma stared at her for a moment. "Fair enough. Kirumi, does it bother you to stay here?"

"Not at all. We have the resources in the bags, I can give them to him if he needs to in case he wakes up."

She gently put the medic on the ground with the help of Miu and Ryoma, and a half-emptied bag behind his head as a pillow.

He hadn't moved a single inch ever since they opened the door to the outside world.

The others took the rest of the equipment and Kirumi's hacking gun and started climbing the ladder.

Shuichi shot one last glance at her. She was sitting back to the wall, keeping a close eye on Rantaro.

For now, they had to take back the weapons to Ryoma's lab.

On the way here, he tried to think about what they just saw. The crimson scenery, the destroyed buildings, and the howling wind that knocked them all out.

If the entire world was nothing but ruins... Then what were they fighting for?

Why did Tenko give them more time to find a way out to a deceased world?

Why did Maki go so far as to kill someone at random if her family was decimated?

Why giving them reasons to go back to a world that doesn't exist?

Why did everyone make those sacrifices?

Why were they the only ones still alive?

These questions kept echoing in Shuichi's head. And no one had an answer to them.

They arrived at the weapons maker's lab.

"... I'll take care of these. We'll discuss important matters once Rantaro wakes up. Besides, you guys probably need to free your minds right now."

Kaito frowned. "'You guys'? Don't you include yourself in this?"

He paused for a moment. "... I'll go back to watch over Rantaro soon enough and let Kirumi go back to the academy. Also, I don't think I can rest without thinking about what we saw outside."

Shuichi glanced away for a moment, then looked back at him. "But-

His gaze was enough to tell he wasn't taking no for an answer.

The four left the lab upon Ryoma's request.

But even after closing the door behind them, he would see the uneasiness on their faces.

Miu looked like she was holding back tears. Kaito looked distressed as well, but was either less touched or was hiding it better.

As for Kokichi, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

They went to the dining hall. Perhaps grabbing a snack would make them feel a little better.

But the moment they stepped foot in the dining hall...

... They saw a flashback light on the table.

"... Huh?" Miu blinked.

Kaito approached the thing. "Why is it here? It's unused, but... Couldn't Monokuma have given it to us yesterday?"

That was indeed strange.

"We can only wait for the others, then..." Shuichi muttered.

They sat around the table. None of them were even hungry. The violinist had just taken a glass of water.

He crossed his arms and put his face in them. The others were not in the mood either.

Kaito had stayed right outside the room to tell Ryoma about the flashback light.

After some time, he went back to the dining hall. "We're good. Now I guess Kirumi will come back soon enough."

They sat in silence. Sure, they could try to do something productive in the meantime, but... Everyone wordlessly agreed to stay here.

Some time after, the door reopened, revealing the mercenary.

She sat with the others without a word. She didn't look as shocked and worried, though. It was hard to tell how she was feeling.

...

"... What a silence." Kirumi noted after a long period of time.

"Well, do you have something to say?" Kaito asked. He noticed a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Not really. I simply wish to understand what we witnessed."

"What's the point?" Kokichi muttered, voice muffled by his arms. "We can't get out of here anyway. We're going to die by the time limit. None of us have anything to go back to."

He was right. Either they die in the outside world, or they die executed by Monokuma when the time limit arrives.

There was no other choice.

"Not to be too blunt, but you all disappoint me."

Shuichi perked up. "Huh?"

"Look. Perhaps I am the only one in this case. I don't have anything to go back to in the outside world, in shambles or not. But I've dedicated my whole life to survival even when I knew nothing was waiting for me. This is no different and I'm not going to give up on everything I've done until now because of it."

"Excuse me?" Kaito suddenly stood up, approaching Kirumi. "We have families that are probably dead by now! We have something to go back to! But you saw the same thing we saw back there! There's nothing! Everyone is dead!"

The mercenary didn't back down, even though Kaito was mere inches away from her. "I know that as much as you do, thank you. But have you seriously lost your survival instinct and your respect for the dead the second your eyes landed on this hellish landscape? Because it sure looks like it."

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT RESPECTING THE DEAD?? YOU KILL PEOPLE FOR A LIVING, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!"

...

Those words echoed through the room.

Kaito was glaring at her. He was furious.

Kirumi, on the other hand, looked like she was holding back an immense amount of rage. Her cold, green eyes kept staring at the biker.

Without a word, she went back to the door, the eery tapping of her heels being the only sound in the room.

"Where are you going??"

She stopped for a moment.

"I am not welcome here, so I am leaving. Simple as that. I will be in my lab. Call me back when the flashback light is ready to be used."

"Wait-"

She closed the door behind her.

The amount of self-control she had was terrifying.

"Kaito... That was kind of harsh, don't you think?" he muttered.

He scoffed. "She's a freaking mercenary! She wouldn't have this job if she actually cared about peoples' lives!"

"But... She's right on certain points..." Kokichi nervously fidgeted with his sleeves. "If we give up now, then we're giving up everything we've done so far... And everyone would have died for nothing..."

"Because we didn't know there was nothing to go back to. I doubt we would have done something if we knew the world had ended from the start." Miu crossed his arms on the table. She was only muttering those words, an obvious sadness in her eyes.

Would they... Would they really have given up that easily back then? Would they have let themselves die?

"But still... We should at least try to understand the situation before agreeing on such a serious decision..." Shuichi suggested.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Kaito sat back down. "Let's just... Wait for Ryoma and Rantaro to come."

Silence settled upon them once again. But some of Shuichi's thoughts were replaced by guilt.

After some time, he stood up. "I'll... try to talk to Kirumi."

He left before anyone could say anything.

The violinist walked to her lab. Fortunately, it wasn't that far.

He knocked on the door. A few moments later, the mercenary opened. "... Are they back?"

"No, I just... thought I could talk to you."

She paused.

"Come in."

The two sat on the chairs. Kirumi was staring at nothing in particular, the rhythmic tapping of her nails echoing through the room.

"I'm... I'm sure Kaito didn't mean what he said." He broke the silence. But he had no idea if his statement was true or not.

"It's fine."

That would have been a bit more convincing if he hadn't already heard this quote used as a lie over and over again by the remaining survivors.

"But I stand my point. Your lack of survival instinct disgusts me."

"W-What do you mean?" perhaps he could learn a bit more about her ideals. She had always been silent about them.

"I've fought many battles in the past. All of them were for my own survival. I've never fought for anything or anyone but myself. It was survival of the fittest, after all. Never once have I completed a mission with any other intentions than 'if I do not kill my target, I will die'. This is everything I've lived for."

For someone to have such a strong survival instinct... That is probably why she is still alive to this day.

"Do not get me wrong, if another path opened that allowed me to live my life without those missions, I would gladly take it. I do not take pleasure in killing."

That was a bit reassuring, somehow.

"However I do not mind doing so if it means allowing myself to live longer."

He thought for a moment. Asking that question was a bit risky but... He wanted to. "I understand your thought process, but..."

"Why didn't you kill anyone? Considering your talent, you could have gotten away with it."

"Getting away with murder is not an easy task. No matter how strong and smart you are, you cannot escape the killing game rules if you get found out. You have seen it, even the slightest mistakes can be fatal."

"Besides, we have the ultimate karma in our group. To kill someone to escape would be suicide."

"What about the first blood perk? You could have killed someone easily and Monokuma would have let you out."

She paused for a moment. Shuichi could feel his heart pounding in his chest as she stared at him.

"... At this point I do not think saying it would have many consequences, whether you're responsible for this mess or not."

He didn't know what to say. "What do you mean?"

"I never acted because I have the feeling Monokuma would have never kept his promise."

Shuichi blinked. "W-What do you mean?"

"I did not know how Monokuma worked at the time. Would you really trust the bear keeping us trapped here to keep the promise of letting you go free if you kill someone?"

... Not at all.

"I will admit I considered it. But my trust for this bear is lower than anything else, which is why I passed this so-called opportunity." she explained. "I hope I answered your question."

He nodded. A part of him wanted to believe it was because she didn't want to kill, but... Perhaps he had too much faith. Kirumi was a trained killer, after all. It's only normal she would act strategically.

The room was silent for a while. Shuichi couldn't tell if it was tense or peaceful.

"Changing the subject, you are pretty dense, aren't you?" she asked.

"W-What do you mean?"

"When I said I didn't want to talk to anyone yesterday, I was waiting for you in my lab."

... Oh.

"Wait, really?"

She sighed. "It's fine. You said you needed to rest, anyway."

Still.

"W-What did you want to talk about?"

"Rantaro's obvious lie back in the exisal hangar."

His heart skipped a beat. "U-Um... Which part are you talking about?"

"To be honest, I do not know which words that came out of his mouth are lies and which are not, but I am mostly talking about the reason he used a scalpel."

Shuichi frowned. "He said he had to take care of an old scar that reopened, right?"

"And why would you use a scalpel for this?"

He paused. "To... undo the stitches?"

She blinked at him a few times. "And here I thought you had common sense."

"H-Hey!"

"You don't cut stitches with a scalpel when you have scissors. That's basic knowledge, and he is a war medic."

...

"You think... he lied to us?"

"I don't 'think'. I'm certain he lied."

"But if he used that on anyone else, they would have said something-

He brutally stopped.

...

"Do you think... He..."

Shuichi trailed off, growing more worried by the second.

But before he could add anything, there was a knock on the door.

They looked at each other for a second.

Kirumi opened the door, revealing Kokichi. "They're back."

The three made their way to the dining hall.

But before they could enter, Shuichi heard some noise inside- people arguing, most likely. He didn't recognize the voices, unfortunately.

Kokichi opened the door to reveal that the ones arguing were Rantaro and Miu.

"We can't just leave you out of these! They're important for all of us!"

"Please, Miu. My head is killing me. I told you I'll be fine without it."

"What is the ruckus about?" Kirumi asked, everyone suddenly turning to her.

"I said that I'll let you guys use the flashback light without me because I'm tired enough as it is."

"But your memories! We can't use this without you!"

"You'll just tell me what it was about! But right now I feel like shit and I'm going to rest, okay?" he only slightly raised his voice.

He started making his way towards the door.

Shuichi, who was already worried sick about him, put himself in the way. "I know you probably need rest, but... Perhaps you can do that after we use it? Or we can use it after you rested a little?"

... He had no idea what he was doing. Hopefully, this wouldn't go too badly.

Rantaro looked at him with tired, empty eyes. "Please, move. I don't have the energy to confront any of you right now."

The violinist looked past him at Miu, who narrowed her eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry, but..."

The medic perked up, his expression suddenly changing to a panicked one.

He instantly turned around. "DON'T YOU D-

*clic!*

Miu activated the flashback light.

The memories rushed to his mind.

The meteorites.

The end of the world approaching.

Leaders of every nation wanting to prevent the extinction of the human race. They had created the Gofer Project not to save humanity, but rather to salvage it. And they were the ones chosen for this mission.

They were going to be the ones recreating humanity from the ashes, passing their legacy on, and discover perhaps a new planet to live on.

He remembered saying goodbye to his uncle and cousin as the ones working on the project were waiting for him.

He had left his family, his friends, and everyone behind for the project.

They were humanity's last hope. The 16 chosen ones to carry on Earth's legacy.

...

His vision slowly came back to him.

But his eyes immediately turned to Rantaro, who was struggling to keep himself steady, hands on his head, breathing heavily and shaking slightly.

"A-Are you okay?" He wanted to put his hands on his shoulders but refrained from doing so.

He stayed like this for a moment. Had they seen the same thing with the flashback light?

Ryoma approached him. "You good?"

After a few more shaky deep breaths, he stood back up, a hand still gripping his head.

"I'm... fine."

Shuichi turned back to the others.

Kaito was looking at the ground, processing what just happened.

Kirumi was staring at the three with concern, but it was most likely she was also pondering about the situation.

Kokichi was thinking as well. This was a lot to take in.

But Miu... She had both hands on her mouth, desperately trying to hold back tears.

"K-Kaz... I abandoned him... I..."

They all had to leave their families behind. Their loved ones. Everyone they wanted to live with, they had to abandon them for the Gofer Project.

To salvage humanity.

Miu fell on her knees. "H-He's... He's dead..."

The others stared at her for a moment. No one had comforting words to help.

But to Shuichi's surprise, Rantaro was the first to approach her, kneeling down.

"Hey."

The street artist lifted her head.

"They wanted this for us. They wanted us to live. Even if they're not here anymore, the least we can do is to salvage their memory."

"And it's by staying alive that we can honor them. If we are indeed humanity's last hope..."

"... Then we shall carry on their legacy and fight until the very end. For our siblings. For our friends. For our family. For everyone who believed in us. Whether they were strangers, acquaintances, or much more than that."

"No one would want to see us so soon in the afterlife. So even if it's hard, even if we have challenges to surpass, even if we have enemies in our way, there is only one path to follow if we want to be satisfied with our lives."

"It's to keep living on."

Rantaro's voice was low, but confident. He may have been talking to Miu, but his words pierced Shuichi's heart as well.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, it was like he had regained his will. Although these last few days were harsh, he seemed to be back to the soldier he claimed to be since the very beginning.

Even if they had different ideals, even if they were fighting for drastically different causes, even if they had different visions of life, their objective was the same.

To live.

Miu stared at him for a moment. She glanced away, like she was hesitating.

And without a warning, she wrapped her arms around him. He looked surprised at first, but hugged her back anyway.

The young woman started crying all the tears in her body.

It then felt like a chain reaction.

Shuichi felt warm tears form in his eyes. He put a hand on his mouth and looked at the ground.

A hand landed on his shoulder, he looked up to see Kaito next to him. He looked away for a second. There wasn't a single word spoken, but it was not necessary. The biker pulled him into a hug, letting Shuichi cry on his chest. He doesn't know if Kaito was even doing so as well. But right now, all he was thinking was the same phrase over and over.

Everyone is dead.

Neither Kirumi, Kokichi, nor Ryoma cried. They already had no one to go back to, but stayed silent for the sake of the others.

They could only follow Rantaro's words.

But after a moment, he felt Kaito moving slightly. He looked up to see him looking at Kirumi.

He turned to the mercenary. She pointed at Rantaro and Miu, who were still on the floor, holding onto each other like a lifeline.

At first, he didn't see what was wrong, but on a closer look, Rantaro was staring at the void with wide, fearful eyes. It wasn't the face of a comforting person- but rather someone who was completely terrified.

He glanced back at Kirumi for a second, who gestured that they should be separated as soon as possible.

Kaito approached Miu and tapped on her shoulder.

She opened her eyes, blurry with tears.

The biker pointed at the person she was hugging.

She frowned for a moment, then looked like she had just realized what was happening.

"H-Hey... You're hurting me a little here-"

...

No response.

"Rantaro...?"

He was shaking.

The street artist tried to move her hands to his shoulders to perhaps try and push him away for a moment, but his grip was too strong.

"Rantaro...!"

He suddenly perked up. "Huh?"

Realizing how he was positioned, he instantly let go of her.

"... Sorry, I was out for a moment."

That's not 'being out', but sure.

The two stood back up, Miu looking seriously concerned for him.

There was a heavy silence in the room.

"What... What do we do...?" Kokichi muttered. "I don't even know what to think anymore."

... No one answered. No one had a plan. No one knew what they could do.

What broke the silence first was the sound of the monitor turning on.

"Ahem! This is a school announcement!"

Kaito raised an eyebrow. "Again?"

"Everyone, please gather at the gym immediately!"

... That must be about the second motive.

Was the time limit not enough? What did he even want?

They made their way to where they were requested to go.

And on the stage was Monokuma, eating what looked like a salmon, next to several huge boxes painted black and white.

There was an awkward moment as everyone stared at the bear.

"Finally! I've waited so very long to announce this motive! If all of could stop fainting each time I try to do something, that could be nice!" he exclaimed as he threw away the half-eaten fish.

For once, no one said anything. Perhaps because they were all done with his games.

"... Could you kids lighten up a little? I will announce you all the next motive! Did you like the last flashback light, by the way?"

"I currently want to gut you of your wires until you're nothing more than a metallic empty shell. Is that the answer you're looking for?" Ryoma sarcastically said, glaring at the bear.

"Puhuhu... Such passion in hatred! I haven't seen it in years!"

"How old even are you?" Kokichi asked, visibly annoyed.

"Those are mere details distracting you from the important!"

Shuichi almost forgot about the motive.

"The motive that I planned to give you from the start..."

The boxes suddenly opened, revealing what looked like military equipment and other objects Shuichi didn't know of.

"... Is the one that I call 'Surviving the No-Man's land!"

That didn't help in the slightest.

"If one of you manages to make their kill before the time limit and get away with it, they will receive all this equipment! Now you may be wondering what it is for, and so, I shall answer!"

"This motive was supposed to be given right after you discovered the truth of the outside world. But due to technical difficulties, I had to postpone the announcement."

Rantaro didn't react to that remark.

"All of this equipment was created by the organizers of the Gofer Project to discover the new horizons from outer space! With this equipment, you can safely travel across even the harshest worlds! And of course, that includes..."

"... The outside of this academy!"

Shuichi perked up. Of course, they had prepared something. But now, it was in Monokuma's hands. The possibility to explore the outside was right in front of their eyes, but they couldn't take it.

This means if someone somehow manages to kill and get away with it, they will be the sole survivor of humanity, free to roam the crimson desert they had barely seen.

But... Who would want that?

Who would want to be the only survivor?

This doesn't make any sense. But with the time limit approaching, it became hopeless.

They now had three days to make a decision. To stay here and die, or to kill someone and have a chance to live.

This felt so absurd.

Monokuma closed the boxes. "Of course, I shall guard these precious objects safe from your clean little hands. Only the one with bloodied hands declared as an angel shall put a finger on it!"

Shuichi couldn't even feel disgusted anymore. He had already seen everything. Corpses. Executions. Mental breakdowns. The horrifying truth. Right now was just another magot in the pile.

"This was the school announcement, brought to you by your favorite headmaster! And now..."

With a slam on the podium, the floor opened beneath the boxes, making them out of reach.

"... I shall let you decide of your fate! Who shall prevail? Who shall die? Let the strongest and smartest thrive! I shall come back when your decision has been made!"

He left without another word.

At least he was gone, for now.

Shuichi glanced at the others. Judging by how everyone acted, no one would even try to do this, right?

He didn't really know. But this time, he felt more confident thinking that.

After all, everyone knew about the truth of the outside world. And to be the single ruler of humanity, to be the ultimate survivor... What was the point?

Ryoma looked at Rantaro for a moment. "I'm guessing you're thinking about the same plan as me?"

After a pause, Rantaro stepped forward. "That should be obvious."

"You... do have a plan?" Miu asked.

"There aren't a million ways to continue. I stick to what I said back in the dining hall. If we want to keep living on, there is only one solution."

"We're going to fight."

Shuichi almost jumped. "To fight Monokuma? But... He can still control the exisals, right?"

"And?"

He paused.

"The time limit is in three days. We have Ryoma's lab open, we have weapons, we have a safe place to live for the rest of our lives in, and right now, we have nothing to lose."

"We're going to fight Monokuma and the exisals. We're going to fight for our lives, even more than we ever did."

"We have among us someone more than capable of creating weapons strong enough for us to stand a chance. So there is only one solution to this."

"Ryoma is going to create those weapons. As for the rest of us, we will both train to fight and find out the rest of the secrets of this entire disaster."

"There is no way I'm going to let us all die here without fighting, and even if we die in the process, at least we will have tried."

"But I believe our victory is possible. I believe we can put an end to this madness once and for all. So..."

He raised his voice.

"Will you fight? Or will you let yourself die meaninglessly??"

... He would never give up in any circumstances, would he?

"Well??"

"I don't even need to say it." Ryoma put his hands in his pockets. "I'm not letting that bear dictate the rest of my days."

"You can count on me as well." Kirumi added. "I'm done with him."

"I'll fight! I said that I would yesterday, so I'll continue now!" Miu yelled.

"Even if... Even we're the sole survivors... I still want to fight." Kokichi muttered. "That's... what I promised to do, after all."

Shuichi took a step forward. "That's what we all promised, right?"

"You bet your ass that's what we promised!" Kaito exclaimed. "Even if I was never the most suited, I want to give that bear a piece of my mind!"

"Then are you guys ready to throw your lives for this? Are you ready to fight and possibly die for this cause?"

It's not like they had a choice.

"Yeah!" they yelled almost in unison.

Everyone parted their ways as nighttime was approaching. This day was long. Way too long. But now they had a plan. And even if the outside world was nothing but ruins, they would still fight.

He went to bed, a new objective in mind. Tomorrow he would train. He would read the notebooks. He would do something. More than he ever did in this game.

They were going to fight Monokuma and finish this, once and for all.

Even if he wasn't fit, even if he never thought about actually fighting Monokuma.

But judging by what Ryoma was capable of, to think they had a chance wasn't that much of a delusion.

He would have to read the notebooks, too. He had put them aside up until now, but they must have valuable information.

... Perhaps that was also a way to honor Tsumugi and Korekiyo.

Even if they lacked the information they had now, they were smart enough to find things on their own.

The end of the killing game was getting closer and closer now.

Soon, they would finally be free.

[shidiand]

How do you imagine Tenco's Story ending in your head?

that is a GREAT but UNEXPECTED QUESTION freshlybaked "spider" bread and i'm really happy to have the opportunity to try and answer this ageless question that has burned within all of us in the tenco's story iv waiting room community since 2013. it is an incredible coincidence (or is it? 👀) that i was just talking to Risa about tenco's this (edit: yesterday) morning so i am extra double super in the mood to talk about Tenco's Story today. so excellent of a coincidence is this that i am tempted to refer you to them in case you wanted to hear their thoughts on the matter that would probably turn out super cool, but that is neither here nor there; let us talk Tenco's Story.

i of course must mention my unadvertised and modestly detailed commentary on tenco's i-iii at https://shidiand.tumblr.com/tencos, presenting slightly interesting facts in an unwieldy and difficult-to-use format, but as it dates back to june 2017, i want to take some time to understand my feelings about the series once more.

tenco's story is a series that has a lot of meaning to me.

i took on my current name of shidiand in november of 2013. i was still in 11th grade at the time, 4th year of high school, and a very socially isolated person. i should say i was introduced to touhou in 7th grade, 2010, so i was still working through a 3 years-strong phase of trying to simultaneously both find an outlet for and bottle up an endless wellspring of awkward weeaboo-gamer nerd energy at the time.

i had my first real foray onto the internet in 2010, tried out twitter, followed some RPers and other people who had Cool Touhou Usernames. didn't really go anywhere. i had maybe 50 followers, i dont really know the count but it was definitely a) double digits and b) pretty low. didn't know what to tweet about. didn't know how to hit it off with others. i think there was basically maybe only 3 other people i ever properly interacted with. oh shit i was playing league of legends at the time. oh my god. i really did play league of .. oh my god. let's move on.

aw shit im super digressing amn't i. well.

this is just how it goes when i write essays on tumblr.com.

i'm afraid you're just along for the ride at this point so please do your best to enjoy it.

i got kind of tired of twitter at the time because i didnt know what to do with it. didnt know how to interact with people and didnt find the people i was following interesting, so i ghosted on out of there by the end of 2012. didnt deactivate it until like 2015 but at that point that was just burning away my dark history. anyways. november 2013.

--im taking a lot of time here trawling through old files on my computer, my tumblr blog, notification emails still lying around in my gmail inbox from twitter, the dropbox i didn't actually use but it had several tenco's story pictures on it but i deleted them so this was useless, ... to trace the timeline of this story and im really seeing a lot of remnants of dark history here you know? did you know i wrote a letter to a girl i had a crush on valentine's day 2014, slipped it into her locker, and anxiously hung around nearby at lunchtime to see how she reacted at lunchtime? i certainly didn't, or at least i made darn ass sure to forget about this incredible virgin incident and not remember it, ever, until i came across the records of it that i thoughtfully preserved for the me of 5 years later today. ok well now i have to read the letter to see if it was as bad as it just sounded there brb

ok so the good news is that it was actually very focused on being positive and full of admiration for the cool things she did instead of being a confession letter so i am very glad i was able to be a respectful chad 5 years ago, but the bad news is that the jokes, the actual sentences i put together. oh my god. but i mean. well. at least i got the spirit. its certainly a step up from this other person in my grade, WEEABOO ANDREW, YOU MAY RECALL THIS STORY AND HIS NAME FROM PREVIOUS STORYTIMES, THE MAN THE MYTH THE LEGEND who came to school on halloween once cosplaying kirito from sword art online and got very possessive about people asking if they could hold his black replica plastic sword, and probably worse, dropped a "will you be my girlfriend" letter into the locker of my homie and fellow trombonist samantha, who was a little bit nerdy, hung out with the anime-likers who were actually sociable and fun to be around so you can imagine why weeaboo andrew was into her, which had i) a direct quotation from SAO chapter 16.5 (origin of the famous "glopping noise" line), and ii) a condom. jesus christ. i dont want to talk about this any more. next topic.

i also put this drawing of iku nagae and her skarmory (actually an albinoss from 18 DRAGONS) on the other side of the letter because it was the coolest thing i could think of drawing at the time. and i completely agree with 2014 me because it IS super fucking cool. hell fuckin yeah

https://shidiand.tumblr.com/post/76301993387/iku-nagae-ft-that-thing-that-supposedly-is-a

alright that was a fun little trip down memory lane but lets get back on track. november 2013. i started anew as shidiand. still awkward, still learning how to express myself and looking for my place among others. i followed some touhou bloggers, hung around r/touhou a lot as well. in december i got my first tablet for christmas, a wacom bamboo splash. i still use this thing! the usb cable disconnects if you bump it so i have to find just the perfect position to sit in whenever i want to draw, but its served me well. anyways. i was just starting to play around with digital art but i remember, probably just before new years, for some reason i wanted to find out more about tenshi hinanawi (i don't remember why. tenshi wasn't even one of my favourite characters at the time) so i went googling and right there on zerochan i found this:

https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=23525572

this was during my dark souls phase so i just went BANANAS at the sight of this. this was literally the coolest image i had ever seen in my internet life. That image alone made me want to draw in hopes that I could make something as cool as that someday.

it wasn't immediately after but i soon discovered tenco's story, and it was love. kannnu was my very first artistic inspiration, and for a long time, my only one. i absolutely idolized them at the time. since then, ive found other artists to look up to, in a more healthy manner, but to this day i still look up to kannnu, still admire their work a lot.

i played around with drawing, followed the lives of people on tumblr, started reading touhou fanfiction, made a new twitter. i met a lot of new people along the way. some people i havent stuck with, some i cut ties with, and some people i still keep in contact with today. over those long 5 years of being shidiand, i found a name (i used to use shidian and then shid, but someone called me shidi once and i realized that was a lot better), how to reach out to others, how to express myself, places that i could feel included in. this is why i owe a blood debt to evelyn, who permitted me to kneel at her throne and was like "yea ok you can join my discord server u seem cool". evelyn, if you were confused by me ominously mentioning this blood debt/blood oath in a tumblr reply 1-2 years ago, this is the context. those 5 years were like a coming of age of sorts, that i never had when i was in high school.

and my love for tenco's story, that inspired me to draw that day, has been with me since almost the very beginning of my time as shidiand. from the beginning, i have always encouraged people to READ TENCO'S STORY, like the kin of those who cry PLAY MELTY or WATCH SYMPHOGEAR. i think my very first sidebar description was something akin to a prayer, written in very choral language, hoping for the day tenco's story iv was completed, ..., "meanwhile, furious shitposting". kannnu's work, finding delight in whatever they chose to draw, has been at my side, all along. my true mentor, my guiding moonlight...

so that's why i still to this day love tenco's story so much.

let's talk about tenco's story.

tenco's story is a story told through single pictures. the plot is vague, and details are sparse. dialogue is rare. we only know what has happened; we seldom know why. furthermore, there are many gaps between scenes that the reader is left to fill in for themselves; we see only snapshots that form an hazy outline of the events that occurred, and must imagine the rest. motivations and explanations fail me. but even with a barebones plot, tenco's story has themes, and if nothing else, those have to be carried through.

the main theme, of course, is journey and travel, but there are also other ideas, too. i actually think they start to change as the series goes on:

book i, where tenshi runs away from home, is about striking out on your own. it's a very fun and unpredictable journey, together with a friend.

book ii, where tenshi and iku are separated, forces tenshi to find and rely on companions of her own even more. but they do so, and they are able overcome hardships, and there is food and festival.

book iii marks a climax, reasserting tenshi's goal of finding the sword of hisou. i feel like the journey shifts from a travel (visiting) to a path forwards (making your way through). perhaps this is just something i get from knowing the locations from dark souls (Anor Londo, New Londo Ruins, the Great Hollow), but the locations start to give more of a sense of verticality, like they're emphasizing tenshi's climb to the summit. the hardships and enemies are the greatest they've been yet, and right when they near the top, tenshi and iku start to bleed. the book ends on an uncertain note.

if i had to describe the type of journey and travel that tenshi and iku undertake, there's this sense of wonder at discovering new places, wandering from vista to vista in delight, but also a sense of conquering, making it through a difficult patch. the sequence from pages 2-44 to 2-51, taken together, convey this sense of overcoming the best. it's one of my favourite parts. again, although the tone definitely starts to lean towards struggle in book iii, i think tenco's sense of wonder really is the heart of the series. there's no map of the world, no predicting where tenshi and iku will end up next. and through their travels, though they come across many enemies, they also find friends -- places of refuge, places full of life, people who will look after them for a few days, companions who will stay with them for the rest of the journey. at the end of book iii, we see a long haired tenshi with purple hair being impaled by the sword of hisou (3-33, see also this extra illustration that risa pointed out to me http://sinnnkai.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-195.html), and regular short haired tenshi continuing on her journey (3-42). if we ignore the out-of-story images where tenshi has the sword of hisou, tenshi has actually only ever used her sunlight blade (2-24, 3-26, etc), so i think that the long haired tenshi on 3-33 is a different person altogether. (if i had to guess, she might be the purple haired woman in the top left of https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=35443328 as we have never seen that woman appear anywhere.) she probably has something to do with the flashbacks at the end of book ii and she might somehow be short-haired tenshi at the same time, but this is just speculation.

however, in 3-43, tenshi's hair is rather blue, so i don't know if this is the purple haired woman or not. if it is, tenshi is probably still fine and closing in on the summit, but if it isn't, then it's very worrying to see a picture of tenshi without any of her companions. it's very ominous.

meanwhile, iku, while climbing the red carpeted corridor, is stabbed, and disappears for a few pages. there's a black page, a shot of a shrine that strongly resembles the hakurei shrine, and a picture of iku standing behind someone in a tux, with the line "In the past, I was saved by the lady I was serving, you see?". and then iku wakes up in a field of flowers.

i think what this scene makes clear is a theme that has continued to appear and reappear throughout every book of "being saved, being aided by someone's kindness".

i think another theme that is implied and has to be addressed by this story of running away from home is "return". something im imagining is that the reason tenshi makes finding the sword of hisou her goal is because she wants to have something to prove herself with, to vindicate her when she comes home. but i don't think she needs to prove anything, and i ultimately think that she would be happier spending the rest of her life exploring.

so i think this should be what happens in the ending.

open on iku's journey, and give her a long sequence of travel without seeing tenshi. underline her newfound resolve. she climbs to the summit with albinoss, and finds the rest of tenshi's companions fallen. and in the last room is sword of hisou tenshi, who has lost herself, and it comes down to iku to bring her back. after a difficult battle, when both of them are on their last legs, iku is unable to stand any longer. but at this moment tenshi sees her companions struggling to get back up and reach her, and that's what brings her to her senses. and iku gets to see how many friends tenshi's been able to make on her own, and they finally and properly reunite. together, tenshi and iku carry each other out of the last room.

i don't think it's necessary to return to heaven. as a conclusion, dedicate some time to tenshi and iku travelling together. they're on their way back, revisiting old friends who helped them along the way, enjoying the journey. their last stop is the house of the elderly nawis (1-42). tenshi shows off the sword of hisou; she decided to keep it not as a trophy to show her family but as proof of the bonds of her companions. surrounded by friends, tenshi and iku decide to part ways with each other, knowing that the other will be alright. iku drifts among the clouds once more, and tenshi sets off for the horizon.

that's the plot that i'd write/just wrote. i don't really expect tenco's story iv to ever come out, though. i mentioned my first sidebar description earlier in this essay, but of course, you can see that it's been changed. 2 years ago, i read my hopeful prayer once more and was struck with a terrible melancholy, so now it reads this: "having come to terms with the fact that tenco's story iv will never be released, i can still live, knowing that the spirit of the journey will live on through kannnu's original works [...] meanwhile, furious shitposting".

on one level, tenco's story is a story, but in the process of following it, i came to think of the work itself as a journey too. you can constantly see kannnu's improvement between and even within each book. they have always drawn whatever they liked; what plot matters in the face of "I wanted to draw a beautiful sky." "I wanted to draw a fantastic battle." "I wanted to draw Dark Souls and Monster Hunter and Pokemon and Brave Fencer Musashi and Bokura no Taiyou and Touhou."

its not really kannnu's style to go back and tie up old ends. they just draw whatever makes them happy. so as i watch them continue to draw beautiful places and fantastic creatures, new characters heading out on journeys of their own or just enjoying their everyday lives, it's as if tenco's story never ended. the limits and consistency of that world ignored, and a new one springs up; in a way, the world of tenco's, which had such thin boundaries, just gets bigger.

but even so, having said all that, i still see them draw that short-haired tenshi from time to time. it makes me happy to see them remember tenco's story with such fondness. often crossing over with orion or roar or elweiss, you can see tenshi on another journey.

[anon-e-miss]

Mitigation 3 - Smut of the Month Club

Some not really smut, smut. I swear that is coming... next.

Edit: Chapter title edited because I can’t keep track of my own bloody fics.

Prowl outright glared at him, and Meister knew he had not hallucinated, he had not misheard. Well... this was an interesting development. Had he been trapped with a friend, he would have suggested interfacing early on, but Meister had not even considered with Prowl, not because he would have expected the Praxian to refuse but because he had not himself been inclined to take that kind of risk. The realization that Prowl had been masturbating, though not successfully, right next to him over the course of two mega-cycles was more hilarious than it was disturbing. It took every last bit of self-restraint the saboteur had in him to keep from cackling like the lunatic he most assuredly was. Of course he was a lunatic because this idea seemed brilliant to him, and not awkward as all frag.

Then again, Meister had always been good at rolling with whatever life threw at him.

“So... ya been tryin’... with those doors?” He asked.

“It was the least obvious method,” Prowl huffed.

“Yer doorwings are pretty scuffed up,” the Polihexian said, and at least in part to confirm this fact for himself, he eased the blankets off Prowl’s back. The scrapes had not healed much over the course of two dark-cycles, and though he was no expert on doorwings, the locations of the scrapes led him to this the Praxian did not have a hope in the Pit of revving himself up. Meister took the nanite gel from his subspace and put it down between them. “Those scrapes are lookin’ gnarly. More gel’s just what ya need... ‘N a different method.”

“Proceed,” the tactician replied.

His doorwings were flat, maybe in resignation. As he had the first mega-cycle, Meister applied a thick layer of gel to the scrapes along the edges of Prowl’s doorwings, and he did so without mockery. He could feel the Praxian’s field seething under his servos, though he could not teek any one specific emotion. Mockery, Meister though was more likely to lead to a gun to his helm than a lightening of the room, and that was not a good gamble to make. As an added touch, once he had the scrapes covered with the nanite gel, the saboteur applied a self-adhesive mesh to further protect the damage, and to prevent the gel from rubbing off.

“Probably gonna be easier if I give ya a helpin’ servo,” Meister suggested. “The whole bit’s sensitive, right? Ya can’t reach’em, but ya can tell me what to do.”

“That... may be agreeable,” Prowl said. “Doorwings are not as delicate as stories would have you believe. If you do not set out to damage me, you will not.”

“Thanks for the vote o’ confidence,” the saboteur replied, not quite able to keep the laughter from his voice this time.

This was not something he had ever considered doing, and he had a very active imagination. Meister heard the sounds of a transformation sequence, and watched as the tactician flattened his chassis, and lay face down on the blanket, arms folded in front of him. Though he took Prowl’s glyphs to spark, when the saboteur finally touched the Praxian’s doorwing, he did so very lightly. Prowl did not react immediately. The tension in his frame was impossible to miss, Meister was tense too, though he hoped he was hiding it a little better. Slowly though, he gained more confidence in what he was doing, and slowly the plating under his servo began to heat up. It was not a surprise that Prowl was not making even the softest sound. He trusted the mech would let him no if he pressed to hard, or otherwise hurt him, but there was no way in Pit Prowl would tell him it felt good. Pleasure was more of a means, instead of an end goal.

The tension in the tactician’s frame did not ease even as his core temperature rose, though Meister’s did. Just as he had said, Prowl’s frame was throwing off more and more heat as the Polihexian slowly revved him up. But it was a slow process. Tense and the Praxian was, it was hard to heat him up and really keep him there. It was common sense, Prowl needed to relax, but Meister could not think of any single thing to do or say that would actually help.  Distracted by this problem, his servo slid just under the Praxian’s back plate, and his digits brushed Prowl’s doorwing joint. Both mech froze as the Autobot’s engine audibly kicked up a notch, and a wave of heat poured off Prowl’s frame. Despite the physiological reaction, the Praxian still managed to keep silent. Meister looked up to the mech’s helm, and found it bowed, Prowl’s face hidden in his arms. His field agitated but without defined emotion. The saboteur cracked a smile. He did not need to feel embarrassment to know Prowl was feeling it. How exactly he was able to conceal from his field so well was something Meister thought he would like to learn. It seemed like a useful trick.

“Is this okay?” He asked, digits barely brushing against the smooth joint.

“It is effective,” Prowl’s reply was breathy.

It had been unexpected for the Autobot to as he hunched his shoulders at the sound of his own voice. He hunched his shoulders and unintentionally pushed his back up against Meister’s servo. The Praxian’s exclamation was so quiet, an average mech would not have heard it. But like many of his framekin Meister had above average hearing. Wisely, he did not let on. Instead, the saboteur withdrew his servo and sat back. With the heat Prowl’s frame was throwing off he really did make an excellent space heater.

“Ya weren’t kiddin’,” Meister said. He left the discharged blanket over their frames, but deactivated the one still outputting and set it aside before reclining again. This was actually going to work. Weird and wild as the tactician’s plan was, it was going to work. “Are ya alright?”

“I am fine,” the Praxian replied, he turned his helm. Apart from the bright optics, his expression was blank. The only really hint as to his actual state was the beads of condensation on his faceplates. “Are you prepared for a game?”

“Sure,” the saboteur said. “Think I might have an unfair advantage.”

“True,” Prowl agreed. “I will considerate it a training exercise.”

Meister chuckled at the idea, but as the game began he realized Prowl was completely serious. Concentrating while revved up was not an easy thing. He did not go into the game convinced the tactician would fumble again, and the Polihexian was soon proven to have been right. It was not as solid a game as he had first seen Prowl play, but it was slick enough. His own game was not at its best, Meister could not deny, Prowl was not the only one distracted. Some mechanisms might be able to masturbate another without feeling a buzz, and it turned out he was not one of them. Still, the saboteur kept his cool, kept his field on lock down, and played the game.

When Prowl stopped throwing off heat as his charge dropped within normal parametres, they paused the game. Meister was doing everything he could to be clinical about this, but it did not come easy to him. He had a healthy interface drive, and it was reminding him of its good health, on repeat, much to his exasperation. Ignoring said drive, the Polihexian did not immediately go for the joint, figuring it was not unlike valveplay, it was better overall if you worked your way up. Prowl was even quieter this round, and the twitches as his frame headed up were subtler. It was a marvel to think how much self-control this mech had. Making the tactician come undone completely would be a battle of wills, and a very entertaining one. Though it would have been more fun to explore all the different spots that might heat Prowl up, Meister limited himself to the smooth panelling and concealed joints. Quite simply, it came down to respect. If it suited him, the Praxian could let him freeze, the fact that he was willing to act as a space heater by being brought to the edge of overload over and over, the operative was smart enough to feel grateful.

“Enough,” Prowl order, softly. Meister watched him as he withdrew his servo. The tactician did not move for a bream. When he did, he did little more than turn his helm to the side.

“Think ya need to fuel,” Meister declared. The statement roused Prowl, and the Praxian pushed himself up on his arms.

“We need to ration appropriately,” he said, voice not so much soft as breathy.

“It’s appropriate to keep ya properly fuelled,” the saboteur declared, and he pulled out a cube, and put it down next to Prowl’s elbow. “Ya burning through energon. We got enough cubes between us to last. Drink.”

“I suspect you fully intend to pour it down my throat if I do not,” the Praxian replied. He did pick up the cube, and take a long drink.

“And give ya slag the whole time,” Meister promised. It pleased him in no small way that Prowl was smarter than he was stubborn, though he did not know yet how close the race between the two was. “Wanna get back to the game?”

“Crown,” Prowl said as he put the cube down, and took his game piece, and cornered Meister’s. The Polihexian could not help but laugh.

The mega-cycle continued on much the same vein. They played, focusing their conversation on Triad. Prowl did not say another glyph about trying to recruit Meister to the Autobots, to the operative’s relief. He thought about it, more about the disbelief the offer had been, and by this mech no less. Autobots stood for the Prime, and the old guard, and the status quo, Meister was not. Very few Polihexian had allied themself to the Prime’s ranks, even to this new Prime. His were a frametype decried as thieves, addicts, and conmech. Though it was true enough that Meister had been, and still was a thief as his contracts required, the Fellowship did not make up the majority of Polihex’s population. Most were poor and starved as Straxus tightened his grip. At one time most had been artisans, artists, musicians, overall hardworking mechs.  It had not been so long ago, Meister remembered dancing in the streets during festivals as a sparkling, and he still remembered as those festivals had become fewer and fewer, the streets quieter and quieter, and the once clear skies murkier and murkier.

No, the operative could not ally himself with the Decepticons, but Straxus was not alone to blame for the Empties, and the silent streets. Straxus had only come to power after Sentinel Prime had cracked down on Polihex, blaming them for the assassination of his predecessor, Straxus had promised to bring Polihex back to prosperity. It had been a lie. The assassination, that had been the work of a Polihexian, it had been the work of Meister’s originator in fact, but the job had not come from within Polihex, it had come from within Iacon. Meister did not mourn the mech, he had been a Functionist slagtard. He only regretted the mech’s death had been used as an excuse to crush his framekin. Even if these were not the crimes of Optimus Prime, it was impossible to imagine swearing fealty to to him and his “cause”.

Meister was glad for the distraction of the game, and his Praxian opponent. They paused their games three more times before the dark-cycle. Each time the saboteur stroked and kneaded smooth black and white plating until Prowl called him off. After each round, Meister insisted the Autobot fuel. Though Prowl won that first game,  he lost the next, and the next. He could hardly be blamed for being distracted. Edging was enough to wipe a mechanisms processor, The fact that Prowl could play at all, and that the Polihexian was not outright creaming him said something for his processor power. But as the dark-cycle descended, it was clear to Meister that the mech had had enough. So he felt a little guilty when Prowl rolled onto his chassis, and flattened his wings.

“If we can limit the use of that blanket our situation will be less precarious,” the Praxian said, flatly.

“I’ll set an alarm, make sure we don’t freeze while we recharge,” Meister replied. “Use the blanket if we gotta.”

It did cool as Prowl’s frame stopped throwing off heat. Though they could likely have survived the dark-cycle without the blanket’s use, joors before sunrise Meister grabbed the blanket, turned it on, and pulled it over their two frames. He was in recharge again in a matter of kliks. When he woke again, he stayed curled under the blanket, and listened to the storm. Wishful thinking would have had him imagine that the winds were weakening, but in reality the Polihexian thought they were howling as loud as the mega-cycle before. Another mega-cycle of Triad did not sound all that appealing. The cave was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and he was irrationally annoyed at the lack of music.  

He scrolled through the collection he kept uploaded to his processor. Praxus had not been a sterile civilization. The music had been profoundly different from the music he had learned in Polihex, but there had been music, and not only the singing crystal’s from the Helix Garden. To his regret, Meister had not uploaded the collection he had purchased on one of his early assignments there. But he thought the collection of folk songs he had saved might be unobtrusive enough for the Praxian. With Prowl still dead to the world, Meister selected the first file, paused to adjust the volume from his speakers, and set it to play. Prowl recharged another joor before he stirred. He froze, and the saboteur did with him, his helm cocked minutely to the side.

“It is a marked improvement from the storm,” Prowl declared, and Meister relaxed. “I don’t recognize the dialect.”

“Ol’ Polihexian,” Meister explained. “Almost extinct, like common Primal Vernacular.”

“I never left Praxus,” the tactician said. “Not until the Autobot search party pulled me from the rubble... I apologize.”

“Nah, it must of been a livin’ Pit,” the Polihexian replied. “I can see why ya didn’t leave. It was a beautiful city.”

“I was bolted to my desk,” Prowl said. “My entire life was built on the framework of the Enforcers. Others stopped badgering me to take holidays after the first millenia.”

“I suppose that don’t work for the Hatchet,” Meister guessed.

“It does not surprise me in the least you know Ratchet’s reputation,” the Praxian replied, tiredly. His field was less closed off than it had been, ripples less ambiguous. There was a whisper of grief, but also one of hope. “I am expected to work the joors he defines as reasonable, and I am required to take regular mega-cycles off. My life is fundamentally altered, in some ways, improved. I will always mourn Praxus and the mechanisms I failed to save.”

“Ya didn’t fail’em,” the saboteur said. “Tellin’ ya that straight up. Ya didn’t wait for someone to come ‘n save ya. Ya tried.”

“I did not succeed,” Prowl countered, without any heat.

“Not the same as failin’,” Meister replied.

“You would have your own definitions,” the Autobot said, and blatantly changed the subject. “We should fuel. And save the blanket.”

Both mech knew what Prowl actually meant. Meister felt unexpectedly happy that Prowl had found something in the Autobots. They were not, he knew with absolute certainty what the mech had wanted, but he had a place with them, a medic at least that cared enough to fuss over him. He had a life after Praxus. Could he have a life after Polihex? After the Fellowship? As much as the saboteur hated to considerate, Prowl’s offer had old and near fears spinning in his optics. There was no way he could be a Decepticon, but if the Fellowship folded, he would have no safe place to run to after a mission, no guaranteed income. Work as an independent hire was considerably more risky, which is why he had never made the jump.

“How do ya feel ‘bout comparin’ notes?” He suggested after they had fuelled, and after the blanket had been said aside. His servo lazily brushed against Prowl’s back. “’M curious if ya tagged me for all my... jobs.”

“I would be interested,” Prowl said, and he dropped his helm into his arms. “I have wondered how you bypassed all of our security protocols.”

“I think I can let ya in on a few of my tricks,” Meister replied.

They were skirting dangerous territory, the operative thought as followed a now familiar map over the Praxian’s back and doorwings. Or perhaps it was just Meister. The temptation to flirt and tease was becoming stronger. Ric had hassled him non stop for having a crush on an Enforcer he had never even seen, something the elder twin had vehemently. Meister preferred to think of it as admiration, and irritation. Prowl had cost him some lucrative contracts, but it had been impossible not to admire the mech’s intelligence. Pit, the former Praefectus could be as devious as Meister himself, of course he respected the mech. But had he seen Prowl back then, the Polihexian thought he probably would have fallen into serious lust. Beautiful, and brilliant, there was no better combination.

But if he was lusting after the Praxian a bit here and now, well who could blame him? Meister had been listening to that engine hum, felt the heat of arousal under his servos, been the one to draw it up in fact, of course he was getting a bit hot under the kibble.   He did not let on, however. As the tactician’s plating warmed again, the Polihexian stroked  the mech’s doorwing joint. Prowl tensed, and squirmed unexpectedly. Concerned that he had let something slip into his field, Meister sat back on his peds and put his servos on his knees. The Praxian suddenly flared his doorwings and swept them back, he pushed himself up off the blanket, plating clattering. When he realized Meister was staring, Prowl sat.

“I cannot...” he hissed, and he brushed his servos down his arms.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure somethin’ out,” Meister replied. “Did I hurt ya?”

“My sensors are on fire,” Prowl said. “Or rather they were. Thank Primus I can adjust their feedback.”

“Did I?” The Polihexian asked.

“Just... over stimulation,” the Autobot said, he looked down, realized he was still rubbing his servos against his arms, and stopped. “I hoped I could ignore it.”

“Why don’tcha relax,”  Meister suggested. “We’re okay right now.”

“I would like to meditate,” Prowl said, quickly.

“Have at it,” the saboteur replied.

Prowl inclined his helm, and stood. He walked to the alcove and sat with his legs crossed. Though the mech obviously needed to regroup, Meister was not about to let him freeze like this. The cave was cold, that much had not changed. Leaving him was blankets had been considerate, but the Polihexian was not going to let this brilliant moron be any more self-sacrificing that he had already been. Meister took the half spent blanket from where he had set it aside, and carried it over to Prowl, and draped it over him. It was still off, but like the ones the saboteur returned to, it was decent enough insulation, so long as it did not get any cold.

He said nothing as he returned to the blankets spread out on the floor, and made himself comfortable. Meister would let Prowl meditate, however long he needed to, and maybe by that time the Polihexian would have a satisfactory plan. Though he had pretended to, Meister had not missed the beads of lubricant trickling down the sides of Prowl’s interface panel. It was not meditation the Autobot needed, he thought, but an overload. Now, Meister asked himself how exactly was he going to convince Prowl of this little fact?

[serenataichou]

flower

SEVENTEEN FANFICTION: WOOZI X READER

PART 1 >> PART 2 >> PART 3 >> ??

AU, ANGST, SLIGHT LANGUAGE

*Actual release dates of songs/albums do not apply to this AU*

SUMMARY:

You stare at him blankly from across the street. He knows you don’t want the surgery, is that why he is telling you this now? Tears slowly stream down his face, you want to cross the street and wipe them away but you remain still. You’ve never seen him cry. Not even when he first found out about your disease.

Jihoon slowly opens his eyes, Joshua's wake up call disturbing his sleep. The first thing he does when his mind is able to think clearly is check his phone. He doesn't see the notification he wants and immediately lays his head back on his pillow with a slight whimper. He checks his phone again and looks at the time, 'Its 5 am. Why would she be up at this hour anyways? Dumbass.'

Jumping out of bed, he gets ready for their schedule. They have a comeback stage to record among other promotions for their 4th mini album. They also have to further discuss the plans for their world tour. Jihoon can feel the lack of motivation start to settle into his bones. He reminds himself that he's a leader and their producer, he out of everyone cannot slack off even the slightest bit. The heaviness on his shoulders does not lessen, but at least it gets him out of his room.

Throwing the album to the side, you decide to forget about it until you can talk to Adam about it. You don’t usually talk about Kpop related things with him, not because he’s judgemental about it but you find that he has much more interesting things to say than you do. However, you want to respect Jihoon’s privacy and quite frankly you don’t trust any of your kpop friends to not go blabbing about what happened on social media. Not that they are bad people, they would just get way to excited in the moment to think about their actions. You trust Adam completely, mainly because he has no idea who they are and he better than anybody knows how much music, and by extension some artists, means to you. He would never hurt you that way.

You move your head slightly to look at the time, it’s far far too early and you don’t even have class today. Suddenly, your apartment feels unbearbly quiet. You shared a room with at least one of your siblings most of your life and although the school year is already almost over you still aren’t use to being alone. You turn the TV on and just let the news play while you start cleaning up and making yourself breakfast. Despite yesterday’s episode and the ache in your body, your chest feels lights today. Talking to Adam always did have that effect on you.

It’s almost lunchtime when you finally finish doing all the chores you could possibly think of. You have homework to do but just thinking about the assignment makes you want to cry out of laziness. You are more of a music nerd than a film nerd, which isn’t saying much because you can’t even read music notes for christs sakes, but you’d much rather analyze a music track than a film. Working toward a journalism degree, you don’t understand at all why you have to take these TV & Film classes. You groan as you throw yourself on your couch. To procrastinate you scroll through Twitter with your fan account.

You notice that your follower count increased and you make sure to follow back. A year ago, you started gaining followers when you tweeted that you were going to school in South Korea. Then you started gaining more followers when you tweeted that you were going to the Seventeen fanmeeting. You didn’t tweet those things for any special attention. You tweeted them because you were excited and wanted to share it with your followers who would be happy for you. But people were eager to know how life in South Korea is like so they followed you. Being an international fan you felt sympathetic so of course you opened a curiouscat account. Some questions are weird, others quite serious, and the rest are simple. Today most of them are from carats asking about the fansign. You skim through them all so that you can see which questions are asked more then once.

The beginning ones are just typical questions like how did it go and what did they say, but after that they get really strange.

Anonymous:

You’re the only international fan I know who was there. If it’s you, please talk to k-carats.

Anonymous:

Is it true? People are saying its you :( please be okay.

Anonymous:

I don’t know if it’s you, you’re probably getting a lot of asks and dont know what’s going on :/ here: https://twitter.com/wooooooooooozi/status/975688491420938241?s=21

You’re glad that your online kpop friends are all from Tumblr, not Twitter. You never participated in selca days so none of your followers know how you look like. Before you had started gaining follower your account mainly consisted of retweets of photos and videos of your favorite groups doing cute or stupid things. So without thinking twice you deactivate. Truthfully, most of your social interactions are all done online or through text. But you didn’t think that deleting your stan account would leave you feeling so empty.

You go into your room and throw yourself onto your bed. It wasn’t uncommon for you to lay there and wish for your existence to just end. You didn’t want to die. Not when you knew you would be hurting your friends, your family, and Adam if you did. But you are dying. You will die soon.

You accepted that the night of graduation, when Adam had ditched his track friends and went to go look for you. He found you on the rooftop, looking at the stars while drinking an iced tea that mainly consisted of tequila. He was never a drinker, but you definitely were. There was a point in high school where’d you go to a party every weekend just to get plastered, not because you necessarily liked parties. You just liked alcohol. So you were surprised when he took your drink out of your hand just to chug it himself. “I...I needed to get shitfaced...to try this,” he slurred before smashing his lips to yours. You were too surprised at that time to quickly process what was happening, and just as you were about to reciprocate he pulled back. With a disappointed sigh and a frown on his lips he said, “I...I didn’t feel...anything. I wanted to.”

That was the first time you coughed up hydrangeas, blue petals stained by red as the crushing weight on your chest, that you normally associated with anxiety, became all too real. Upon hearing his words you knew immediately that that its not like he’s never thought of you in a romantic sense or whatever else typical troupe is used in those movies where the two best friends fall in love. He just doesn’t like you romantically. So there will be no happy ending for you.

Your breath hitches and your eyes burn. It’s been awhile since you last tasted salt instead of iron. You start sobbing. You are most likely going to die while studying in South Korea, with no family or friends around. Which is what you want, you don’t want them to see you. Hanahaki is not a pretty death despite the presence of flowers. Even so, it hurts to think of how you are going to die all alone.

Jihoon eagerly checks his phone when his manager says their lunch break is about to start. The little red one at the top right corner of the messages icon gives him more hope than it should. Licking his lips nervously, he opens the app.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

Is this Jihoon-ssi? It’s Y/N from the fan meeting.

He can’t help the grin that shows up on his face, but hides it quickly before the members can see. If they notice he will definitely get interrogated and he’s not exactly sure if what he did was something he’s allowed to do. However, now that he’s received the message he’s not sure what to send back. Quite honestly, he didn’t think he would get this far. Before he can start panicking and end up sending whatever first pops in his head another message pops up.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

Do you listen to Epik High? Have you listened to ‘We’ve Done Something Wonderful’? I’ve listened to it so much but didn’t notice that ‘Here Come The Regrets’ was all in English until like two days ago.

Jihoon licks his lips to keep himself from chuckling. He doesn’t really understand the struggle of knowing more then one language, yes they sometimes sang in Japanese but he wasn’t fluent and his English was...well..He’d rather not think about it. But it’s amusing nonetheless.

Me

Sometimes when I watch anime for too long with the subtitles on, I swear I hear them speaking Korean.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

That happens to me, but with English. Thank god, I thought that only happened to me and that I was crazy.

Me

Honestly, we are probably still crazy.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

That’s true.

The conversation goes along so easily. He doesn’t feel nervous at all, but his heart is still beating far too fast.

[lastsonlost]

Because staying a victim and hiding behind the block button is way more important than actually TRYING TO UPLIFT YOURSELF. i’M GOING TO THIS AGAIN.

@elfyourmother

Read the shit out of this. And then read it again. He goes a lot deeper than hair.

sourcedumal

I love this article. He truly goes in. And if course white folks are telling him “make your own then” like he has fucking access to all that shit that major companies have…

How about gaming companies actually start programs in black and Latino communities so we can get more of us in?

But that would be too much like right…

@elfyourmother

the truly hysterical thing is that he actually gets into the whole “make your own” argument in the actual essay. they just don’t want to hear him.

bunabi

mmmhm they really honestly dont wanna hear him

@elfyourmother

#ppl that say that also overlook the fact that white developers want to hire their friends aka people that look and think like them#networking is huge with breaking into the industry and they dont wanna sit with someone ‘militant’ or ‘difficult’ or ‘controversial’#its not even a secret#white developers hold the power and maintain the status quo and defend it readily#yet the handful of non-white staff is supposed to change their minds#lmao

bunabi

I’m sayin tho.

Non-white artists/developers/programmers/designers have a hard enough time getting hired but can also risk their jobs by making waves and being confrontational.

This aint some cute fantasy land where your coworkers suddenly learn a life lesson after bringing you on. They hire you because you’re a good fit and hit it off with them. Talent factors in, but they do care if you’re a team player. And if you’re not, it can get around and will absolutely affect future opportunities, if not completely sever some valuable connections and resources.

It’s not a damn game out here ! honestly !

@elfyourmother

real talk. and like, a lot of industries are like that. it’s not necessarily just a video game thing. ain’t a poc working in corporate america who hasn’t had to navigate this shit on some level or another

it’s just that much more pronounced in creative fields in general. major content producers whether the medium is video games, comics, movies, whatever generally don’t want to take risks, they want to go with what’s safe, they don’t want to rock the boat too much. and being a team player means keeping your head down and doing what you’re told and not challenging shit too hard. you don’t want to be labelled a “troublemaker” or “difficult”. look at that fuckery that went down on Project Greenlight with even the mildest most common sense pushback.

bagged-a-bazooka Deactivated

>Kotaku

Also, did this guy seem to ignore the games that do feature black leads and black stories? Shadowman, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas (Arguably one of the best black American narratives in video games imo), Minerva’s Den, two characters from The Walking Dead, etc etc etc

And yeah, the “Make your own” is fiesable; considering we’ve had a large surge of indie games made by small teams (Even one person) such as Hotline Miami, Undertale, Shovel Knight, Binding of Isaac. There’s literally no excuse and the argument of “Oh, I CAN’T make my own character because the MAN is keeping me down!” is such fucking baloney

There is literally nothing stopping you from making your own game except yourself

eidolous Deactivated

This essay is excerpted from The State of Play, an upcoming collection of writing on video game culture that comes out on October 20.]

< MY BLACK ASS

god give me strength!!!

What part of being black is suppose to be easy? Oh WE can talk about about how great “WE ARE” until WE gotta put in some work. Then you give up with out even trying and call it a mic drop?   I don’t want to win the argument that my dreams are impossible because I’m black.

Every other comment is we can’t do it, we can never do, it will never done.

I’ve never in my life seen my beautiful brilliant young black kids with so much energy to speak their minds at the same time sound so defeated. Where did the attitude go? Yea I know everyone’s gonna find that attitude in order to drag and call me out but not to put your muscle in your hustle.

IF you don’t want just a job all your life you have to hustle and BECAUSE WE ARE BLACK WE HAVE TO HUSTLE HARDER!!  When has waiting for shit to go our way ever work out for us? Do you see people waiting for change or marching in the street for it.

@bagged-a- a-bazooka has a point. fuck the big guys. Indie projects can still look and play big even on a budget. build a team and make it your own.  look up black crowdfunding* build your portfolio * do small jobs * hunt for grants and inventors  

Fuck this just screaming for representation. Stop being afraid to represent yourselves. DON’T YOU BELIEVE YOU MATTER? Do you think I’m just say this shit for me?

Personally I don’t believe there’s anyone fit to tell my story but me.  But seeing everyone so quick to say we can makes me so mad at myself for taking too long with my own work. I will not prove them right when that say it can’t do done. My entire life was I can’t do it, stop dreaming, be realistic.  I even found my self dating my biggest hatter. NO MORE OF THAT

I’m too far into my young life to turn back and give up. I know we have an uphill battle. I know the uphill is as tall as a sky crapper.  but I would sooner fall from the struggle then rot in a dead end life because I was too much of a pussy to stand up for my dream.

bluez-cluuz

Black crowdfund with black twitter to make your black game everyone!

lastsonlost

Hay it’s worth a try if you want it bad enough. Just saying.

the good @reasonandempathy

the truly hysterical thing is that he actually gets into the whole “make your own” argument in the actual essay. they just don’t want to hear him.

No.  He didn’t.  He really, really didn’t.

He referenced the argument.  Then he said “Louis C.K. destroyed this by reminding everyone slavery wasn’t that long ago.” followed by “institutional racism is a thing”.

Nevermind the fact that the most beloved new IPs come from indie developers working on their first (few) games.  

Stardew Valley, Enter the Gungeon, Darkest Dungeon, Oxenfree, Aragami, Pony Island, Seasons After Fall, Diluvion, Deadbolt, Necropolis all came out in 2016 alone.  Nevermind how many huge IPs were created by Indie developers the past few years (CD Projekt Red as an example).

Shovel Knight, Banner Saga, Minecraft…the list of massive indie hits over the past few years is extensive.  Even Zoe Quinn has made an indie game alone.

This is the period of time in which “make your own” is more valid than at any point in history.  The video game market is going to reach $110b next year.  Mobile gaming is going to hit $29b, which is dominated by indie games (and reskins of indie games).

Make your own things.  It’s easier to do now than ever before and you can get rich doing it, too. Sounds like a win-win-win.

Unless you’re just not really interested.

lastsonlost 

  That’s all I was trying say. JUST GET OUT THERE AND TRY. You can legitimately get ahold of game developing tools on the cheap.

I can understand it scared to take a chance but regretting the chance you didn’t take it’s worse.

but it must be easier to hide behind the block button.

[thecrookedgavel]

The Black Box Readings - Ep 1 Transcript

Here’s the transcript for episode 1 of The Black Box Readings, the podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down. 

See Other Episodes

An: Hey, all! And welcome to The Black Box Readings, the new podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down! I’m your host, An Capuano. So basically, it’s a show where I narrate through a deleted or deactivated blog over the course of a season, with a focus on queer artists. Though to be honest, there was a specific blog that inspired me to make this podcast, and unless this format is super popular, I may just do the one season. Anyway, although reading things in a dramatic fashion is definitely in my wheelhouse, non-fiction podcasts are not. So please bear with me while I go through some growing pains as I try and figure this thing out. 

Alright, so this season, we have the story of a digital artist who caught my attention with a really cool piece of Overwatch fanart. It’s about her journey through a life spent mostly online, disability, and navigating through the difficulties of realizing that you’re trans.

For those of you not in the know, I am a disabled trans woman myself, so it’s not a journey I’m altogether unfamiliar with. The biggest reason I’m doing this podcast is because stories like ours get drowned out in the media. I wanted to be able to tell her story so that queer people, young and old, can hear something that resonates with them. And I have a good feeling that this will do that for you.

The Tumblr in question, I won’t say the address. Just know that the title of the blog was: “Less Than Human”. Yeah, I know. Not a very cheery introduction. I sort of choose to think of it, kind of like reclaiming a slur. If she calls herself less than human, other people lose the power to hurt her with it. I’m telling you the blog title because it is important later.

Anyways, enough out of me, here’s the first post of the episode, which happens to be the first post of the blog itself. It’s titled:

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is -”

Ok, so I guess I didn’t think this through. In the post, she uses her deadname, and I don’t feel comfortable reading it out to you all. If I have to choose between deadnaming a trans girl and being a little inaccurate, I’m choosing inaccuracy. I should say, actually, that I don’t consider myself a journalist or anything like that. Also, I get it would be bad of me to use her real name too. So we’ll just call her… Hmmm…. Ok, let’s go with Emmy.

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is Emmy, and I’m 19 years old! Nice to meet you guys! I’ve decided to start posting on my tumblr instead of using it as a dash, lol! I’m a visual artist, though I mostly stick to digital art these days. I spend most of my time reading. My fandoms are Gravity Falls, Steven Universe, Supernatural, Sonic the Hedgehog, Marvel, and of course, Shrek! Lmao. I think Cat Girls are cute, but I’m not a weeb”

*Laugh* I never read this post while she was active. Her sense of humor is really present in this post, she was always silly like this. Anyways, she follows up this post by posting a backlog of art that I figure she must have made and not shown to anyone. It’s all really good stuff. Some fandom, some original. It’s clear to me that she’s not posting her earlier, rougher work. I don’t remember too many details though, as this was a while ago, and I didn’t think to save her artwork when I was copying all her text posts into the google doc. I hope someone out there saved them before they were deleted, though.

I’m not going to bore you by reading every single one of her posts, or anything like that. Just the ones that stand out to me. Here’s one about Supernatural and how she might be falling out of love with it. 

“I don’t know guys, I’m finding it hard to watch supernatural these days. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still one of my favorite shows, it’s just totally not as good as the first 5 seasons. That and I WANT DEAN AND CASS TO BE TOGETHER! Is that so wrong? Look, Cass is an immortal being that just HAPPENED to take a male form. If he had a female form, you can bet that he and Dean would have banged already. I’ve read the tumblr posts too, the ones that talk about all the hints the writers give that Dean is gay. This is ABSOLUTELY queerbaiting, and even as a straight guy, I can see that. I have a lot of gay mutuals who have convinced me how ultimately cute Dean and Cass are, and I feel bad for them, because they’re not being treated fair. You think in its 12 seasons there would be something, but no, nothing. Pisses me off”

Here is where we start seeing a connection between Emmy and queer culture. Although she’s currently IDing as straight and male, you can tell she cares about queer representation. Now, I’m not saying that wanting good queer content makes you queer, of course not. Just that knowing that Emmy is queer, when you look back at her earlier posts, there’s some evidence there. She even talks about Castiel, a male character, having a female form, which I find interesting for obvious reasons.

Next up is a post about something outside of her fandoms, a show called Monk. For those of you who don’t know it, it’s a show focused on a detective with OCD who uses his disability to solve crimes no one else can. As someone with OCD myself, I really enjoyed the show, but it’s not without its problems. Hmm, yeah, I’ll get to those after reading the post, I think

“I’ve been watching a new show lately! Well, a show that’s new to me at least. It’s called Monk! I’m 3 seasons in, and I laugh every episode. But it’s not without its serious moments too. It’s about Adrian Monk, a detective with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and it’s like a super power to him. He can do things no one else can. But he also can’t do things that everyone else takes for granted. Mood. He always says “It’s a gift… And a curse” when talking about it. Big mood. Anyway, I highly recommend it, because it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill! I’m so used to people who are “crazy” being mass murderers or some shit. Idk, it’s heartwarming.”

I noticed one of the hashtags of her post was, “Finally found a version with captions.” This is important for later and I’ll get to it by the end of the episode. Where the previous post was the first we saw of her queerness, this is the first we’ll see about her connection with mental illness. It’s unclear if she feels her inabilities are balanced off by her abilities, or if her “mood” was just about her being unable to do what others can. Since her “big mood” is regarding Adrian Monk’s favourite quote “It’s a gift and a curse”, I like to think she was being positive and was including her abilities in the “mood.”

While I do agree with Emmy that it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill, and that’s certainly better than having yet another bad guy is who’s only evil because he’s crazy, I’m worried that it’s too positive. It’s actually a really common trope where neurodivergent people in media are seen as “super human,” like Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory, or uhh, the main character from The Good Doctor, I forget his name. It makes it look like everyone with autism or OCD are geniuses, and that sort of skews how neurotypicals view people like us in a negative way. Like, I do view my OCD as a gift, I wouldn’t be able to write the way I do, or play video games the same way if I didn’t have it. But I’m not a superhuman by any means. But I’m expected to, in some sense, outperform everyone because of my OCD, because of this impossible standard set by the media. *Sigh* I’m sorry, I’m getting really off topic. I hope you don’t mind this little rant.

Back to Emmy, I find it a little upsetting that she feels herself cursed in some way. Knowing what I know about her, I like to think she was more gifted than cursed, but given the title of her blog, I doubt she would agree with me. We can glean from this post that she is disabled in some way or another. Maybe she herself has OCD? Or maybe she just relates her own, different disability to OCD? It’s hard to tell at this point, and I don’t want to spoil it, especially since it will come up again in a few posts. 

Next up, we have a post about not just queer characters, but lesbian characters. I’m sure you have heard of Overwatch by now, even if you haven’t played it. Well, the creative devs promised us that a handful of the cast was queer, and at least to me, it seemed like an empty promise. Hmm, I guess it seems a little bit like the queerbaiting conversation we had earlier. Interesting. You know what I mean, right? Like, why take the risk of pissing off the straight, cis part of your fanbase with queer characters when you can just say some characters are queer and attract a bigger queer fanbase that way? But then they did something that blew me out of the water. They made a comic where Tracer has a girlfriend. This next post from Emmy is about this reveal.

“Merry Christmas! And what a Christmas it’s been. Because I got something I’ve been asking for for a LONG time. Blizzard made Tracer gay! I’m not the only one who’s been asking for this, a huge chunk of the fandom has been saying that Tracer is only into other girls. It’s been my headcanon for so long, and now it doesn’t have to be, because it’s canon! Tracer and Emily are so cute together! And their kiss is so hot too! Yeah, lesbians are really hot in general. They’re every guy’s ultimate fantasy. Thanks, Jeff!”

An: Ok, so before we continue, I think I need to apologize on Emmy’s behalf for the way she talks about lesbians. As a trans lesbian, I had a period where I talked about lesbains that way too. Before I came to terms with that identity, I mean. Since you believe you’re a straight guy, there’s no real explanation for why you’re so into lesbians other than them being a male fantasy. But it’s more than that. It’s part of like, seeing yourself as a girl that the idea of being with a girl that likes girls... that is so fundamentally appealing. 

Like, ok. *sigh* I remember this one time very clearly… I was with my girlfriend at the time and a friend of mine at a bubble tea shop. This was probably 9 or 10 years ago now? Jeez. Anyways, this couple of girls starts making out at the table next to us, and I had a full on sexual awakening. I remember that I couldn’t look away. Mostly because my ex wouldn’t let me forget it. I got teased by my friend and berated by my ex. Because I couldn’t explain what happened to her, let alone to myself, I eventually came up with a rather math-y explanation involving vectors of attraction *laugh*. Something like, if women are attractive to me, and men are not attractive to me, then adding their vectors together gives less attraction than two women’s vectors being added together. It was pretty stupid. I don’t talk to either of those two people anymore, by the way. 

Anyways, my point is that since this is before she’s realized she’s a lesbian herself, she’s under the false impression that she needs to sexualize lesbians in order to explain why she’s so attracted to the concept. So please don’t hold that against her. 

---

With that out of the way, we can move on to her next post. It’s a piece of art she made, and it’s pretty special to me. You see, this was the way I found her blog. One of the blogs I follow, who knows which at this point, must have reblogged it and it came across my dashboard. Again, I don’t have a copy of any of Emmy’s art, but I remember it pretty well. It’s a picture of Emily wearing Tracer’s outfit... Shit… Why did I give Emmy a name so close to Emily? Emily as in Tracer’s girlfriend. Maybe it’s because of my association with her and this drawing? Either way, it’s too late now, I’m not re-recording this whole episode. *Sigh* We’ll just stick with the blogger being named Emmy. Anyways! She’s sort of looking a bit out of place, like she doesn’t know how to feel about having a Chrono-accelerator attached to her chest. There’s a speech bubble in the frame pointing off screen that says, “You look marvellous, love!”, or something to that effect, but it’s obviously supposed to be Tracer saying it. It was a really cute drawing, and I was really fond of it, so I liked and followed. Feels like so long ago. 

Anyways, she did reblog the picture afterwards, saying:

“Thank you so much for all the notes! I really appreciate the support. Who knew that something so dumb would be liked by so many people? I really like Emily, and I hope she’s added as a Hero in Overwatch soon! I feel so happy! I’m going to go and do some more drawing, so keep an eye out for more posts!”

Not much going on in this post, but I decided to read it anyway because it contrasts so heavily with the next post. Not the next time she posted, but the next post I’m going to read. Actually, it’s the last post of this episode. 

So, I’m going to warn you, this is a side of Emmy we haven’t seen yet. The really negative side. *Sigh* I don’t know what set her off, maybe nothing did, but I think this post is very important to read to you, as it clears the air about her disabilities.

“I really appreciate all the love you’ve given my art, but I feel like I don’t deserve any of it. I’m so broken and worthless and I’ve only been pretending to be normal so that you’ll all like me. The truth is, I’m physically and mentally disabled, and life is just a never ending struggle. 

First off, I’m deaf. Very deaf. The quietest thing I can hear in either ear is a chainsaw. It means I can’t understand speech or anything I’d need to be social. I don’t know sign language at all, I was never taught. So I just… stay inside all day. I’ve been homeschooled by my Dad since I was young. He thinks something bad will happen to me if I go outside, because I couldn’t hear something like a car coming towards me. So I live my life online, for the most part. I feel so isolated, and like I can’t relate to anyone normal. 

Also, I have Bi-Polar Disorder. For those you don’t know of it, it basically means I have high highs and low lows. I’ve done a good job so far at hiding my lows from everyone and only showing my highs. Until now, I guess… I just feel so low today, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I just had to be real. Even if it’s an ugly side of me that I hate. My dad hates how moody I am too. He just doesn’t get that it’s not my fault. Even my highs are hard for him to handle sometimes. Anyway, please forgive me for lying so long”

So, I sense a bit of imposter syndrome here. She’s gotten some success and because she views herself as not even a normal person, she thinks she doesn’t deserve it. It’s a pretty common feeling amongst content creators and something you have to move past if you want to make stuff. It’s like, *sigh* like me, I’m not an expert voice actor, why are people listening to me? I have tricked them into thinking I’m worth listening to. If you’re feeling that way about a recent success, just know that it’s all bullshit and it’s normal to feel that way. I wish I had that knowledge at the time I originally read that post… Because then, I would have messaged her and let her know. But yeah, we have more to unpack here.

She talks about being deaf, and the level that she describes is a profound hearing loss, which is as bad as it gets. I have that level of hearing loss in my left ear, and it’s really hard to deal with. So, I kind of can’t imagine what it would be like to have it in both ears. 

Like, for me, I remember this one time where I was at my locker in high school, and someone must have been asking me a question a few times on my bad side. She wanted to know if I had any extra bus tickets, and by the time I finally caught on that she was talking to me, she said something like “Urg, I just want to punch you.” And it wasn’t a joke either, she was very frustrated with the way my hearing loss had affected her. It made me feel small, and like I was an inconvenience to those around me. Guess it didn’t help how I felt that I had a crush on her at the time… Ha… *Sigh* It was very isolating to grow up like that. I didn’t really belong there, but I didn’t exactly belong in the deaf community either, since I could hear fine out of one ear. So when Emmy describes how isolating it is to be deaf and not know sign language, I get it. I really feel that. When I saw this post, it really made me feel for her. This is probably the point in time where I made a mental note to support her art whenever I could. 

Lastly she talks about her mental illness, being bi-polar. I know a lot less about bi-polar disorder than I do hearing loss. Though I was in a production that never wrapped up about a bi-polar teen. Actually, I was the strict dad who couldn’t understand his child’s illness, which is a similar theme seen in Emmy’s post. I’ve actually been cast as a dad 3 or 4 times now? Yeah. *Laughs* Anyways, what I understand about it is that it can be seasonal. You might be manic for a season, and depressive for another. But yeah, it doesn’t always work that way. Usually medication can help balance you out, but in Emmy’s case, she wasn’t taking any meds at this point. I’ll say it here for clarity’s sake, but her having bi-polar disorder was a self-diagnosis, not a professional one. That’ll be covered in the next episode, though. 

So now the whole “Less than Human” thing makes a bit more sense, doesn’t it? Not because it’s true in any sense, but because it was true to her. Disability is something that people tend to see as different, or othering. There’s a lot of stigma there. We can sort of tell at this point that the way her Dad views her and treats her doesn’t help her feel any better about this either. 

That’s why she likes the depiction of mental illness in Monk so much, right? Because it’s a bit of a “More than Human” approach. It gives her some hope that maybe she can be seen positively one day too. As far as movies with Deaf characters goes there’s like 100, if I recall correctly. Which is honestly pitiful compared to the amount of movies, period. So it’s more than likely that she never got to see herself in media in that perspective before. 

Also, there’s the markings of a budding trans girl in there too, which may further intensify the feeling of not being human. For years and years *sigh*, there was practically zero positive representation of trans people in media. We’re taught that feeling like this makes us freaks, and that presenting differently than we’re supposed to makes us... something worse than that. It all comes together to form something bitter and isolating. Especially before you start owning those parts of you and finding a community of your own.

Thank you for listening to this episode of The Black Box Readings! I really ranted more than I thought I would. Hopefully you all liked the anecdotal stuff I added in, didn’t really plan on doing that. Follow me on Twitter at TheCrookedGavel to stay up to date on this and other queer podcasts. Feel free to contact me there as well. This is An Capuano, signing off!

[changterhune]

Time to Cut And Run

I think I’m done with social media. 

Okay, not all of it. But most of it.

“Why?” is what you’re asking. “You’re so active on it! Look at you with all the Facebooking, the Twittering, the Instagramming, the Tumbling and such!”

You’re right. And it’s slowly killing me. No joke.

WHEN YOU’RE THE PROBLEM YOU GOT A BIG PROBLEM

When my first reaction to dropping all social media was fear and concern that I couldn’t do it then I should’ve known I had a problem. As I’ve had more and more time to hear their experience and how they felt after cutting this particular cord I knew it was something I had to do.

Of course in grand Terhune style, I made a big frigging pronouncement that on August 1st, 2019 I would be deactivating or mothballing my Facebook and Twitter accounts for one month. I said I’d keep my Instagram and Tumblr active, though I might’ve ditched Tumblr, too, at the end of the month.

But it didn’t work out quite like that.

“Why?” you may ask? (As if anyone’s still reading).

Well, I’ll tell you.

PEER PRESSURE

Two friends of mine cut the cords from social media this summer.

They immediately reported feeling great but not after some initial shock and withdrawal (which apparently was significant). My aforementioned terrified reaction to this turned into admiration then concern and jealousy. They could easily disengage, it seemed, while I found the idea as frightening as severing a limb.

When I began to envy those who can seemingly manage if not thrive from their social media presence is when I realized I was really in it deep.

A HISTORY LESSON Fourteen years ago our family moved to Maine, uprooting from an established network of friends and family. My wife and I threw ourselves into a new business (a yoga studio) and our daughter was in school. We developed friendships and built a loving, vibrant community around our yoga studio. Our sense of professionalism meant maintaining boundaries though we maintained some social contact in meatspace (what the rest of the world calls in real life or IRL in technospeak). It was enough and made up for what we lost when we moved to a new state.

During this time, from 2005 to 2014, social media grew from a few blogs and LiveJournal into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat and others. Many of my social media accounts were created in 2008 after I attended the Viable Paradise workshop. There I connected with fellow writers and future friends from all over the world.

In the beginning, these platforms allowed me to keep in touch while friending new people and reconnecting with friends from my hometown, college and other areas of my life. It was fun to grow my friends lists in all those apps. There I got to know the new friends and reconnect with the old ones. At one time I could even distinguish between someone I knew from real life, the internet, high school, my yoga life, my music life and my writing life.

Then as they often do, things got… weird.

Actually I became severely depressed and then I got weird.

Okay, fine. I got weird-er. Ya happy now?

“MY COMPLICATIONS HAD COMPLICATIONS.”

2013-2014 is when social media became problematic for me. Though in some ways it was a lifeline, where I kept in touch with people when I felt isolated. But more often I grew to feel as if I wasn’t validated unless I posted something on social media. 

Or I wondered if I was valued or even alive if I posted something and got a “like.”

It became the place where I lived the most and this wasn’t good for me.

In that time social media grew into something like the facehugger from the movie “Alien.” If you don’t know what that is (what the hell is wrong with you?!) then here’s a litte background for you:

The facehugger is a parasitoid; its only purpose being to make contact with the host's mouth for the implantation process. The Facehugger secures its eight finger-like appendages tightly around the head of its victim and wraps its tail tightly around the host's neck, eliciting a gasping response and allowing the insertion of an ovipositor into the host's esophagus. An embryonic form of the Xenomorph is then implanted directly into the stomach of the host. During the implantation process the host is fed a constant supply of oxygen via two lung like organs. 

Here’s a fun video (WARNING IT CONTAINS SCARY SHIT):

Get the picture?

Social media - mostly Facebook and Twitter to be honest - became a thing attached to me, breathing for me while implanting something foreign into me. But instead of originating as something invasive I basically invited it in, made it some tea, shaved while it drank the tea then allowed it to hop on my face and ride me like a fucking tired, old pony at the carnival.

OUTRAGE FATIGUE

 As my friend good friend and bold German brother Marko Kloos wrote, it’s all too easy to open up one of these sites and get enthralled in the rage of the day. I don’t know who manages their social media engagement and doesn’t feel this or how they do it. But I realized that I was experiencing something dubbed extreme outrage fatigue. And it made the depths of my depression in the last five years considerably worse than it had to be. Because it’s one thing to be engaged and aware of what’s going on and yet another thing entirely to go from zero to furious in a second. 

I had enough stress and cortisol cocktails back when we owned our business. Real life then dealt me an even greater dollop of it in the last five. I’m better now with the help of therapy, medication, and a new CPAP machine. And as I get better, I realized giving my body a heaping dose of cortisol every time I open Facebook and see something that jolts my nerves and off I go into a tailspin.

And I’m so, so very done feeling this way. I’m fairly sure it’s killing me slowly.

DER PLAN? DIRT PLANT!

Unlike the facehugger from Alien, pulling the plug on social media hasn’t strangled me or causes acidic blood to scar me or eat a hole in three or four decks of a spaceship.

But the withdrawal was a little intense that first day. I’m not gonna lie. 

Because I’m a little addicted to social media.

Which, if you’re unfamiliar with recovery schpiel, means I’m very addicted.

Social media - with its likes, hearts, emojis, RT’s and everything else - is perfect for our little lizard brains. They only want to feel fed, fucked, free and fat - which really means feeling loved, wanted and secure. When we get a little like or emoji on a post it releases endorphins into our brains and we crave more. So much so that I often wish I’d never gotten involved with it and kept my daughter off social media for as long as possible.

It’s not social media’s fault per se, it’s just that I am wired in such a way that it makes addicts of us (my wife can take it or leave it which is both annoying and enviable). 

Now don’t get me wrong: there’s a ton of things I love about social media. I love that it’s connected me with people all over the world, made new friends and reconnected me to old ones. I love that it’s truly helped people in various causes across the globe from the Arab Spring uprising, the RESIST marches in the US and the Hong Kong protests. It can be a tool for positive change in the world but it’s not being used as such because those who run Facebook and Twitter see more profit in running it another way.

Don’t believe me? Then go to Netflix and watch The Big Hack documentary. Then tell me how you don’t care about what Facebook does with your information. Because I guaranteed they know how you think and decide about your purchases and beliefs almost as well as or better than you.

SOCIETY’S A DRAG SO WHY NOT JUST DROP OUT?

“Well, why are you staying on Instagram and Tumblr?” you may ask. “They’re just as bad!”

Okay. I’ll tell you why. It’s simple.

Because they bring me joy.

My Tumblr dash is mostly science fiction themed posts and a few political ones. I go there for concept art, the work of favorite artists, funny gifs and even music (I certainly don’t go there for adult content since they killed that community off the day before my 50th birthday. Great gift, jackasses!). It’s a nice place to unwind as I usually check it out at the end of the day before I go to bed.

My Instagram feed is full of pictures and videos of synthesizers, cute animals, cartoons, comics, fail videos, concept art and almost no politics. I feel better when I go on it, especially when I see pictures of dogs and cats. And Sparky has a pretty dedicated following which I must curate for his majesty. 

Now if I’m being honest with myself I’m still checking the likes for video clips I post of my songs or artwork. That little approval drug, that little pip of endorphins is something I have to deal with. 

And if I’m being even more honest with myself I can safely say social media has done very little to help me sell my books, music or comics. Most of that I’ve done by hand through word of mouth.

DELETE AND REPEAT UNTIL YOU FEEL THE BEAT

 “Okay, so big deal,” you say. “You’re not dropping out but you’re cutting back. What’s it gonna look like from here on out?” you may ask (as if anyone is still reading this).

For starters my online presence has shrunk noticeably. Initially I planned to deactivate my Facebook account early in August and do the same with Twitter. I started this by deleting the apps from my phone on a Monday.

Then something extraordinary happened.

First the anxiety whacked me over the back of the head and took me for a ride in the back of a smelly old beater. Like for most of the day I was grabbing my phone, going to the apps and experiencing a jolt at not seeing them there. It was like I kept reaching for a door that had been there or a window only to find it replaced with a giant brick wall or gaping empty space. This went along for a good 5-6 hours.

Then the anxiety went away.

The next day was infinitely easier. Without reaching for my phone the way Charles Bukowski reached for a cigarette or glass of whisky first thing in the morning, my day started off much more relaxed. Combined with the benefits of sleeping with a CPAP machine and POW! I was up earlier and easier in the morning as I went off to walk the dog then head into work. In the weeks since I curtailed my social media usage I feel so much better. More relaxed, less anxious and not nearly as out of touch as I thought I might. I check the news feed for a few minutes and listen to the radio but that’s it. Not nearly as much outrage first thing in the morning.

Despite not deleting my Facebook or Twitter accounts completely I haven’t felt much temptation to reinstall them. In fact most days, instead of checking in on both at least a dozen times an hour, I usually check in on Facebook at work late in the morning then once at night at home in my office. 

It shocks me how, after so little time away from it there’s so little there that I wonder how it became such a huge part of my life. The annoyance hits me like a day old haddock in the face the moment I open Facebook and after seeing if I need to reply to anything immediately I just close it and move on.

I have not, obviously, deactivated or deleted either of the monsters for a couple reasons. It’s nice to check in on people individually because the feed is bullshit due to algorithms that show you want Facebook or Twitter wants you to see (I’ve largely abandoned my artist pages because the effort involved in getting them to produce any results is herculean and yields nothing). My Instagram posts to Facebook and other social media so I didn’t need to check it as often. In fact I can’t usually stay on it for more than 5 minutes before getting bored.

YOU NEED US. DON’T YOU? PRETTY PLEASE? “So how are we going to stay in touch?” you may ask. “What about the people who need to get in touch with you?” (as if anyone is still reading this in the present day).

Honestly? If you want me you know where to find me. If you have my digits then call or text a brother. You can always email me, too.

I use Facebook Messenger regularly, despite knowing every word and image I put there is used to sell beer and cheap shit. My intention is to focus more on my personal site and blog at www.charlesrterhune.com and www.changterhune.com. There I’ll be posting regularly in an effort to hone and maintain my internet presence as much as I can (for we are all still at the mercy of the behemoth that is Google). It’s also a case of having the time to post as I’m working on several project at a time. My website will post to social media as long as those sites are active.

Honestly, if I feel this good weeks after cutting the cord I’m sure it will feel a-frigging-mazing in a couple months or even a year’s time!

So I’ll see you around these parts I hope.

Or maybe even IRL here in meatspace!

- CHARLIE/CHANG/CHIZZLE/CRT