#But it was such a concise story

[dmcoffee]

I think about the build up in Card Captor Sakura a lot.

You have a set number of magic cards to gather up and then pass a test in the hopes of avoiding a great disaster. No one says what the disaster is. We're too busy feeling stuff about the magic cards being entangled in the lives of our friends, family, and loved ones to ask what the worst case scenario is.

And then the climax comes. And failing the test means that the cards scatter again--and they take all memories of themselves with them. All those relationships we've established and experienced will cease to be. The silly couple who've been friends since they were babies. The bonds between siblings, where the elder brother who mercilessly teased his little sister was always there to have her back and shield her from the weird parts of magic. The cousins who've planned captures together, almost from the start. The rival turned friend, who is totally *not* crushing on the lead. Everything will be gone. All that will be erased, and mentally glanced over. Like they don't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

There's something so devastating about it. We've seen Sakura's network of friends and family and how much they all treasure one another--only to be told that it could all disappear if the test is failed. The Disaster isn't a cosmic horror. It's not a violence that will haunt the city. It's a quiet, insidious consequence that creates a tragedy that no one will even bat an eye at. And I think it's incredible. It's tonally perfect. It's so simple yet impactful. It's a well crafted part of a story where the whole premise is Sakura creating bonds with the magical cards, and enjoying her bonds as a young girl growing up and navigating life. (Family, school, friends, crushes, magic.) It's one of the things that made me love the series so much.

[rebouks]

“What’re we doing here?”

Oscar shrugged casually, “Hanging out?”

Robin scoffed with what little joviality he could muster, “Yeah, right…”

Oscar paused and broke eye contact, staring at nothing in particular as Robin waited. It was usually fairly easy to ascertain the direction of a conversation before it even started, given that people tended to rehearse what they’d say beforehand, but not Oscar. His mind was simultaneously blank and fit to burst; he was making it up as he went along most of the time, but that was one of Robin’s favourite things about his father. It paved the way for genuine, on the fly honesty.

“Figured maybe you’d wanna talk-..” Oscar rubbed his temple, “Ask me whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah-.. within reason.”

“Why’d you do it?” Robin blurted out; his eyes full of unbridled curiosity, though his father wasn’t looking at him.

“Willpower is a finite resource, y’know? I had a shitty day and I caved-.. didn’t really think about it all that much, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?”

Oscar sighed, backtracking slightly as he realised that wasn’t exactly the honesty he was going for. “Well, it’s not that you don’t think about it-.. I thought about not doing it a bunch of times, but the second I decided otherwise, I went on autopilot and got it over with as soon as possible so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Probably because thinking on it too hard is uncomfortable.”

“Where’d you go?”

Robin wouldn’t usually have to ask such a mundane question, but he’d struggled to fill in the blanks for himself. Oscar’s memories of the previous night were fuzzy and his thoughts sprawling.

“There.”

“The bar?”

Oscar nodded, still unable to meet his son’s gaze. “You remember it used to be a vet clinic, right? Your grandma ran it briefly, years ago-.. we lived in the flat above for a little while, when you were a baby.”

“I remember.”

Oscar sounded surprised. “You do?”

“Kinda-.. you’ve told me about it n’ stuff…”

Oscar shrugged a shoulder, supposing that’d make sense.

“You don’t have to feel so ashamed.” Robin ventured.

Oscar almost looked at Robin, though his gaze fell somewhere near his shoulder instead. How could a fourteen-year-old boy conjure such compassion? Such accuracy too. Shame.

Sometimes it felt as though he were talking to a man, not a boy. He was still a child, of course; arguing with his siblings over utter nonsense, playfighting, whinging about school and homework, leaving his dirty socks all over the place-.. but sometimes it felt like he understood much more than he should’ve. Oscar couldn’t imagine many people being so emotionally mature at thirty, never mind half as young.

“Dad…”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it-.. I always assumed I’d relapse at some point, but as the years went by, I guess I got complacent.”

“How’d it start? Like, did you just wake up one morning and realise it was an issue or..?”

Oscar shook his head slightly, running his thumb over his beard in thought. “Nah, it was slower, I just ignored it. I’d always been daft and over the top with stuff like that, partying n’ shit, y’know? It was like a crutch after a while though, and eventually, I needed it just to feel normal-.. went too far to feel nothing.”

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but Oscar wasn’t finished.

“You’ll probably get some stupid cop coming to your scout meetings or your school one day and they’ll stand there n’ tell you all about how drugs and alcohol are terrible or whatever, but it’s bollocks. Sure, they’re bad for you, but they feel good and that’s the problem. At least for me it was-.. is. It shouldn’t even be legal, really, not that it’d do much good if it wasn’t-.. it wouldn’t have stopped me, anyway.”

“I’d love to forbid you from going near it, but I’m sure you’ll all try it for yourselves one day. Maybe it’s just something to do, maybe it makes a boring night more fun, gives you the confidence to do something you’re scared of, talk to someone you’re shy around, I don’t know-.. you might hate it, you might not.”

“You hate that you still like it, don’t you?”

Oscar finally met Robin’s gaze as he nodded. “So much.” He wondered if he was making a mistake, being so open, but it was too late now and Robin had yet to balk or appear uncomfortable. If anything, he seemed concerned and intrigued, glad of the chance to ask whatever he wanted-.. not that he couldn’t usually, but the invitation was clearly welcome all the same.

“All your troubles just melt away, but they’re twice as bad when you wake up and doing it over again doesn’t solve much. It’s not the answer, Robin.”

“I know it’s not.”

Oscar’s frown softened as Robin slid beside him, threading an arm around his waist.

“You prefer being sober though, right?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s a loaded question…” Oscar sighed. “I prefer my life when I’m sober, but maybe a part of me will always crave that oblivion. It’s just something I have to live with.”

“Do you think you’ll do it again?”

“I don’t know, bud-..” Oscar admitted. “I’d like to say no but I don’t think I can make any promises, that’s not how it works.”

Robin nodded understandingly; he would’ve preferred it if his father could’ve made that promise, but a harsh truth was better than a hollow lie.

“They don’t mean much if you don’t keep em.” Oscar added.

“I get it-.. thanks for letting me ask you about it though, I know you’d rather keep it to yourself.”

“You’re still young but I know it’d drive you nuts otherwise. Besides, I don’t want it to feel like a dirty secret we can’t talk about, at least between us-.. might not wanna go telling all your friends your dad’s an alky though…”

Robin buried his face in the crook of Oscar’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly, desperate to convince his father that he didn’t think any less of him.

“Nah, they’re got enough ammunition.”

Oscar couldn’t help but snort at that. “I love you so much.”

“I know-.. I love you too.”

Robin said nothing a while as his father held him - or he held Oscar - only breaking the silence upon feeling his restless thoughts return.

“It’ll be the summer holiday’s soon, maybe we could go camping or something?”

Oscar smiled fondly. “Yeah, that’d be fun…”

Previous // Next

[thebramblewood]

This scene is purely for the fluff and not portentous at all. 🙃

Previous / Next

Caleb: Are you sure you can't just stay home?

Morgyn: The new cohort of acolytes begins today, and there's a Council meeting. Faba would kill me.

Caleb: I'd like to see her try.

Morgyn: It's easier to let her believe she has the upper hand. To her, I'm still that baby spellcaster asking too many questions on the first day of class.

Caleb: The only person whose baby you are is mine.

Morgyn: God, you're a walking Harlequin romance sometimes. [weakly] No, Caleb, we can't! [laughing] I have to get ready! You're dangerously close to my lips right now.

Caleb: So what are you going to do about it?

Morgyn: Okay, okay, enough!

Caleb: Just one more kiss.

Morgyn: You're relentless!

Caleb: Hurry back, love. I'm not finished with you.

-

Caleb: What am I going to do without you all day?

Morgyn: [mock sighs] Babe, you somehow made it through a century without me. I think you'll manage. Close your eyes for a minute.

Caleb: Morgyn-

Morgyn: Just do it. Now repeat. I am not going away forever.

Caleb: You are not going away forever.

Morgyn: I will be back later tonight.

Caleb: You will be back later tonight.

Morgyn: I promise.

Caleb: I promise.

Caleb: I think I'll make you dinner. I'm getting better at it! And Grace loaned me some new recipe books to try.

Morgyn: That sounds lovely, darling.

[chickensauras]

Ok listen. I just have *some thoughts*. Thoughts I can't articulate. So I drew this instead :U

Ref image is from ch. 6

[just-null]

Just curious, have you read a Noritoshi x reader fanfic on Quotev titled Body is one, mind is a million?? It is SO. GOOD. SO. GOOD.

^^^real image of me reading that fic in every chapter

Anon, I need to make out with you rn. Why was this gem hidden from me. Tysm for telling me about this, i will think of nothing else.

heres the link if you want to read it for yourself!

[my rabid ramblings and fanboying under the cut]

FORGIVE ME FOR THE PERSON ILL BECOME ONCE I FINISH READING THIS ALL. IM GONNA TRY SO HARD NOT TO MAKE THIS MY PERSONALITY.

I read the first chapter and intro, and I'm already hooked. Stoic and PINING NORITOSHI??? + TEASING GN READER?????????? I COULD FEEL THE PINING FIRST CHAP IN IM FUCKING DONE.

dude, you have no idea how badly I needed this in my veins. it's so tough finding fics that I like, and this one is so //PUNCHES MYSELF.. man if i tweak how i write for Noritoshi bc of this fic, i'll die. tysm to the writers out there.

IM GONNA GO DELUSIONAL BRO OH MY GOD AFJEK the way Kuzure (the author) wrote Noritoshi to be annoyed by you but grow to love you. its. ITS MY FAVORITE TROPE.. kuzure........ i have to add you to the wall of heros..

[ooc-themis-cattails]

i really want to hear the fan essay mirabelle would write on "the haunting of chateau castle" about how she went through the same thing herself, but when she read it she didn't actually have time to process it because she was busy doing all the crab that the chosen one was supposed to be doing and beating herself up over not actually being chosen. the whole lesson about josephandre being just a guy went over her head because she only had ten minutes to think about fandom, because she was so mired in her own fate as the person closest to the door.

it was kind of a horrible irony for her because it was exactly the lesson she needed, but came at a time when she didn't have the emotional resources to unpack it in time for it to be useful. i can relate tbh. i bet she had some really deep insights about it when she finally did have the chance to process it. mirabelle please write me ur essay

[fictionadventurer]

Why is this book about 1880s London Jews so relatable to the 2020s American Roman Catholic experience?

In Amy Levy's Reuben Sachs, you've got:

The community that is at once fully part of the modern world while having an insular nature (and the amount of modern vs. insular varies based on the person and family)

The people who ignore their religion 99% of the year, but wouldn't even consider skipping services on the important holidays

The ultra-traditionalists who go so intense on holding to traditions that a lot of other members of their religion side-eye them

The kids who go to services only because their parents force them to, or who rebel and refuse to go because they don't see the point or don't believe in God

The new convert who is more zealous than, like, 90% of the people who were born into this religion

A family with its very specific blend of religious opinions and inside jokes that's fully aware that they're baffling to outsiders

This book was apparently meant to be a realistic portrait of Jewish life (in response to Daniel Deronda and its (according to Levy) highly unrealistic and over-idealized portrayal of Jews), and my goodness, did she succeed in capturing what it's like to live in a culturally religious community in a rapidly secularizing world.

[ixcaliber]

trying to finish as much as i can off playstation plus before letting my subscription end and one of those things was the bioshock infinite burial at sea dlc and oh my fucking god what an absolutely atrotrious experience. incredibly somehow worse than bioshock infinite (a game i hold no affection for) and may be one of the worst video game experiences i've ever had.

[lazycranberrydoodles]

I hate to ask but who is hua Chang

Hua Cheng is the deuterantagonist of the Chinese web novel Heaven Official's Blessing! It's a historical fantasy novel about gods and ghosts and cultivators (xianxia) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. It's also a gay romance (danmei). The main themes are destiny, love, and what it means to be a good person. It has a comic version (manhua) and one-soon-to-be-two seasons of animation (donghua).

He's an 800+ year old ghost who has a sentient sword made from his own dismembered eye, runs a city, turns his enemies into blood rain, creates silver wraith butterflies and has been devotedly worshiping/pining after his god, Xie Lian, his entire life. This book is the longest hyperfixation I have ever had. So I think it's pretty good (understatement of the century).

I can and have written essay length rants about him but here is a paragraph i wrote a while back about my favorite things about him, to sum up:

His gender probably. The way he looked fate in the eyes and said “fuck you, old man” and built a highly successful life of his own. How he is so fucked up but still hyper-competent. How all his strength comes from love. How his devotion changed as he grew up but never wavered. The way he is kind but not nice. His infodump swag.

[waitineedaname]

I really love how much mp100 stands out against other shows of its genre with its finale. there isn't some final boss, there's no grand fight between good and evil. it is, like the show has always been, about emotions and self acceptance. the finale barely involves fight scenes in the traditional sense, like I wouldn't call the encounters with teru and ritsu fight scenes since neither of them intend to hurt him, and even the fight with the suzukis ends not with someone being defeated but rather with an emotional break through. the final conflict is resolved not with violence and defeat. it's resolved with honesty and compassion and self-love. I can't get over how deeply kind this series is

[skitter-queen]

I’m glad you like my better ward au,,, here’s more

Browbeat gets murdered on screen in chapter 1

In chapter 2 we find out that rain is a trans man who is stealth everywhere except home

In chapter 3 we find out that Ratcatcher is a echidna clone of skitter and that’s why she wears the mask all the time

In chapter 4 Victoria gets the big gun & it’s explicitly compared to a vibrator

In chapter 5 Victoria gets a vibrator and it’s explicitly compared to a big gun

In chapter 6 everyone in breakthrough has a big hug and laughs

In chapter 7 Victoria punches Amy through a wall

In chapter 8 we find out that looksee’s trigger is that everyone is *too* nice to her

In chapter 9 we learn that marquis and number man are still lovers

In chapter 10 citrine concisely explains her powers

In chapter 11 dragon hosts a gala

In chapter 12 svetka takes Victoria to a gay club. She does not notice.

In chapter 13 they listen to the protesters and create a more equitable form of government

In chapter 14 there’s a whole arc where cherish escapes from the pod and gets a hug from all of heartbreak

Lisa and Rachel are queer platonic partners????

in chapter 16 Byron comes out as a transgender lesbian and starts her transition

choosing to imagine that chapter 12 is not "victoria doesnt notice the club is gay" and rather "victoria does not notice she has been taken anywhere" because the entire chapter takes place inside of a very complex and multi-layered internal Victoria Dallon Monologue unpacking her feelings about the previous Dragon's Big Gala chapter. the gay club thing is only revealed in sveta's interlude after chapter 15

[lattedusks-mochadawns]

Lower!Wild Kratts AU

Haha I have made an AU. The outfits are from that hit game Project Sekai from the Hermit Card Set. The concept is based off of Lower One’s Eyes by Nulut (the Vocaloid MV version) mainly for Koki and Aviva’s backstory. Hence why this is called the Lower!AU.

This AU is sorta set in a fantasy world in a medieval-ish era (I guess it’s mainly fantasy.) The most summary I will give for now is that bros wanna form a creature adventuring group but the townsfolk are too pussy to join. They meet Koki, then Aviva who both join but have unresolved conflict from their past life before. And they pick up Jimmy who was napping on a rock upon their first meet. Jimmy is just Jimmy in this AU. Or is he?

[comikadraws]

Another thing that's damning is the fact that Yamato, anko, Sasuke and many, many others, even kabuto, never receive any compensation for what orochimaru did to them and they're forced to live with the fact that orochimaru destroyed them and what they had completely and the fact that he violated then. Brings so many disturbing parallels to the many, many Asian victims and the genocide that Japan inflicted. The more I think about it, the damning it is.

On another note, orochimaru deserved worse. I mean, we're clearly supposed to be disgusted and horrified at his actions and he was a legitimately great villain because of how pure evil he is and I'm pretty sure everyone was rooting for him to be defeated and finally get the punishment he deserves, yet he doesn't even get a slap on the wrist?? In pretty sure he's STILL doing experiments so he hasn't changed, he's still the same person he was ever since then.

I don't know what Kishi is like as a person, but that's so many red flags in his writing.

For reference: We had a conversation on another post of mine about Orochimaru getting away with the atrocities he has committed. We thought that he could possibly be compared to individuals such as Ishii Shiro from WW2.

For Ishii Shiro, read up on unit 731. For Orochimaru, Naruto chapters 121 & 122.

The obvious comparison is that both Orochimaru and Japan conducted human experiments and were then pardoned for being "useful" (in the case of Ishii, he was pardoned by the US) - because crimes against humanity are not crimes against humanity if it's the Good Guys™ doing them, obviously. I trust that I don't have to explain why this is hypocrisy at its finest and, overall, morally deplorable.

It's honestly disturbing just how often red flags manage to slip their way into Naruto. And yes, it's a story about war and war is a messy and difficult-to-write topic but all that needed to be done was acknowledging Konoha as the fucked-up dumpster fire it is and hold the perpetrators responsible.

I love Kishimoto's philosophy on villains and redemption, that there's some good in everybody and that redemption is possible. I really do. But there's a line. And personally, I draw that line somewhere before human experimentation, genocide, and slavery.

I don't know why Kishimoto thought that Orochimaru's redemption was a good idea. The idea of letting him get away like that is ridiculous to me but I'd also rather not try to make any assumptions about Kishi as a person from that.

In his defense, Japan is notorious for omitting its war crimes. And as a mangaka who gets like 3 hours of sleep per day, it's understandable that Kishi wouldn't have the time to properly educate himself on history or society. I don't know whether Kishimoto actually researched the war crimes that his characters have committed (though I personally doubt it) or if he just decided that "all wars are made up on people's grudges" because his grandparents told him once and thought of everything else as secondary. I can only guess.

In my ideal version of Naruto, Konoha's crimes would've been acknowledged, Danzo's crimes would've been made public and Orochimaru would've gone to prison. But none of that happened and I can only assume it is the result of Kishimoto's upbringing or a sacrifice he made to keep his target audience happy. I doubt he just deliberately decided to excuse any of these horrors and if he did, I'd argue it was born from nativity rather than malicious intent.

But man. The story sure suffered because of it...

[sprout-gt]

In Plain Sight - Chapter One

here it is folks! the start of the journey. i have had so much fun drafting this chapter, and hope you enjoy reading it!

Word count: 3958

CW: Adult language

Myth knew the route, he understood it.��

This well practiced tread was practically second nature to him. Gently palming the wall to feel for the familiar symbols long ago scratched into the soft wood within the walls, the borrower shuffled forward assuredly. 

The cramped, pressing space between walls he so often navigated provided a keen sense of belonging. He could probably find his way through most routes with his eyes closed. Hell, without the soft glow of a lit match or belt lamp he might as well be blindfolded. He could barely see an inch in front of him. And yet, each footfall was placed with complete certainty. 

The dark did not disquiet him, nor was it ever a challenge. Darkness was safe, shielding.The inability to make out anything in front of you was a blessing. It meant that you were also hidden from sight. Visibility meant guaranteed danger, staying out of sight meant safety. It was a simple principle. 

Myth raced through the corridors carved throughout the walls, relying only on the long ingrained paths etched into his memory to guide him forward. However, instead of the nearly blasé confidence that he usually assumed on runs, Myth navigated the tight corridors of the walls with an air of quiet desperation. 

The stockade had been raided last week. It was still unclear what caused it, provisions and supplies being there one moment and gone within the next routine inventory hours later. The wards had been diligently dealing with rats for ages now, but it was extremely unusual for any to get that far within the borrower’s well-guarded territory. There had been no sightings of any intruding borrowers or suggestion of foul play. And yet, the once cramped shelves of their stockade were now nearly empty. 

No matter the reason, the sudden, sharp decrease in supply and encroaching panic of the community over rationing what was left meant that expeditions beyond the walls were assigned with a concerning frequency. Some younger borrowers had assumed this was their chance to prove themselves and were clambering to volunteer themselves, but Myth was quick to shut that idea down. The hefty responsibility to train new runners fell to him as the main, and he had neither the time nor patience to do so now. 

With his sister unable to assist on any runs, the brunt of the recent work was delegated to him. He felt like he hardly had a chance to breathe between runs before Dasha was assigning him another. Sure, there were others that would occasionally accompany him, but Myth by far had the most experience. Myth was always happier to work alone anyway. No chance to get slowed down that way. No unnecessary risks. 

This was his fifth run of the week, and as he dashed through the empty spaces in the walls, he could feel the fatigue begin to set in as a dull ache within his muscles. His legs protested against the long distances he traveled, his arms stung with every inch scaled upwards. He shoved down the increasing tiredness that ebbed through him, and kept moving. He could sleep when the community was secure. 

He had felt Kara’s knifepoint jealousy as he was assigned yet another run this morning, and he had to bite back a comment about loving to switch places with her. Sitting safely within the walls while recovering from a minor injury sounded far preferable to these relentless assignments. 

There was a small, inextricable twinge of tired envy within him towards all of the safe, manageable roles delegated to the others as he threw himself outside of the walls again and again. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. 

Despite the constant string of complaints he has let ramble in his thoughts, he understood the severity of the situation, and knew he had a role in fixing it. 

As his hand brushed a carved crescent shaped divot in the wood, he stilled. This was it. Myth knocked against the wall twice for good luck, a small practice he had started on his first few runs that had long since become habit. Taking a long and weary breath in, Myth pulled down his bottle-cap mask and stepped beyond the cherished security of the walls. 

Myth utterly hated being in the open. Open meant visible, exposed, and there was always limited directionality for quick-needed escapes. The weaving route he used opened from a crack in the aging tile work into a vast kitchen area. Although it did not provide nearly enough cover as some of the other route entrances closer to the floors, it was optimal for gathering quickly, since it was positioned right next to containers of both non-perishable and fresh food. Supply runs would rarely ever pass through the kitchen, but provisions would rarely be found through the safer, less open route entrances. 

They were meticulous in scheduling runs, and midday seemed to be consistent in human vacancy. Night may provide more cover of darkness, but it was nearly guaranteed the humans would be roaming for hours, morning the same. What in the wall's name they were doing in that time was beyond Myth, but he spent very little time caring about the erratic behavior of humans- just staying out of their line of sight. 

Myth cautiously stepped onto the smooth surface of the marble countertop, after ensuring the room was empty. Glancing around his surroundings, he huffed with agitation as he scoped the area and immediately noted that the humans hadn’t yet replenished their own supplies, meaning he was left to scrounge in their diminished scraps. Again. Myth ran a tired hand through his hair as he weighed his limited options.

What this really meant was that this run was a whole bunch of expended energy and time with very little return. Myth knew that any borrower worth their salt would never return empty handed from a run, no matter how barren the surroundings may be. That would signal your inadequacy, and highly disrespect Dasha’s authority. And so, Myth trudged forward. 

Upon the vast counter was a nearly empty fruit bowl that towered over him, and a plastic container holding the crumbled remains of some unidentified dessert. Chewing on his lip, Myth glanced back and forth between them, as if his contemplation would magically spawn more provisions to bring back. An unfortunately unsuccessful strategy. Myth stepped towards the tall bowl, craning his neck up to the lip as he unhooked his makeshift grapple off his belt. Giving it a few swings to pick up momentum, he confidently arced the hook towards the lip. 

Catching his hook on the glass bowl, Myth gave a careful tug to ensure the twine affixed to the thin metal could be pulled taught. The hook held, although the slight creak of the rope while being pulled concerned him slightly. He would probably have to replace it when he got back. 

Ensuring it was secure, he began to ascend, wincing at the dull pain that bloomed through his upper body as he tugged his weight upwards. He pushed himself up to sit on the lip of the bowl, resulting in a sharper stab of fatigue buried in his arms. Removing the twisted metal hook, Myth reverses the grip, before belaying down to the flat bottom of the bowl and surveying his options.

There were a few discarded grapes, the skins of which had turned slightly brown and started to sag with overripeness, along with their now empty stems. Myth rolled his eyes and approached. He crouched down on his haunches and observed a few grapes that were still perfectly usable.  

Humans always seemed to disregard any amount of food that was past its absolute prime quality. The rejection of slightly worsened food was an unbelievable privilege to Myth. One that he had never been extended. Through his many assignments, he had learned that there was very little past the walls unworthy of using. They would need to ration these out within the next day or two, but that was still substantial. He scooped the fruit into his pack.

Once he had made his way back over the wall of the bowl and dropped down onto the counter with a huff, Myth approached the plastic container. It wasn’t much, a few crumbs and larger chunks of some kind of cake. Not very nutritious,but he had never been in the position to be picky. 

He wedged one tip of his hook between the layers of plastic so he had room to force them apart with a resonant pop. Myth winced at the sound, knowing full well he was alone but unable to shake the feeling he was about to be found hunched over and shoveling pieces of dessert into his pack. He moved faster, beginning to have that uncanny, unshakable feeling of being watched creep into him. 

Once Myth had filled his pack with as much as he feasibly could, he slammed the layers of plastic together, having to push down hard to click them back together. He quickly turned on his heel and hurried back to the insignificant split in the even tile lining the countertop. 

Pressing his bag through the opening with a push, Myth shoved himself in as well, leaning his back against the rigid wall next to the crack in order to catch his breath. As soon as he was past the barrier separating the gigantic scale of human spaces and tucked back into the security of the walls, his mind eased considerably. 

The borrower shouldered his now full pack, and turned down the long path back to the community, breathing easier under the cover of sheltered darkness. 

Others have said to him, during the common practice of recounting harrowing tales under the soft glow of wick-light, that the thrill of doing runs made them worth the risk, the adrenaline of close calls the best part of being assigned runs. Myth had nodded along in placid agreement, although he could not agree less. 

The thing Myth really loved about doing runs was the blissful solitude that traversing the routes provided. Simply, the silence of being in between the borrowing world and the human one. 

Borrowing life was as hectic as it was interconnected. Everyone was pressed so close, you didn’t have the space to breathe. In the heart of the walls, there was hardly any moment to reflect or exist in solitude. Here, slipping between the winding corridors, Myth was allowed to savor the isolation, if only for a short time. 

It was in these prized moments that Myth allowed his mind to wander past routine, past assignments and roles and into the abstract. He bounded between worries and excitements, potentials and anticipations. It passed the time deliciously. Gave him a needed distraction as he traversed the darkness.

But as he approached the central chamber of the walls, Myth could hear the stark silence of the route slowly be ebbed away with the present, bustling sounds of the community, the darkness slowly fading as he approached. His time with the personal came to a close, making way for the needs of his community. Myth entered the central chamber, exiting the cramped route entrance into the spacious room dotted with other entrances to routes, as well as corridors snaking further into community territory. . 

Tess, drowsily resting her head on her hand, snapped up immediately when she spotted Myth approaching, and waved him over as he walked in. He understood her excitement. Inventory was a slow and monotonous assignment. 

Casting a glance at the large wrist watch face affixed to the far wall, he noted that he returned several minutes later than he expected. He felt a pang of irritation at himself for getting increasingly slower. His legs ached in angry retort. He needed to lie down. 

He met the younger borrower in the center of the chamber and unloaded his meager spoils from the run onto the makeshift surface she stood behind. Tess made an obvious face.

“That… isn’t a lot.” Tess stated obviously, casting a dubious glance downward. 

“That is what was there.” Myth responded. As if he could control when the humans decided they were tired of their lack of provisions. That would certainly make his life easier.  

Tess sighed, and pulled a large scrap of paper from the pile beside her, marking the date and quality of the different food items with a pencil stub, leaving a patch of lead residue on her hand. “I’ll alert Dasha and sort this into inventory. In the meantime, would you please go lie down. You look like you’re about to collapse.” 

Myth laughed dryly, “Feel like it too. Thanks for telling me it’s obvious.” A slightly awkward beat passed between the borrowers. 

Tess shifted her weight from foot to foot, seeming to consider something weighty before asking, “Are you okay Myth? I mean… with all these assignments…” Her tone was light, quiet, as if asking his opinion was in violation of some kind of rule. 

Myth shrugged his empty pack onto his shoulder, and simply stated “Why wouldn’t I be?”, as he promptly turned on his heel, striding away from Tess and her deepinging expression of pity. 

Making his way towards the opposite wall, Myth entered the corridor to the community quarters, following the long path down to his and Kara’s space. He could hear conversation loud and quiet past the curtained barriers, but was uninterested in participating in any conversation, save for the one between him and sleep. 

Stepping through the curtain of scrap fabric of his quarter, Myth shrugged off his now much lighter pack and tossed his mask to the side of the room, nodding to his sister sitting at the far table. He stretched out as much as his muscles let him, enjoying the aching feeling for a few moments. He figured he should probably greet her before shuffling to his own space. 

Myth joined Kara at their makeshift table, slouching down on the cork across from her as she whittled away at her prized spear. Too tired to greet her, he slumped forward, resting his head on his arms and letting out a much needed groan. 

“So, did the savior of the community gather a fruitful bounty today?” Kara asked, eyes trained on the edge of the glass she was using to sharpen the stone. The question was tinged with bitterness. Kara wasn’t one for hiding what she meant in any situation.

Myth let out a beleaguered sigh and responded without looking up. “Not enough, but there wasn’t enough to get. Bastards hadn’t replenished yet.” Slumped over like this, he could feel how much his back hurt. 

“Sounds like you went all the way out there for nothing. Maybe they should have sent someone else. Would have made the run less lonely anyway.” The edge to her tone was clear. This wasn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and Myth knew it wouldn’t be the last. He was getting pretty tired of having it though. 

“I was perfectly fine on my own thanks.” Myth responded pointedly. 

“I would have gotten back here faster. Have you noticed what time it is?” 

Myth scrunched his eyes, annoyed that she knew he would have taken consideration of his increasing slowness. The comment stung slightly. 

Myth raised his head and regarded his sister tiredly. “Kara, it’s not my fault that you weren’t careful.” She sucked in a breath. 

Myth had noticed that, since she’d been recovering from her hurt ankle, Kara had been diligently attentive to her gear. It was clear to everyone she was desperate to get back out there. Myth really did regret not having her presence. She was skilled and effective on runs. Maybe even more than he was, and they both knew it. 

Kara responded with nothing but a punctuated swipe of her knife and a sour frown. He knew he wasn’t being fair, and was about to apologize before she interrupted the silence with, “What even is this, your fourth run this week?”

“Fifth.” Myth responded wearily, sitting up straighter. He really needed to get some rest.  

“Of course. Why not? You alone are going to fix this mess for us. Maybe we’ll throw you a party! Get Cade to plan it, he’d drop everything.”

Myth was about to retort how much he would prefer someone else to do his job for him, but considering how bitter Kara was about being stuck within the walls, he bit it back, and took in a slow breath.

“As much as your doubt inspires me, I’m fully capable of handling this.” Myth responded, trying to keep his voice level. 

Kara slammed the glass point down with a hard smack against the table’s surface, causing Myth to jolt in surprise. “You’re tired is what you are, and that means you’re getting sloppy. Sooner or later that means you’re going to fuck up. And then where would we be Myth?” Kara regarded him with intensity. 

Several moments of tension-singed silence stretched between them. 

Myth tried not to escalate anything when he responded, “Dasha knows what she’s doing.”

“Dasha is scared and making stupid decisions. We have plenty of other people wanting to do runs, wanting to help.” Kara retorted with exasperation, crossing her arms tightly.

“Wanting is not the same as being ready.” Myth firmly insisted, not really wanting to push things further but feeling the stubborn urge to defend himself. 

Kara scoffed in agitation, but he continued. “I am not going to be responsible for anyone getting hurt or caught. They’re untrained, and they’re agitated. That makes people sloppy.”

“They’re eager, and there’s a difference. You won’t even talk to them Myth! Maybe if you gave some of the people here half a chance you wouldn’t have to risk yourself over and over!” 

“I’m doing my job.” Now it was his turn to cross his arms in mild defiance and stare daggers across the table. 

Kara let out a wild laugh, “Of course you are! You’d probably throw yourself in front of a human if Dasha asked-” The thought made his heart rate spike. 

“That is not fucking fair Kara.” Myth’s voice finally raised sharply. He pushed back against the table and scrambled to his feet. He felt agitation cascade through him. Towards Kara, towards Dasha, towards himself. And he was far too tired to do anything about it. 

Kara stood in a feverish instant, leaning all her weight on her good ankle and slamming her hands down on the table. “Since when have you given a shit about fair? Nothing about this has been fair!”, waving one arm out wildly. 

Myth was about to shout back that she was acting like a child, but turned his head backwards when he realized Kara's eyes snapped to something over his shoulder. Tess was standing in the doorway, pushing back the curtain extremely rigidly, eyes equally apologetic and uncomfortable. 

The energy in the room instantly chilled to an awkward coolness. Myth was extremely embarrassed that someone caught one of their regular arguments, and he felt his face get hot as he turned to Tess. Now that the fight had crashed to a stop, Myth felt like he had been zapped of any strength he was still holding on to.  

“Hey Tess.” Myth said quietly, looking downward, unwilling to regard either woman due to the growing sense of shame settling into his chest. He knew he wasn’t angry at Kara, and she wasn’t angry with him, not really. The cramped anxiety that had descended upon the community had been slowly escalating their own unpleasant feelings. The closest thing to take them out on was each other. He knew Tess wouldn’t understand this. 

“Uh… sorry- I didn’t… I mean… Myth, Dasha wants to see you, like, now. Sorry. I’m gonna-” Myth heard Tess turn and sprint away from the curtained doorway. What a day. 

“I better see what she wants.”, even though he most certainly knew what she did. Myth looked towards Kara for her response, but she had sat back down and was now trained on her blade, lips pulled in a tight, straight line. Myth turned away silently. 

Presence with Dasha rarely resulted without a delegated assignment, but Myth internally begged to not be handed another run. He knew that his last one was disappointing, but he was so tired. 

Myth found her in the provision inventory, a carved out hallway stuffed with ledges and makeshift shelves. Dasha was inspecting one of the grapes he had brought in, holding it up with one hand. Her face was still turned away from him, inscrutable. 

He felt a stab of embarrassment at how little he brought back, and desperately wanted to explain himself.

 “Dasha, I-”. She held up a hand, and he immediately halted. 

“Myth, I know this last week has been difficult. Trust me, know one has felt it harder than I have. But you understand that this amount from a run is unacceptable in our present circumstances.” 

His cheeks burned hot. “I’m sorry. This really was the best I could do, the humans hadn’t replenished yet.” 

Dasha wearily raked a hand through the length of her hair, and let in a sharp inhale. 

“I figured. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me.” Dasha put the fruit down and regarded him sympathetically. “You have been doing so much great work for the community, and I know it has not been easy.” Myth could feel she was priming him for something he didn’t want to hear. 

“But I am growing worried that I have been over-relying on your skills. And your sister has been… insistent that I consider alternative runners in her absence,” she took in a breath, “so I am assigning you to train an eligible member to assist you on runs-” His stomach dropped, hard.

“No!” The objection was out before he could stop himself, he quickly tried to recover, “Dasha please, I can do this alone, really.” 

Dasha didn’t seem offended by the outburst, her expression almost pitiful. It made him want to scream. Why did nobody trust that he could handle this? 

“I’m sure you can, but my mind has been made up. If you got injured after all these runs-” she closed her eyes, “I would never forgive myself.”

“Dasha please-” He knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. 

Dasha firmly interrupted, “You get to choose who it will be, and it's just until Kara recovers and they are trained. I have full faith in you.” She smiled at him warmly, but he could see it was useless to argue. 

He briefly thought back to the comment Kara had made during their argument. He knew she was right. 

“You’re dismissed, get some rest. Tomorrow, please report who you have chosen and we can work out a plan,” she stepped towards him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek before saying, “Thank you Myth.” 

Dasha stepped away and out of the stockade, leaving Myth with a growing thorn of apprehension in his gut. He stood there rigidly for a few moments, before turning and making his way back to his quarters- wishing for his day to just be over already.

Upon returning to his quarters, guilt sat in his stomach like a sharp stone. As he passed by the curtain separating him from Kara’s space, he paused, placing a hand on the wood next to the doorway and leaning his forehead against it..

“I’m sorry.” He spoke to the curtain mutedly.

“I know.” Kara responded from within, equally hushed. And that was it. 

Myth turned to finally, finally crash headlong into the escape of sleep, and as he shuffled toward his own sleeping area, he heard Kara mutter something quietly, although he couldn’t quite make it out. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[taxicabinmemphis]

daily affirmations: a short story can be as long as i want. a short story does not have to be under 7,500 words. a short story can be as long as i want. it could be a million trillion words and still be a short story. a short stor-

[melanodis]

How in control is Mike and pizza plex owner Michael AU? Like is he just a passive observer?

(copying this from an rb) Michael's consciousness is still separate as his brain is still (mostly) intact, but still sort of... melts? In with the rest of Ennard's facets as more of a hive mind, one voice type deal. He's unable to tell which thoughts are his own anymore; where he ends and the rest begin.

To expand upon that further; Ennard's intent is to be a hitchhiker, a parasite, if you will. And to do that, you have to make yourself as undetectable as possible. Unfortunately, due to their very nature of replacing Michael's insides, this is fairly difficult to achieve. Their presence comes in the form of typical symptoms of sickness, such as nausea and cold sweats. Think of how sickly you feel with a high fever, the dissociation and such, the lightheadedness, the lack of coordination... That's sort of how Michael feels here, stumbling about and even being aided by Ennard to keep up appearances. Murmurings, tinglings of a presence situated at the back of your skull, pressing deep. He's a puppet. In comparison, after they've left, his mind becomes crystal clear. His thoughts are his own, there's no more of that dull buzzing in his ears. It's quiet, now.