#answers a prison for oneself

[mumblelard]

thinly veiled or all sit and no ramble makes mumblelard a very twitchy bhoy

my wonky foot is healing happily hopping barefoot around the house but too much shoe time is hurty

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐰.❞

What do you need to hear?

Subliminal channel | Masterlist

Tips | Paid Readings

Not a tarot card reading, only based on my intuition.

18+ readings

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Pile 1

You must understand that the reason why everything isn’t going your way isn’t due to the fact you’re not a good person. It is not about your good deeds, or your bad deeds. It is not about who you harm inadvertently, this stems from you as a person. What are you looking for or in your case, whom are you looking for? Are you looking for something that satisfies you for the time being or for the longer term? Ask yourself this. Are you deserving of good luck? Am I deserving of the best?

If you think to yourself that every small detail of your life isn’t going well then you stimulate your mindset in the wrong light. Small simple bad things are normal for us all. One paper cut, a fight occurring, a friendship ending, these things are much smaller than you know.

A paper cut, you were careless and you lack patience.

A fight occurring teaches you patience, resilience, and knowledge. You learn from their behavior, are they a hot headed, calm, how do they react? It heightens your sense, awareness and analytical skills.

A friendship ending is a lesson for us all, it makes us grow as a person and it teaches us how to make ourselves the priority because friendships always end no matter, positive or not. Happy memories are the things one can hold on but to reminisce about the past makes us a prisoner. Do you want to be a prisoner? Does that sound ideal to you? If so, why?

So to ask once more, who are you looking for?

Think about this for a bit and speak to yourself about it until you realize you already know the answer.

The answer is within you.

Pile 2

When you see fire near you, you instantly run or perhaps freeze due to fear, and yet here we stand in the midst of it excited by it. Why is that? Why do you think you seek the adventure of danger? Do you think it plays the factor of being the person you desire or perhaps you’re hiding away once more under a facade of dread and hatred?

Do you believe that the burning flame within you is seeking to go upward or downwards? Do you believe that the same burning flame is you or perhaps it's merely the people around you, your environment?

Why all these questions? What is this reading, you may ask, the truth is, your mind is rather clustered of useless thoughts surrounding you like a snowstorm where you cannot escape, only to shelter oneself. Learn to let go of the thoughts that do not benefit you, and take in the ones that makes you happy. Let go of your worries to whom you believe or what you believe in, and let them take those worries away. Come back anew and make yourself whole once more. Your life is in your hands, not them, not the community nor your family, simply just you and you alone. Obstacles surely are a pain, are they not? But then again, obstacles make us whole so, will you be the person who stops midway through the obstacle or will you go forth with it and leap over it, perhaps even swim around it? The choice is yours and it lies within your grasp. You choose.

Pile 3

When you see the moon hiding the sun, you find it to be mesmerizing. The moon shines its beauty for us so we can enjoy the stars, perhaps to stargaze, maybe to feel like ourselves, who knows. But then again it’s just a normal cycle, a factual tradition, I suppose. But then we look at society and how it teaches us that our flaws are significant and that we must be perfect like Barbie and Ken. But then again, one cannot achieve such perfection, it’s simply impossible. Right?

Why do you believe that you must be perfect at everything? You must achieve everything and that if you do not, you’re unworthy? Not good enough and such. What are you gaining from that? Would you preferably say that to a child, let alone your child? No.

Would you find an infant, barely born and tell them, ���you’re doing this wrong. What is wrong with you?! You cannot do anything right!” No. So why do you do it to yourself?

If I were to yell at you right now, how would you react? Would you reciprocate it? Would you let it bury inside and create resentment towards me? Maybe you might slap me as well. Or I suppose, you will laugh it off like it’s nothing, or maybe it truly isn’t anything because you became numb to it because you justified it.

Even so, it’s not justified to act so harsh on yourself, high expectations won’t lead you anywhere, well, I suppose it would leave you in a dump. That doesn’t sound enjoyable, does it? No.

Maybe next time, let’s try being easier on ourselves and show gratitude to oneself for achieving a small accomplishment and giving ourselves a reward. Shouldn’t be hard if you actually care for yourself, now would it? You tell me. Decide it for yourself.

Pile 4

When I think of your pile, I see a child, presumably someone who looks pale, but isn’t. I see an image of someone wearing nothing, but not in a perverted fashion. I see them staring into my eyes with such sadness, such hatred in their heart and eyes. So much anger, and yet there is a “help me” feeling of the way they are gazing into my eyes.

What I’m saying is, those reading this pile feels .. a sense of emptiness and apathy. This pile gave me anxiety for 3 hours straight and I ruined my nails by biting them (which I never do), I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not. Your pile is very rocky, lots of anxiety and frustration, and so much resentment. I can feel my heart beating so incredibly fast, I feel suffocated, I feel like I am drowning, but it’s not the same as you expect someone to drown. I feel as I am dying and that is what you feel right now.

I hear depression, anxiety, BPD, and “I’m going to kill you.” Everyone here feels so much anger, it’s going to explode on the next person. Sometimes you feel like no one understands you and they treat you as a joke, at times you feel as if you aren’t important enough to be apart of your social group, even your family as well. At times, you want to.. jump off a cliff but the thought scares you very much, not because you're a coward, but because you have this small shred of hope that you may have a better life, and you will.

I see a hill, someone's child is holding a book or perhaps a diary, they are holding it tightly, close to their heart. Despite if you don’t read or write journals/diaries, something you have within you is what you hold very close to you and you must cherish that. Keep it close, I’m not speaking of your negativity (some of you, stop it), I’m speaking of the thing you want so badly but you believe it is impossible to achieve and yet it is not. How could it be impossible? You found the right pile for you, so what is the issue of you believing it will come to you even when you do nothing? Anything is possible, that’s very obvious, understand this. If you put your mindset on something, in this case, what you want, you think of it or perhaps daydream about it, then it’s yours. That’s all.

Here is what you must hear.

When a shooting star shoots across the night sky, we all become hypnotized by it due to it being such a rarity, correct? We stargaze because stars are so mesmerizing, so enchanting. When you think of what you desire, that lost hope, you become hypnotized about it, don’t you? If shooting stars are possible, then how dare you say what you desire, that shred of hope isn’t possible?

Getting lost in a world of possibilities is such an exciting experience, isn’t it? But when you realize it’s not real, it hurts even more. Perhaps using that small shred of happiness can amplify what you want. Ever think of that? So just daydream or think of the things you want, even if it’s a “silly” daydream about being a knight saving a princess in a castle with dragons and such, and then think of what you want for a split second even and go back to that “silly” daydream. You’ll manifest what you want without even realizing.

My intuition is telling me is that you can get what you desire if you change your approach in life. If you can do that, then that small shred of hope in your life can bypass the hopelessness that you feel as of this moment. It will twist your mind and make it assume that what you want is so incredibly easy to reach and achieve.

[callsigns-haze]

Prison for life..

Pairing: Acotar x reader Warning: This fic contains scenes of peril, violence, and suspense, as well as moments of light-hearted humor and camaraderie. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Amidst the eerie shadows of the dark woods, YN faces a terrifying encounter with a malevolent beast, only to be rescued by the timely intervention of Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, whose camaraderie and laughter serve as a beacon of light in the midst of darkness.

This is kinda a request by @callsign-magnolia, i didn't know what to write and the cutie helped me come up with an idea legit only like 2 hours back

Song I kinda used is Prison for life because 🎶I'm a feminist, obviously But I wouldn't really mind him savin' me And I know that I'm fine without a man But I think I would like his protection I'm just bein' honest, can't change what I like I'll never forget it, he told me one night If anybody hurts you, hah I'm goin' to prison for life🎶

As YN found herself amidst the grandeur of the Court of the Long Lost Gods, her mind was consumed with the weight of her impending speech. As the sole High Lady present, she understood the significance of this moment—it was her chance to make an impression, to assert her authority, and to inspire confidence in her leadership.

Yet, despite her best efforts, YN couldn't seem to shake off the nagging sense of doubt that gnawed at her confidence. She paced the opulent halls of the court, her footsteps echoing in the vast expanse, as she rehearsed her speech over and over again.

But each time she spoke the words aloud, they fell flat, lacking the conviction and passion she knew they needed to command attention. Frustration bubbled within her, a simmering brew of anxiety and self-doubt that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I am the High Lady," she whispered to herself, trying to summon the confidence she so desperately needed. "I am capable. I am worthy."

Yet, no matter how many times she repeated the words, they felt hollow, devoid of the strength and conviction she knew she possessed deep within.

With a frustrated sigh, YN sank onto a nearby bench, her hands running through her hair in exasperation. How could she hope to lead her people if she couldn't even find the words to inspire them?

But then, amidst the turmoil of her thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered within her. She may not have the perfect speech prepared, but she refused to let her doubts hold her back.

Rising to her feet once more, YN straightened her shoulders and squared her jaw, a newfound resolve burning bright in her eyes. She may not have all the answers, but she was determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and determination.

With renewed purpose, YN returned to her preparations, ready to face the court and deliver a speech that, while imperfect, would be filled with the sincerity and passion that defined her as a leader. For she knew that true leadership wasn't about perfection—it was about courage, conviction, and the unwavering belief in oneself, even in the face of uncertainty.

As YN continued to read over her speech, frustration bubbled within her like a pot left too long on the stove. With each stumble over her words, her irritation mounted, threatening to boil over.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with frustration as she reread a particularly troublesome passage for what felt like the hundredth time. "Why can't I get this right?"

Her fingers clenched tightly around the parchment, crumpling the edges as she fought to rein in her frustration. But try as she might, the words refused to cooperate, slipping through her grasp like water through clenched fists.

"Stupid, worthless speech," she cursed, her tone sharp with self-directed anger. "Why does it have to be so damn difficult?"

Each mistake felt like a blow to her pride, a reminder of her own inadequacy in the face of the daunting task before her. She knew she needed to impress the court, to prove herself worthy of her title as High Lady, but in this moment, all she could focus on was her own frustration and self-doubt.

With a frustrated growl, YN tossed the parchment aside, her patience worn thin by her repeated failures. She buried her face in her hands, feeling the weight of her responsibilities pressing down upon her like a leaden cloak.

But even in the midst of her frustration, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind—a voice that reminded her of her strength, her resilience, and her unwavering determination to succeed. And with that voice as her guide, YN took a deep breath, steeling herself for another attempt.

With renewed determination, she picked up the parchment once more, her eyes blazing with determination as she prepared to tackle her speech head-on. For she knew that no matter how many times she stumbled and fell, she would always rise again, stronger and more determined than ever before.

As frustration gnawed at YN's patience, threatening to overwhelm her, a sudden intrusion broke through the turmoil of her thoughts. Rhysand's voice, clear and unmistakable, echoed in her mind—a telepathic communication that caught her completely off guard.

"Having a bit of trouble there, YN?" Rhysand's voice teased, his amusement palpable even through the telepathic link.

YN's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to process the unexpected intrusion. She hadn't seen Rhysand since the ball, and the sudden appearance of his voice in her mind sent a jolt of surprise coursing through her veins.

"Rhys," she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "What are you doing?"

Rhysand's laughter rang out in her mind, a warm and familiar sound that washed over her like a soothing balm. "Just thought I'd check in on my favourite High Lady," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "And it seems I've caught you at a rather... opportune moment."

YN couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the situation. Leave it to Rhysand to appear just when she needed a distraction the most.

"Opportune is one way to put it," she replied, her frustration giving way to amusement as she considered the absurdity of the situation. "I suppose you're enjoying the show?"

Rhysand's laughter echoed in her mind once more, a sound that warmed her heart and eased the tension that had been building within her. "Immensely," he admitted, his tone tinged with amusement. "But in all seriousness, YN, you've got this. I have every confidence in you."

His words were like a lifeline, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this struggle, and that even in her moments of doubt, she could always count on the support of her friends.

"Thank you, Rhysand," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. "I needed that."

With Rhysand's encouragement ringing in her ears, YN squared her shoulders and returned her focus to the task at hand. With renewed determination, she dove back into her speech, ready to conquer her frustrations and deliver a performance that would do justice to her title as High Lady of the Court of the Long Lost Gods.

As YN struggled with her speech, Rhysand's voice once again intruded into her thoughts, his suggestion cutting through the frustration like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"Hey, YN," he murmured telepathically, his tone conspiratorial. "What do you say we ditch the speech altogether? I know a much more enjoyable way to spend the evening."

YN's eyebrows furrowed in surprise at Rhysand's proposal, her mind racing with the implications of his suggestion. It was a tempting offer, to be sure—escaping the confines of the Court of the Long Lost Gods for a night of freedom and revelry in the Night Court. But she knew she couldn't simply abandon her responsibilities, not when she had a duty to fulfill as High Lady.

"I don't know, Rhys," she replied hesitantly, torn between her desire for adventure and her sense of duty. "I can't just leave without giving my speech. It wouldn't be right."

Rhysand's voice was gentle but insistent as he pressed his case. "You've been stressing over that speech for hours, YN," he pointed out. "And besides, who's to say we can't have a little fun before getting back to business? Trust me, it'll be worth it."

YN chewed on her lower lip, torn between her sense of obligation and the allure of Rhysand's proposition. The thought of slipping away into the night, of leaving her worries and responsibilities behind—even if just for a few hours—was undeniably tempting.

"Is there any chance you can slip past the guards?" Rhysand inquired, his voice tinged with hopeful anticipation. "I'll meet you at the edge of the woods, and from there, it's a straight shot to the Night Court. What do you say?"

YN hesitated for only a moment before making her decision. With a sense of exhilaration building within her, she replied, "Okay, Rhys. Let's do it. Meet you at the edge of the woods."

And with that, she made up her mind—ready to embrace the adventure that awaited her beyond the confines of the Court of the Long Lost Gods, and eager to reunite with her friends for a night of laughter, camaraderie, and the promise of endless possibilities in the Night Court.

With a racing heart and a sense of excitement coursing through her veins, YN cautiously made her way through the corridors of the castle, her steps light and deliberate as she sought to evade the watchful eyes of the guards. Every creak of the floorboards sent a shiver down her spine, every shadow cast by flickering torchlight seemed to loom ominously in her path.

She moved with the stealth of a seasoned predator, her senses attuned to the slightest sound or movement that might betray her presence. Each corner turned, each door passed sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, fueling her determination to reach her destination undetected.

As she slipped through the castle's halls like a ghost in the night, YN couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of her surroundings—the ornate tapestries adorning the walls, the intricate carvings that adorned the doorways, the soft glow of candlelight that illuminated her path. Yet, even as she admired the grandeur of her surroundings, her thoughts remained fixed on the task at hand—the tantalizing promise of freedom that lay just beyond the castle walls.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of tense anticipation, YN reached the outer courtyard of the castle, her heart pounding in her chest as she surveyed her surroundings. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city below, while the distant sounds of revelry drifted on the night breeze—a siren call beckoning her to join in the festivities.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure she hadn't been followed, YN slipped through the castle gates and out into the bustling streets beyond. The city was alive with activity, the air thick with the scent of spices and laughter as people moved about their business, unaware of the secret mission unfolding in their midst.

Heart pounding with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension, YN navigated the winding streets of the city with practiced ease, her senses sharp and alert as she sought to avoid any unwanted attention. She moved with purpose and determination, her steps quickening as the edge of the woods loomed in the distance—a beacon of freedom that called out to her with irresistible allure.

And as she disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving the castle and the city behind her, YN couldn't help but feel a surge of exhilaration coursing through her veins—a sense of liberation that filled her with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. For tonight, she was not just the High Lady of the Court of the Long Lost Gods—she was a woman on a mission, ready to embrace the adventure that awaited her beyond the confines of her gilded cage.

As YN ventured further from the castle and deeper into the night, she found herself drawn inexorably towards the looming shadows of the dark woods. The dense canopy overhead cast the forest floor in a cloak of inky darkness, the branches overhead intertwining like gnarled fingers reaching out to ensnare the unwary.

With each step she took, the air grew thick with a palpable sense of foreboding, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Yet, despite the eerie atmosphere that surrounded her, YN pressed on, her determination unyielding as she ventured deeper into the heart of the woods.

The ground beneath her feet grew soft and spongy, the earth damp with the remnants of a recent rain, as she made her way through the tangled undergrowth. Shadows danced and shifted in the dim light, playing tricks on her mind as she navigated the labyrinthine pathways that crisscrossed the forest floor.

As she moved deeper into the heart of the woods, YN couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that sent a shiver down her spine and quickened her pace. Yet, even as the darkness threatened to envelop her, she pressed on, driven by a sense of purpose and determination that refused to be extinguished.

With each step she took, the woods seemed to close in around her, the trees looming ominously overhead like silent sentinels guarding some long-forgotten secret. Yet, despite the sense of unease that prickled at the edges of her consciousness, YN forged ahead, her resolve unyielding as she ventured deeper into the unknown.

And as she disappeared into the depths of the dark woods, her footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night, YN couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through her veins. For though the path ahead was shrouded in darkness and uncertainty, she knew that it was a journey she must undertake.

As YN ventured deeper into the heart of the dark woods, a sense of unease settled over her like a heavy cloak. The shadows seemed to twist and coil around her, whispering secrets that sent a chill down her spine. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the night, amplifying her sense of vulnerability.

With each passing moment, the feeling of being watched intensified, prickling at the back of her neck like a thousand invisible eyes boring into her very soul. It was a sensation that made her skin crawl, that set her heart racing with a primal instinct to flee.

Yet, despite the rising tide of fear that threatened to overwhelm her, YN pressed on, her footsteps quickening as she sought to escape the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded her. Each step she took seemed to echo louder in the silence of the night, a steady rhythm that drove her forward with renewed urgency.

As she pushed herself to move faster, to put as much distance between herself and the oppressive weight of the woods as possible, YN couldn't shake the feeling that something lurked just beyond the edge of her vision—a presence that watched and waited with bated breath.

With every fiber of her being screaming for her to flee, YN pushed herself to run faster, to outrun the suffocating darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she raced through the tangled undergrowth, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger.

Panic surged through her veins like wildfire, driving her forward with an urgency born of primal instinct.

Branches snagged at her clothing, thorns scratched at her skin, but she paid no heed to the pain. All that mattered was escape, escape from the unseen terror that hunted her through the darkness.

With each frenzied footfall, YN's mind raced with desperate thoughts. Fear clutched at her throat like a vice, choking off her breath as she fought to outrun the shadowy menace that pursued her relentlessly.

In her terror-stricken state, YN found herself calling out, her voice echoing through the eerie stillness of the woods. "Rhys!" she cried out, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. "Rhys, please, hear me!"

She prayed that somehow, someway, her telepathic plea would reach Rhysand, her friend, her ally, her beacon of hope in the darkness. She clung to the hope that he would hear her, that he would come to her aid and rescue her from the clutches of whatever malevolent force lurked in the shadows.

But as she ran, her footsteps echoing like thunder in the silence of the night, YN couldn't shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach—that she was alone, that no one would come to save her from the nightmare that pursued her with unrelenting determination.

With each passing moment, her strength waned, her limbs heavy with exhaustion as she pushed herself to the brink of collapse. But still, she ran, her will to survive outweighing the overwhelming terror that threatened to consume her whole.

And as she disappeared deeper into the heart of the dark woods, her cries for help swallowed by the oppressive silence of the night, YN knew that she was in a fight for her life—a fight she couldn't afford to lose.

As YN's frantic footsteps pounded against the forest floor, her lungs burning with exertion, her foot caught on a hidden root, sending her crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, only to find herself frozen in terror as a pair of glowing eyes emerged from the shadows, fixating hungrily on their prey.

But just as the beast lunged forward, ready to strike, a strong arm encircled YN's waist, pulling her back from the brink of danger. Startled, she turned to find herself face to face with Rhysand, his expression a mixture of concern and apology.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he murmured, his voice laced with regret as he helped her to her feet. "I should have been here to protect you."

Relief flooded through YN as she leaned into Rhysand's reassuring embrace, grateful for his timely intervention. Yet, even as she sought solace in his presence, the danger still lurked just beyond the edge of their sanctuary.

With a fierce battle cry, Azriel and Cassian emerged from the shadows, their weapons drawn as they faced off against the beast that threatened to tear them apart. Their movements were fluid and precise, their years of training evident as they fought with a determination born of necessity.

As the clash of steel rang out through the forest, YN watched with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she prayed for her friends' safety. With each strike, each parry, they seemed to gain the upper hand, driving the beast back with a relentless fury.

And then, with a final, decisive blow, the creature let out a guttural roar of defeat, retreating into the darkness from whence it came. Panting with exertion, Azriel and Cassian turned to join Rhysand and YN, their faces weary but triumphant.

"We've got you, YN," Cassian said, his voice filled with reassurance as he clasped her shoulder in a show of solidarity. "We'll always have your back."

With a grateful nod, YN allowed herself to be enveloped in the warmth of her friends' embrace, knowing that no matter what dangers lay ahead, they would face them together, united in their bond of friendship and unwavering loyalty. And as they stood together in the aftermath of the battle, YN couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the strength and courage of those who stood by her side, ready to protect her at all costs.

As the tension of the moment began to ease, YN let out a long sigh of relief, her heart still racing from the adrenaline-fueled encounter with the beast. With a rueful shake of her head, she couldn't help but let out a half-hearted chuckle as she muttered, "I am never going out with you guys AGAIN."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of their shared ordeal softened by the hint of levity in her tone. And then, as if on cue, Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the forest like a chorus of joyous relief.

"Oh, come on, YN," Rhysand said between laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Azriel nodded in agreement, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Besides," he added, his voice tinged with amusement, "where's the fun in staying out of trouble?"

Cassian grinned, slinging an arm around YN's shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie. "Exactly," he chimed in. "Besides, what's life without a little excitement?"

Despite herself, YN couldn't help but smile at their infectious enthusiasm, the tension of the moment dissipating like mist in the morning sun. With a playful roll of her eyes, she leaned into their embrace, her heart lighter than it had been in hours.

"Fine," she conceded with a mock sigh. "But next time, let's try to avoid getting eaten by giant forest monsters, okay?"

The laughter that followed was like music to her ears, a symphony of friendship and camaraderie that filled her with a sense of belonging unlike anything she had ever known. And as they stood together, basking in the warmth of each other's company, YN couldn't help but feel grateful for the bonds that united them—a bond that transcended danger and adversity, a bond that would endure for a lifetime and beyond.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@kmc1989

@djs8891

@hardballoonlove

@callsign-dexter

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@rosiahills22

[therealslimshakespeare]

do the girls deal with any specific bouts of cruelty BECAUSE of period weeks? Like guards being especially malicious or things like that?

Female Complaints

Me instead of just answering, takes weeks and ends up writing you a blurb, which rather deviates from the original ask. Ugh sorry. The long and short of it is yes! If, and that’s a strong if, they are caught during it. But they would endeavor not to be with everything in them. And as shown here, many of the boys try to help with that

Warnings: mentions of periods, internalized Misogyny, some gender dissatisfaction (we’ve all been there when curled in a ball and no Advil on hand) and some hinted sexual threats

Lieutenant Sanchez would have rather licked that guard’s boot than admit to her ailment, but the longer his all too observant heckling went on, the more conscious she was of symptoms she’d otherwise surmount by a supreme and long perfected method of productive disassociation.

Keeping her eyes down on her literal cabbage patch, Sanchez tried to pay attention to the rub of her blisters on the rough hewn handle of the garden hoe, anything to forget about the tear pricking pain gnawing at her pelvis. It was an old trick to withstand the forces of hurtling her fighter jet into the blue yonder, to focus on another discomfort, the bite of your tongue, the curl of your toe in your boot, anything over the crucial and foremost discomfort that might throw off your performance. She wasn’t weak, she knew that, but it was impossible not to hold oneself up next to others. Her time in enlistment had only been possible on certain days of the month by crucially provided medications. Now those medication weren’t available and she was half crippled one week out of the month, and there was talk. Talk about how she ever managed to do her job.

She’d done it magnificently.

That’s how she’d done it.

And she’d seen it through until her bird was a fireball in the sky, driven down into her target along with her bombs, one last salvo of equipment, a final “fuck you” to her enemies as they plucked her from the sky. Now she was hoeing sandy earth between cabbage rows with a swimming head and knees that buckled from the intensity of her menstrual cramps.

Lieutenant Sanchez wasn’t very fond of considering herself a woman; it hadn’t gotten her much beyond unwanted restrictions and unasked for attentions. She could not relate to Maureen Kendeigh’s delight in her sex, the way she held court over discomforts and reveled in girlish peculiarities while in camp. Maybe Kendeigh was more confident, stronger, or maybe she’d had a kinder go of life so far, but Sanchez would rather lick that guard’s boot than admit even to her fellow prisoners that she was suffering from female complaints again.

Last time had been complete with a migraine, and there was nothing for it but to lay with her coat sleeve tied around her eyes and blindly grope for the bucket to puke on occasion. Someone had emptied the bucket twice, brought a washcloth and gently told her to “let me” while she’d futilely batted the kindness away.

Sanchez wasn’t looking to recognize her benefactor. Even though she suspected him, he wasn’t getting shit from her. Not even thanks.

She refused to belive that anyone had seen her like that. Just as this guard was never going to get the satisfaction of an admittance of the same. There was no tell-tale blood on her trousers, she was doing her job, the weeds were being churned up by her furious whacks -the Krout Fucker could go pound sand for all she cared. But then again, were it an option, she’d do anything to pause, to straighten, to brace her hands on her hips for a brief respite.

-A posture that had earned her the guard’s first jape.

If she’d mistaken his German jokes about blood and female dogs, she did not misunderstand his gesticulations to his crotch and then her own. The laughter that followed from his fellows haunted her, that little crowd of four standing at a little distance, smoking and mocking, the way her fellow prisoners gave her uneasy looks, the way Ida Brady hauled the water buckets about a few rows down as if she hadn’t bled a child out of herself a little over a month ago.

The woman was ghost-like in her frailty and thinness, but she was strong. Sanchez loathed her for it, for the way she’d managed to be so very discreet about the ultimate female humiliation, the way she seemed so impervious to all the taunts and laughter of the guards about her erstwhile misfortune. The way she could haul buckets and hoe crops without a wince, the way she was respected by the men in spite of it.

“Here, let me.” a large, warm hand folded over Sanchez own white knuckles on the wooden handle, making to take her prop from her.

Same words, same voice, if there was anyone she liked to avoid more than Ida Brady herself, it was her caregiving fairy of a brother. Washcloths over throats or help in Sector B’s shit excuse for a garden, Sanchez didn’t like owing John Brady anything. She gripped her garden implement harder, half to wrestle it back from his presumptuous aid, half because now he was taking it away, she realized how crucial the support was to her remaining upright.

“Think you’ll find this is mine.” she snapped.

“Think maybe you should take a breather.” he leveled back, fingers still curled over hers and for a woman who’d not allowed a single touch all winter, to feel a hand on a hand in springtime was more electric than perhaps it should have been. Or maybe it was those watchfully wise eyes pleading with her through a greasy fringe of brown hair. His eyes were green in the sunlight, or maybe that was his undershirt reflecting.

“I’m fine.” she jerked at it; unnervingly the wood didn’t even budge from his grip -he was strong for a scrawny little fuck with pretty clavicles and no need for a razor.

“These are for you.” Brady’s other hand extended a very quaint little bag in front of her face, domestic and familiar, its label touted seeds for a variety of squash. “To be sewn in between the cabbages, apparently their vines will help block out the weeds. And we can eat them.”

Sanchez took the bag with one hand, her other still trapped beneath his own on the hoe’s handle. “And you’re not smart enough to put seeds in dirt?”

“Sit down and plant them before I make you.” Brady’s tone was the sort Sanchez supposed her father was going for when belligerently ordering her about in her younger, dependant days, -it weakened her knuckles in reflex and suddenly the hoe was out of reach and Brady’s other hand extended as if to help her into some goddamn carriage. “Come on, no one will notice if you stop makin’ a fucking scene.”

Gingerly she put her hand in his and knelt down, winded from the agony of the descending movement despite his supportive grip, but once seated on her knees, she had to admit -to herself, never him- it was better this way.

“There.” he muttered, like he himself had been the one relieved, “You don’t have to be so stubborn. Everybody helps everybody in here.”

Sanchez pondered that, knowing that the bomber girls certainly had a pack of protectors that she had denied herself due to belligerence and not a little annoyance at being blamed for Cleven’s scars. Stubborn, he dared call her stubborn! It made her venomous even as she carefully undid the bag and poured a small quantity of the precious seeds in her palm, “Oh?” she taunted him “Does your harpy of a sister even have female complaints?”

John Brady’s form was excellent even when hoeing a cabbage row and he certainly was making an annoyingly more significant amount of progress compared to Sanchez’s weak limbed efforts of before. “Wanna keep your teeth?” he grunted as his hoe blade blurred near her foot, “Then don’t talk shit about my sister.”

Sanchez found the warm earth and the posture on her knees too comforting to retain her vitriol; she ought to hurl another barb at him but it all seemed a little unimpressive as she realized this was the first spring day she’d really enjoyed: sat here on her knees between cabbage rows with John Brady whacking the earth beside her.

“Huh.” she uttered after a while, having kept pace with his work down the rows, shuffling on her knees and repeating the motions of dig and plant and cover. The crowd of guards had not yet dispersed but the heckles had stopped.

“What?” Her companion grunted.

“Staring at asses seems to be a staple for them, no matter whose ass.”

Brady’s hoe thudded into the earth and stayed there for a beat too long as he met her eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Is it the one with the blonde scruff?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Brady’s hoe went back to work, its wielder not seemingly perturbed.

“Used to that?” she asked him, suddenly discomforted at the realization, which was a new sensation for her -concern for somebody else in this hell hole.

“Yeah.”

“That’s shit.” was all she had to offer, but she eyed the guard in question, and something showing on her face seemed to bother him enough he turned away and began his route through the compound again, cigarette crushed into the earth and dog trailing at his leash.

“Yeah.” Brady assented beside her, unaware of the change. “Lotta things are shit right now.”

“Yeah.” she agreed.

“S’why we need to let each other help.” he sermonized and she was reminded why she found the young captain so aggravating. She also felt an odd impulse to follow him around like those damn guard dogs and snarl at anyone who had shitty intentions.

“Yeah.” She agreed, “Anytime you need to hide a body, I’ll help.”

He turned her a lopsided grin, surprising in its width and brightness, how easily it cracked across his sober face despite the context, “Knew I’d find your currency one day, Sanchez.” he about preened and then they began on another row.

[serpentface]

In your Odonii day in the life post you mentioned that amenchalme is used to consecrate both animals and humans for sacrifice. Can you detail the human sacrifice aspect?

I’ll have a more detailed post when I get around to answering another ask about it but officially sanctioned human sacrifices occur once per year at the peak of the dry season.

All sacrifices involve the offered creature becoming God at the moment of death via their recreation of Its role in creation. Humans (and technically other recognized sophonts) are reckoned as more primordial beings closer to the nature of God (created by God while It was still physically alive by ‘impregnating’ the primordial sea, all other life was created by Its blood mingling with formerly sterile soils upon death) and this able to have Its LIVING spirit physically inhabit them - the Odomache is a human with one of God’s Faces incarnated within, while a human sacrifice is briefly inhabited by God’s totality. It is one of the two most perfect possible reenactments of creation (the other being the seven animal offering that Whitecalf revolves around), and effectively attempts to ‘create’ the world again by guaranteeing the seasonal cycles continue for yet another year.

These sacrifices are rhetorically supposed to be willing in nature- God willingly ended its physical life to bring about creation, and broadly speaking (with nuance as to what levels of societal coercion play into it) this is true- it’s the most altruistic death possible, grants one safe and guaranteed passage into the highest afterlife, and bestows sainthood on oneself and the honor of saint-kinship to one’s family(granted, sacrificed saints are usually referred to in their collective rather than remembered as individuals). Someone who believes in this religion will consider this a very, very good way to die.

The core function of the dry season human sacrifice is agricultural, it has the obvious intent of allowing the seasons to progress and to bring the return of the rains and seasonal flooding upon which subsistence relies. But it also figures into broader concerns of cosmology- put really simply, the universe at its basis consists of dual primordial male-sky-light-hot-dry and female-sea-dark-cold-wet forces. The universe is static and sterile when these two forces are not at interplay, God came into being at their boundaries as both forces in perpetual interaction and is the force of change that allows for the cycles of life. The peak of the dry season represents one dualistic extreme that threatens perpetual stasis (experienced materially as prolonged drought) should the cycle not be restarted via God’s movement through a human body and the shedding of Its blood. (A perpetual rainy season is technically another threatening dualistic extreme, but droughts are a regular experience while flood years are comparatively uncommon and are not culturally prioritized in the same capacity.)

That’s the only instance in which explicitly sacrificial killings of humans occur on a regular basis, but there’s also ritualized executions of captured war prisoners that occur after battles (in conjunction with the funerals of soldiers) which don’t have a place in the philosophical framework of sacrifice, but are Absolutely derived remnants of older sacrificial traditions. These are framed as executions, retributive justice, means to assist the spirits of dead soldiers in transition to the afterlife, and glorification of the Usoma and state at large, rather than offerings. But they still have a plainly sacrificial veneer (particularly in the use of their blood to consecrate the earth beneath funeral pyres).

These are also framed as honoring or even Pleasing to the Face Odomache, which is at odds with all other sacrifices being a means to an end in allowing God’s spirit to cycle rather than ‘pleasing’ or ‘honoring’ this deity (who in core dogma is fairly non-personified, and does not threaten punishment in of Itself and thus does not need to be pleased).

The Odonii have had varying roles in this practice- in the more basal incarnations of their order, it was them (specifically the Odomache) who ordered and officiated these executions. As the order has grown on its own and increasingly become a separate pillar of power, this has shifted towards being the jurisdiction of the Usoma and his constituents (who have some claim to the Face Odomache in that It presides over statehood). It’s come to the point that there’s internal rifts within the Odonii order as to whether this practice is outright heretical. It’s a manifestation of an underlying tension between between the royalty and the priesthood, and the way the traditions surrounding kingship and state religion have developed in separate and sometimes conflicting ways since the unification/conquering of Wardin into its current ‘empire’ state.

[painterofhorizons]

Arcturus Station, 2179 CE

Little words were spoken in the night of the promotion, and none of them were appropriate.

They had been sitting there in silence, glaring at each other, their drinks, and the rest of the bar, earning non-existing worst possible customer awards.

There wasn’t much to say, anyways. They barely knew each other, barely liked each other, and while the cause of their gathering looked like a state occasion on the face of it, it fucked them both up equally, just for different reasons. Jeff, because it was once again someone else getting the out of prison ticket away from this damn space station. And Reda because, well, all of this was just one unmatched big fucking shit show. So there wasn’t really much to talk about.

But at least the supplies kept coming. If nothing else, Reda made sure that their glasses didn’t run empty – that was, what the Captain expected from her after all, wasn’t it? Having a good time? Celebrating? Or at least drinking the fucking misery away to be up for duty the next day without being a fucking grump about it? Something from that list, for sure.

But she didn’t feel grumpy, or victorious, or happy. She didn’t even feel angry. She just felt plainly wrong.

It was so fucking ridiculous.

So keeping the flow steady was the only good she could do that night – and at least she outdid herself in that regard.

Jeff didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to care, either.

They were at their fourth or fifth round that night – Reda couldn’t tell, nor what they were drinking exactly. She went the direct route, just ordering the green, the blue, the yellow – right now the second shade of violet, which didn’t taste any better or worse or different than the first one, but had some kind of different name – she couldn’t bring herself to care for the taste, but was still sober enough to slowly get grumpy about the fact that all the colorful stuff just didn’t do it’s fucking job. Sliding over the next glass to Jeff, she snorted.

“There are some really angry worms outside. You’re lucky they keep you around here.”

Jeff knitted his brows. “What?”

“Worms”, Reda repeated unbothered. “Fucking huge, fucking angry, fucking worms. Fucking, probably.”

Jeff couldn’t follow. “Worms.”

Reda looked through the bar that was mostly filled with Alliance personnel. Most of them were sitting around tables like Jeff and her, drinking and talking. It was a pretty depressing place, if one wanted to let loose and enjoy oneself in other ways than just pouring down booze.

“Know how long it takes to eat fifty Marines?”

She forestalled Jeff’s question by adding the answer to her rhetorical question.

“Seventeen minutes.”

The frown on Jeff’s forehead grew. He must have missed the part where their non-existent conversation slipped from small talk to whatever this was. “The fuck?”

Reda’s voice was as stoic as her face, not showing a hint of an emotion. “It takes seventeen minutes. I call that efficient.”

“You’re talking about Akuze?”, Jeff stated the obvious, baffled by how they went from here to there absolute cold turkey. It didn’t necessarily catch him off-guard, but it sure as fuck wasn’t how he’d expected to hear about Akuze from her tonight.

“Seventeen minutes. And they give me a medal for the fucking efficiency of fucking big angry worms. Great, isn’t it?”

Jeff didn’t know what she wanted him to say, so he decided keeping all options open and not giving any direct backtalk was the best strategy. “I guess?”

Reda snorted and downed her glass of unidentifiably violet liquid.

Time for some orange.

[archivalofsins]

As someone who has experienced both The Caligula Effect and Milgram, which Milgram characters do you consider most likely to be in the Go-Home Club and Musicians respectively?

Hm, this is a really difficult question...

Mostly because Milgram and the Caligula Effect franchise are different on very fundamental levels.

So, here's the short answer no spoilers or long explainations-

Musicians: Haruka, Shidou, Mahiru, Amane, Kotoko. Go Home Club: Yuno, Futa, Mu, Kazui, Mikoto.

As a bonus-

Aria: Jackalope μ (Mu)/Regret: Es

Long post with a lot of reasoning and other stuff beneath. Spoilers for the Caligula Effect games under the cut.

Now why is this difficult?

This is because Caligula Effect has a focus on rehabilitation and bettering oneself from their past experiences. As well as a focus on building better communication skills all while meeting people where they’re at and looking at one’s own actions more objectively.

While on the other hand Yamanaka has gone on record stating that Milgram isn’t about rehabilitation not only within the text itself but outside of it.

Amane's First Voice Drama

Don't make me laugh. I'm not your teacher at school; it isn't my goal to teach you things or guide you on the right path.

This can be taken as a bit of cheeky nod towards Caligula Effect something Amane's voice actress also worked in. Since that takes place within a school setting. It is still highlighting this is not that though.

Highlighting that once again guidance, learning from one's mistakes, and receiving the proper help to thrive is completely antithetical to Milgram's goals. Something that many people who have played Caligula Effect would recognize Yamanaka understands very well and is capable of portraying that sort of character growth in ways while still not always correct are far more kinder and encouraging of progress than Milgram will ever be.

Because this is Milgram; it's not about the characters finding closure or becoming better versions of themselves. It's about sin and judgment- Crime and punishment. Sinners and executioners. This is reiterated in the first novel to an extent as well.

Outside of that canon statement- Yamanka stated on the Milgram App early into the series that there are no connections between Milgram and Caligula Effect,

Source: Maristelina (MILGRAM Timeline Master Document)

It's a completely new world.

Side note it is very fun seeing the creator comments within that doc. My favorite of trial two these several for personal reasons- I will be analyzing these forever actually.

Really like how Deco just points out "I wanted to be loved like a cat" perfectly embodies Kazui's character. I love how with the discussion of Purge March it's the second time a prisoners ideology has been referred to so bluntly. The third one is just like yeah tell me the obvious one more time baby!

Also the way Deco highlights paying attention to the tone in It's Not My Fault is just really good too-

Like,

"Listen closely to the subtle inflections in the vocals."

This is something that has also been discussed when it comes to the musician covers of the their songs in Caligula Effect Overdose. It is something showcased very well in Stork's self-cover of Lovescope. Using him as the example here because he shares a voice actor with Shidou and I need to spread the cursed knowledge.

So, fans of Caligula Effect do have an unfair advantage when it comes to Milgram because they'd be more used to how Yamanaka and to an extent Deco create a narrative through the use of music.

Also these may be my favorites but all of the comments regarding the songs on the app are very informative and I would recommend giving them a look over if anyone has the time.

This is just turning into advertising this Google Doc at this point. Go read it. It's great and informative. I really like it. It's well put together and easy and sift through. Plus have multiple translations to compare and contrast allow me to get a clearer idea of the situation as someone who's always had an issue with comprehending text.

But back on track- Yamanaka told the Milgram audience from the beginning that these two franchises had nothing to do with one another. This may have been done in attempt to avoid others falling victim to the assumption that Milgram would handle these topics in similar ways to Caligula Effect.

However, a writer’s creations will always hold their own unique touch within them. Something that can give people a glimpse into how the creator presents a topic or what topics a creator may enjoy putting a spotlight on. Something that may not only be pertinent to one of their works but others as well.

Attentive observers may very will become acutely aware of a creators style and creative habits over time. The audience’s ability to do this with a creators work is ultimately what creates a fandom around those works. It may very well do the opposite at times too. Since at times people will understand the point that a creator is trying to make through their creation agree or disagree with that point and still hate the execution.

Or even that the point was illustrated at all depending on the viewers subjective biases.

In the old,

"You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink."

way.

So, regardless of how unrelated to Milgram Deco's and Yamanaka's past works are. They'll always be related through the fact that they share creators alone despite what the creators have to say on the matter. That's just one of the pitfalls of creating a lot of things in general there are bound to be comparisons of those things.

For example like the way Hao wound up being compared to Salamander.

Things like this are going to happen. Comparisons of ones creations with their other ones or even to the works of others are going to continue to occur even if someone tries to get ahead of it which Yamanaka did that was him getting ahead of it.

Even still comparisons are things people commonly make as well as how many individuals engage with and analyze the information in front of them. So, yes regardless of how often one says certain things are not related to each other if they are in close proximity to one another connections will wind up being made. People are going to be able to relate it back to something said creator made in the past or even works completely unrelated to the creator that predate or succeed the work being compared.

However, it still matters and is a indisputable fact that these things are completely unrelated to one another and treating them as they could be would stop people from enjoying Milgram in the way it was intended to be enjoed.

It's still fun to think about despite that. I do believe it is important to note that the this is not the intended viewing experience. Like one of the creators bluntly stated so.

Just as Yamanaka also stated many of times that the cover songs have nothing to do with the story. They just pick whatever best suits the character or would be fun.

Source: Yamanaka's Marshmallow

Other fun things of note,

Either way, the prisoners covering these songs have nothing to do with their murders. It's a fun fanservice kind of like special tailored karaoke.

Yuno didn't decide to do what she did one day simply because she went and sung Vampire. This is a given no one is saying that's what occurred here. Yet, it's still fun to delve into what this says about the prisoners character in the same way people think,

"Hm I wonder what my favorite song says about me." It's just a neat thing.

No one's saying,

"Oh, because so and so covered this that means this is their crime."

However, once these songs have been related to the characters and franchise in some way people are going to want to think about why. Especially since Milgram is a series that's prone to having bursts of content and then none for long stretches of time.

Discussing the covers is just another way to lengthen the discussions fans can have around the series during said downtime.

Observable writing quirks/tendencies.

It's the same with discussing the Caligula Effect series.

Because the more one knows about Caligula Effect the easier it becomes to see the similarities between the characters within it and the ones within Milgram. Even if at times those similarities can be incredibly surface level.

Like got damn Yamanaka how many times are you going to create characters that are cops?

I don't care if Kazui may be lying about everything it's still like three times at most and two at best my guy. There's only two Caligula Games- In both someone is a cop. We're two for two. That's already two too many. If there's a third game chances are high there will be another cop.

Like at that point it's a bit of writing pattern despite how unrelated these things are. I'm just gonna throw that out there.

That's not even touching on both series using Es within their naming conventions. Caligula Effect taking place in Metaverse-Es and the prisoner guards within Milgram being referred to as Es. Both stories relying on music when it comes to displaying the mentalities of certain characters.

Given all of those points, it's a little unsurprising Caligula Effect would have characters on both sides of its cast that would be reminiscent of the prisoners in some way to those familiar with Milgram.

For example Shogo displays his regret similarly to how Kazui does. Something that leads me to speculate that to an extent the suicide framing of his sin is a projection of Shogo's storyline onto Kazui's character. Since that's a part of his narrative.

So, when I run into the idea of any of the prisoners murders not being direct murders that are a consequence of their mentalities and choices. Something that Jackalope blatantly tells the viewer,

"The fact of having committed murder in their lives is a direct result from the thoughts each espoused and their individual environments."

Yet, instead their murders are indirect deaths or suicides caused through negligence/just their everyday mannerisms. As well as when the prisoners situations are presented as very abstract themes that wouldn't count as murder unless someone had a very serious issue with conflating minor inconveniences to extreme grievances.

I just want to do some equivalent of this-

Because that's just these games really. I even went as far as to describe Caligula Effect as the Barney version of Milgram to a friend. It's like babies first interaction with cruelty and the concept of people being assholes.

It's never really as extreme as Milgram can get except when it comes to Overdose exclusive characters. Still all the games manage to get the point across. This is why I find it very easy to find comparisons between the prisoners and the Caligula cast.

The easiest characters to make comparisons to off the top of my head being #QP and Mahiru. A more difficult to catch one in my opinion would be the similarities between Machina and Shidou- Since from what I have heard Shidou tends to be compared to Doktor more so.

I believe this is because like with Kazui it's really easy to compare the prisoners to other characters they seem to share a profession with. It just gives a good jumping off point to work from.

I tend to lean more towards comparing him to Machina because both his first glitched voice line and Triage put on full display to me that his first run in with death may have been the death of his family members later in life. So much later in fact that he couldn't even fully understand what he was having people reckon with until it happened to him. The fact that Shidou is like this from the start ultimately leaves an avenue for Kotoko's stance to have some credibility regardless off if she was found Guilty from the jump or not.

Since Shidou is a walking example of how sometimes the only way for certain people to learn that what they're doing is wrong is by experiencing it for themselves.

"[cackling] Not dead... Yeah, she's definitely not dead... I finally understand the value of what I've been robbing people of."

This comparisons can wind up lead to relating Shidou to Sasara a member of the Go Home Club who's heavily associated if not thematically paired with Machina. Someone else who despite being the eldest in 2 is just now coming to terms to death as she has to come to terms with the end of her life. Very similarly to Shidou she doesn't really grasp it before this because she didn't really have to face it head on in this way before and thought very little of it.

It's not as though she has any regrets either. Her life is fine. In fact the only reason she's here is because she just wanted to live her life over. Not because she regretted anything in particular it was just so good she wanted to do it again.

In contrast Machina has been reckoning with the concept of death from a far younger age. It's implied that he quite recently lost a family member to it and has been stricken with a fear of death since that incident. Wishing to become a cyborg in order to avoid it and not being able to reckon with the fact with every breath taken we all move ever closer to our own inevitable demise.

His song having choice Shidou esque lines such as-

"I wished for those days to remain idyllic. I wished for the power to protect them. Even if it costs me everything I have."

And the remix starting with the repeated spiraling line of-

"I can't stand it, I can't stand it, I can't stand it. I can't stand it, I can't stand it, I can't stand it. I can't stand it, I can't stand it- I can't stand it what a tragedy it is to be doomed to death at birth."

While the regular version begins with,

"Once you draw your last remaining breath even memories you have clung to will scatter into ash. As I realize what a curse a beating heart is the mourners gather and laugh at a hollow coffin."

Machina is at the most of middle school age. This kid was just going through it. Don't believe me here's what the game said on it outside of the song,

In his first year of middle school, his grandmother passed, profoundly impacting his views on mortality.

Machina was not particularly close with his grandmother. Though she spoiled him as a child, he began talking to her less and less as he grew into an adolescent. She passed soon thereafter, marking the first time an immediate relative had died.

Machina became so afraid of death that he couldn't even breath without being in mortal terror of his own inevitable decay at the hands of death itself.

As he continued to study death, he learned about a structure in human cells known as "telomeres."

Telomeres are shortened every time a cell divides. Once they fall below a critical limit, new cells can no longer form, spelling death.

In other words, even just the mere act of existence marches one toward an inexorable end.

It's a simple fact, really. No matter how meaningfully one lives, how happy they are, or how carefully they avoid harm and injury, as long as their cells continue to divide, they too will die. Upon realizing that human life was but a one-way ticket with a final destination, Machina fell into the depths of despair.

Though he knew it was a fool's errand, he would hold his breath and try to stay in bed, living life with as little activity as possible in hopes it would keep death at bay, if even slightly.

He stopped going to school, and was beset by panic attacks each night.

I want to feel “alive”, is it ok if I breathe?

The answer for Machina was,

No, it's not.

Because to breath is to die a million small deaths as your cells divide as though counting down to the end of your lifespan. Like a cursed hourglass full of cells instead of sand.

Which wouldn't be applicable to any other thing ever actually,

Nope not one thing this can be applied to.

A times it's pretty easy to draw comparisons between these two series. Even outside of the fact both creators Milgram worked on these games. Deco making the song Love Scope for Stork in Caligula Effect Overdose.

Whether the character the prisoners are compared to is a musician or a Go Home Club member matters very little. This is because within Caligula the Go Home Club Members and the Musicians generally parallel each other in some ways anyhow. So comparing a prisoners to any of them will inevitably lead to comparing them to someone else in the series.

Plus, the cast in Caligula tends to be visually paired off in a way that helps that stand out more. As well as in ways that most Milgram fans would be familiar with. Such as youngest and oldest which is the case with Sasara and Machina.

However, Milgram fans should be familiar with this since it’s used again in Milgram with Kazui and Amane.

In Caligula Effect Yamanaka uses the juxtaposition of these characters ages to discuss the concept and fear of death. Something that does wonders as it highlights how someone at the end of their life displays their fear of death by trying to rush towards it as though that gives them anymore control over it occurring while someone younger will try to avoid it even if that avoidance hinders them from truly living.

In either case the fear is still there and very real. If not incredibly debilitating in some or most ways.

Due to the nature of Caligula Effect where there are no wrong parties only wrongs being done.

Don't get me wrong there are some objectively in the wrong parties within the narrative. In fact every character here is objectively wrong at some point. I believe some people like to trick themselves into believing the characters in Caligula Effect Overdose were the worst of them and the ones in two are so much better actually.

Yet, the ones within two are also terrible. They're just tentatively politically correct while being terrible.

Which is a very superficial way to define if someone is a bad person. On top of that they don't remain politically correct at all times either.

Everyone's Bad Here

Firstly this series is named Caligula Effect. The Caligula Effect is a term used in Japan to describe the desire to do something that is forbidden or socially unacceptable.

Source: Den Faminico Gamer interview with The Caligula Effect producer Takuya Yamanaka (The DigiLab)

Given that it should be no surprise that none of the behaviors or mannerisms displayed in either of these games are meant to be viewed a admirable or healthy. The character discussed in this answer is from Caligula Effect Overdose though.

So let's turn it back to the second games cast real quick. Remember how in the previous segment I stated they don't remain politically correct. Well that's because some of them are really ableist which I've never seen discussed outside of Doktor. I definitely believe it should be because like one of the Go Home Club members is ableist too.

Just blatantly. So, like actually...

This character literally tells the player yeah killing someone is better than letting them live with a possible physical disability. Like just blatantly agrees with Doktor. I guess they get a pass because internalized ableism is a thing though. Even if it's internalized it's still fucking ableism. I mean just because someone points it at themselves too doesn't make them better than any other fucking ableist- But okay.

This is the space to work on yourself this isn't about crime and punishment. This isn't about sin.

You know for me personally- if it's between using a mobility aid and being in the fucking ground... Um, ya know my pride ain't high enough to think the latter is better and more respectable. Call me ignorant but I'd rather be alive with some difficulties than dead.

This isn't the worst thing characters in Caligula Effect have done by the way.

Some of them are murderers too. Not just one of them multiple of them are murderers and attempted murderers. Yet, if we stay here all day talking about what murderers in the Caligula Effect series are forgivable in the eyes of the audience and which are not- I’m gonna end up writing a tangent that’s devolves into Marie is basically Eiji but a girl, more impoverished (Eiji was born into a finacially well off family his father was a lawyer with a law firm), different diagnosis (Eiji's issue is labeled as Psychopathy and Marie's Sociopathy in Caligula Effect Overdose) didn’t get kidnapped (had abusive family instead barring her grandma who was not abusive canonically), and happened to get a redemption arc (because she wasn't killed by a Final Destination style rube goldberg machine of shenanigans out of the clear blue fucking sky that wound up saving the life of another character that fell off a twenty story building).

I feel like I have the right to be mad actually.

Oh while also not having ableism imposed upon her characterization in a way that demonized and vilified her. She got hit with the we need to put you out off your misery ableism not the we need to spare ourselves from the misery of knowing people like you exist ableism. So, we're going to frame this as though there's something uniquely evil and fucked up about you actually and everyone else here is super normal. In fact some of them could tell you were evil just from the look in your eyes. You had the eyes of a snake not a normal person.

Oh, but it gets worse.

Marie canonically killed multiple people, abducted others, locked the first Go Home Club in a room for three days at a point only giving them cough drops before giving them drugged food-

Star here! Something to be noted; when this first happened, Gunsli enjoyed Marie doing this-

Gunsli : That is true when this first happened this was fine I very much enjoyed it. I was all for it really. That was before listening to people defend or outright ignore the things she did because,

"She was always really good deep down. I always knew it! Because I'm a great judge of character and I could never like an evil fictional character because what would that say about me? My fragile ego wouldn't be able to take it. I'd be crushed and it would be the works fault for tricking me. So she needs to be good because that's the only way for me to know I'm good."

Look past your ego it's really never that deep.

Liking an evil character- A fictional construct is fine as long as that like is not negatively impacting reality. Put the mirror down. Sometimes a character being bad and a person liking said character anyway doesn't reflect on that person at all unless they make it reflect on them which is their choice to.

Also, like... No she wasn't clearly good deep down, no one saw that ahead of time, most fans didn't even play these games in order. Or read the light novel where it basically states people saying your past doesn't matter are ignorant.

Back to the other things she did not that we've touched on that light novel- Attempted to push the one person who trusted her down a flight of stairs, framed another person that trusted her misleading their friends into believing they had betrayed them. Ruined countless friendships for her personal enjoyment in and outside of Mobius. She was doing that like she was trying to win the gold in shit starting. Marie was in that bitch like this when it came to instigating.

While Eiji, to the stories own admission, never kills anyone with his with his own hands. Now hold on before you start thinking what the hell- Eiji Biwasaka is still a terrible person too. He believes there's no way men and women can just be friends (wink-wink , nudge- nudge he texts this to the protagonist by the way). Is heavily implied to be in love with the protagonist in subtle ways like many characters in the series are. This isn't a crime just fun to note because if the protagonist takes the betray route and he's there he is genuinely upset. How do I know this?

I kept him alive because I wanted to see his reaction when I did it. Moving forward.

He's mostly upset that the protagonist didn't let him in on it which is funny and fair. Then genuinely enraged by the betrayal and is like you have to die now for pulling one over on him. Which again aww you- stay mad about it. He gets egregiously upset at the protagonist trying to get to know him on a deeper level and is acutely angered by criticism or being told what to do in any capacity.

Literally any form consequence for his actions he does not take kindly.

He tries to attack Kuchinashi. Almost hitting her with his catharsis weapon which is a whip. Similar to what a character within two does to one of the musicians but seemingly gets no flack for it. Like, um, well- Ya know that character is not Eiji. Certainly the character is still great in their own ways but got damn Eiji Biwasaka was something else. That man was trash. Absolute garbage and I am dumpster diving. You got me fucked up if you think I wasn't there for it.

It was amazing. He did not wanna change. He was never going to change. He leaves because he didn't want to change.

He literally removes himself from the narrative and team because the protagonist tries to hold him accountable. Then still somehow manages to get where the plot is. Because he was that competent. Certainly he had to die in a Final Destination esque way nothing else could've killed him. Unimportant side note here he's trying to murder someone within Mobius. Even though that person is a terrible piece of shit he is still trying to kill them.

Not because they're terrible but because leaving them alive may end up causing him trouble in the long run.

This is because he blackmailed this other party into killing someone that was taking Eiji to court for embezzling from the elderly (the mother of the man taking him to court) and the disabled (not the mother he had just been embezzling for a while). He did this even though everything for the case was gathered and he'd be facing prison time regardless. He just did that shit as a fuck you on the way out because he could. It did not serve him in any way.

How did he blackmail this guy well by bringing up his insanity plea was in fact bullshit and he could hypothetically have this man retried or that plea brought under scrutiny. Because as I mentioned before this man was acquitted and then continued to do the same shit. So, don't get it twisted Eiji and Marie are no better or worse than each other.

However, in contrast to Marie who is indulged throughout all of the first game or you can't even continue her character story Eiji is actively stopped from killing this guy. A guy who physically assaulted a person in an underground idol group with a baseball bat blinding her.

Something that led to her suicide later.

Which might I note! Eiji is blamed for that suicide not the guy who fucking did the assault! No, not him. Eiji's blamed for her suicide because he did his job as a lawyer and got this guy acquitted on a plea of insanity. Then to add insult to injury the guy who did the assault then still behaves in a way that showcases he will continue to be this way and do those things again to other idols.

Is given that same excuse again like,

"No, he's clearly mentally unwell."

Okay he's clearly mentally unwell- Eiji should have known better though. He's just evil. He doesn't need help fuck that guy!

Oh, Marie do you need a hand? Do need a special little safe space in Mobius to work out all your issues. Here you go μ (Mu) giftwrapped it for you too sweetie. You want brand new adoptive parents- Don't worry that's included take all the time you need!

The difference between how I treat my angelic daughter versus my rat bastard son.

The difference in writing does show Yamanaka's development as a scenario writer and personal growth when it comes to portraying these issues. However it is literally the difference between night and day.

Also both of these people are Go Home Club members.

I think I may have failed to mention that before. I just really wanted people to grasp the severity of their actions before I mentioned it really. These are your teammates. The people you're trying to get home with.

Other things done by teammates include but aren't limited too,

Fatphobia, transphobia, doxing, harassment, sexual harassment, negligence resulting in death, child abandonment/neglect, assault, cyber terrorism (which the protagonist of one can take part in), classism, sexism (misandry), identity theft, insurgency, stalking, false imprisonment, murder, attempted murder, generally be hateful spiteful people with the strongest hater energy on earth at times, literally being musicians before Go Home Club Members (which isn't a crime but counts towards the point here and occurred twice).

Marie, however, is essentially is given dissociative identity disorder by virtue of a new set of memories being created for her- ones separated from her trauma and it's subsequent effects. She also, as mentioned in this post, was given a pocket dimension so she could have the space and time to grow independently from that trauma.

This pocket dimension is a smaller subsect of Mobius and relies on Marie's existence within it to function.

It is also possible to get an alternative ending of and get out of this micro-mobius earlier by killing her. This is one of the endings I decided to get. So, from here we know that the protagonists of the Caligula Effect games can commit murder, commit cyber terrorism that ends up destroying the entire world at most and on the smallest scale Japan if the player choses to, betray all of their teammates that they make over the course of the game very similarly to what Marie does in one.

So, once again- I'm not faulting the grind I'm just stating the crimes.

All in order to make it clear to anyone reading this much that no one here is a good person. So it does not matter if some prisoners are Go Home Club members or musicians being on or the other does not make any prisoner better or worse. Everyone here is bad.

Go Home Club or Musician

Okay, so I bet some are wondering why I said all that. I must admit it was a very long way of getting to this point. However, I basically wanted to make it abundantly clear to anyone who comes across this that whether a character is Musician or part of the Go Home Club in Caligula Effect it does not equate to them being a good person.

Because the characters in Caligula Effect are not good people. They're not and they aren't meant to be.

The characters within the Caligula Effect series are individuals that have a lot of work to do on themselves. Who are in Mobius either by choice or due to the fact that they were suffering in reality/had regrets that they felt they could not change in the real world. They are all individuals who chose escapism over facing their issues head on and the series discusses the benefits and shortcomings of living that way.

Most if not all of them wound up in Mobius due to someone's misguided attempt in trying to help them.

I felt it was necessary to highlight hey the Go Home Club doesn't equal the heroes and the Musicians don't equate to the villains. They are just two groups in opposition of each other. There are people just as bad if not worse in both teams.

The only thing that decides whether someone will be in the Go Home Club or a Musician is their desire to go home.

If the character wants to go home or has doubts about Mobius in general they will fall into the Go Home Club category. If the character wants to stay in Mobius and believes full heartedly they can gain something from it even if they only plan to do that and then leave- That's a musician.

The musicians turned Go Home Club Members literally only become that later because they genuinely do want to go home and face those issues head on despite their doubts. This is one of the things that make it pretty clear that Caligula Effect is more so about rehabilitation and the many forms that can take.

So as much as I'd like to go this is who I'd like to be Musician's and Go Home Club members. The answer that I provided at the beginning of this is firmly rooted within this logic. Since we can see where the characters lie in regards to this based on how they engage with Milgram itself.

The characters have gone on record voicing their misgivings about Milgram or the fact that they are in favor of it. Some even going as far as blatantly stating that they want to go home or never want to leave.

Something that made this a lot easier to figure out once I looked at it from that angle. At least when it comes to answer this in a way that works off of Caligula Effect's own logic to some degree. This is why I highlighted that musicians do become go home club members.

Because it shows the possibility of switching between the two parties at ones discretion. Something the series plays around with itself in many ways.

So let's start with the Go Home Club prisoners. (And heads up, this section is being written up by @sinfulequity o/. Also as a heads up, I used Rochi's translations for the portal timelines and questionings!)

Yuno

Now Yuno starts off not minding being here. But even from the beginning, you can tell that she doesn't consider staying here permanently as an option

Es: [clears throat] It’s about the few days you’ve been tried as a prisoner by Milgram. Frankly speaking, how is it? Your life in prison. Yuno: Hmm, it’s surprisingly fun? I do have worries about how my family is doing, but… It’s kinda like one of those strange, personal experiences.  Es: Fun…is it? Yuno: That’s right. The other prisoners are all entertaining, we sound each other out on various things, and the vibe’s pretty nice as well. In such conditions, observing other people sure does make for great fun, you feel?

Due to the atmosphere, she is enjoying herself- but that changes in the interim between trial one and trial two alluded to in this portal timeline.

21/07/05 (Mu’s Birthday) Mu: Yuno. Don’t you have something to say to me? Yuno: Huh? To you? Me? ……ahh, uh? Your birthday, right? Happy birthday~ Mu: How mean… Since it’s my birthday, I really wish you’d said something before I had to come and tell you myself. Yuno: Right, right, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful in future~ Later! Haha… things have become even more of a bother………so was that Mu-chan’s real personality, then? It’s probably because the guard did something, right?

By the time the second trial has started, whatever fun she gained from being in milgram has vanished. Only leaving her with the desire to get out of there. Even going so far as to question Es if they really believe that this environment is enjoyable any more.

Yuno: Well, if I were to say what I’m trying to say…it’s fucking bothersome. Es: … Yuno: I said so at the start, didn’t I? That punishing people outside of the law is boundless. And so I had no interest in Milgram. Es: Yes, I remember. You said that you would pay my judgment no mind and remain as you were. Yuno: Oh! That’s right! I’m happy you remembered. But, you know, I didn’t exactly hate it, Milgram. It’s nothing but weird people but it was warmer than my day-to-day life. Es: It did appear as though you were having fun. Yuno: Yes, it was fun! They may be murderers, but they’re interesting people! It puts me at ease, in a way, that we’re all people lacking in something. Es: You are saying that that changed and it’s my fault? Yuno: Yep! This situation’s bothersome-ness has won out over the fun so I am extremely cooled off. That is all. Es: … Yuno: And? Are you satisfied with this situation? Es: You all are murderers. In order to clarify your sins, this job is necessary. Milgram will make clear your essences and truths- Yuno: That. Does it not hold up unless you desperately repeat it back to yourself?

This is further explored in her answers for the second trial questioning. Outright stating that she's bored and wants to leave and passive aggressively implying that Milgram doesn't really have a true purpose, since the law already exists.

Q.03 Do you want to leave Milgram? Yuno: To be honest I’m bored of it now. I kinda want to leave already Q.19 Would you forgive the other prisoners? Yuno: That’s not something for one person to decide on their own Isn’t that what we have laws for?

It's a bit reminiscent of how she treats Mu now, right?

Futa

Most of his first voice drama is about wanting to get out of Milgram. If it isn't about that, then it's him getting flustered over how Es is pushing him. But here are a few specific moments

Es: What’s wrong? Are you so paralysed with fear that you can’t even stand up? Futa: Don’t mock me! Anyways, I won’t even accept that I’m a prisoner. Bringing me to this weird-ass place is a violation of my human rights! Es: You won’t accept that you’re a prisoner—is that so?  Futa: Of course I won’t! You’re confining and imprisoning an innocent human being here! That makes you so much more of a fucking criminal, doesn’t it? All of the other guys have just obediently accepted it for some reason, but you won’t fool me!

Futa: Hey, hey, hey, hey! Don’t go around evaluating people like you’re better than everyone else. Once I get outta here, I’m so gonna sue this place! You as well! You better not be thinking that you’ll get off scot-free! Es: Hmm~? Futa: I’ll never forgive you bad guys. And, this place is called Milgram—I’ll crush it down as well! 

After the interim and trial two's start, this desire to get out of Milgram has strengthened. For the reasons of being harassed by intrusive thoughts and taking a walloping from Kotoko.

Futa: Right…! It wasn’t just me alone who was ganging up on the person who died! There’s no way to know whose comments lead to their death! Es: That might be true. You might not be the only one who needs to be judged for this. But… Futa: Then – isn’t it weird that I’m the only one who has to go through all of this? Being locked up in a weird nonsensical prison, having to let some brat lecture me, being faced with eyes constantly judging me… And even if– even if the person I was picking on online died… I didn’t think they would die! I just thought that wrong things are wrong, and that a crime is a crime! You get that, don’t you? See? Aren’t we the same?

As he himself states, he finds it odd that he was the only person picked out of a large group to be in Milgram. He doesn't want to be here, he doesn't find this fair and he's at the limit of his sanity.

Mu

Mu is a tricky one, because you would think that she wants to stay here (outside of the initial anxiety in trial one)

Es: Hm… So that’s the case, is it? How’s life in Milgram then? Mu: I can’t even begin to describe it. I just want to hurry up and go back home!  Es: Oh? Why is that? You lot are given a decent amount of freedom here. We’re granting you the few indulgences which exist as well. In fact, even you’ve sent in a request asking for a crepe cake as well.  Mu: That’s… That’s true, but… And, I did eat the crepe cake, but… I just really wanna go home. Es: Hm. Mu: I’m sure that mummy and daddy are worried about me! [cries again] What even is this place? Why did you even have to bring me here? 

Mu: Yeah, it is. Prison guard, you’re human as well, so… I’ll do my best. I’ll figure out what kinda person you’re fond of. Even though you’re a sad case who talks to rabbits. [giggles] Es: That’s enough. Our conversations don’t have any flow to them, so that’s not gonna happen.  Mu: I’ll definitely return home. I’ll return home to mummy and daddy. So, if I get you to forgive me, I’ll be able to go back home for sure, right? Es: I don’t really know. Mu: Yeah… Actually… If I think about it, compared to those good-for-nothing police trying to catch me—someone who’s definitely not in the wrong—Milgram might just be better for me.

As we all can see, she states that maybe Milgram would be a better place for her to stay. At least in comparison to the prospect of being arrested and tried by the police. However, that is a coercive line of thinking, in and of itself. It's like being between a rock and a hard place. Furthermore, it implies that were the police not an issue, she'd immediately want to go back home again. And despite how comfortable she has gotten, Mu shows a good deal of concern towards how her parents are doing/worrying about her.

20/06/17 Shidou: ……do you mind if we talk? It seems you’ve relaxed a bit more recently, Kusunoki-kun. Mu: Eh…… yeah, definitely compared to the start…… just a bit. But I’m still scared…… we still don’t know what they might do to us. I want to go home soon…… I wonder what’s happening there…… Papa and Mama must be really worried…… Shidou: That’s good…… You were crying so much, so I was concerned for you.……yeah, I’m sure. Your family will definitely be worrying about you. I…… hope you can go back soon. Mu: Shidou-san…… did you come here to comfort me……? I’m sorry, I’d thought you were…… a scary person…… fufu.

03 - “It was really scary at the beginning, but now it’s nice and laid-back. And also… Haruka-kun is really nice! He’ll listen to anything I tell him.” 05 - “I’ve been starting to think that maybe I’d like to stay here forever… The outside world only ever does bad things to me. Though, I’d be a bit sad that I wouldn’t get to see papa and mama again…”

Mu: Ah, it’s been a while, Warden-san. – Things have gotten tough, haven’t they… Everyone seems to be struggling and the whole atmosphere feels tense because everyone’s struggling, it’s really troublesome. Es: Is that so? Mu: But as for me, I think Milgram has become a lot more comfortable! I know now that I can get whatever I want if I ask for it, so I don’t need to be so on edge anymore. Es: … Mu: You did say that you and Milgram are our allies, and maybe you were right all along!

She's ultimately carved a place for herself in Milgram. However, she also won't let the "setting" of Milgram affect how she considers herself.

Mu: Anyway… I think you would do good to forgive me. Then Haruka-kun will be safe too. Ah, actually, couldn’t you just forgive everyone? Then Kotoko-san won’t run amok, and you won’t have to think about all the difficult stuff. Es: That is… a very attractive proposal. Mu: Right? (giggles) Es: Abandoning all the thinking… How nice it would be if I could just do that. Mu: … If you ask me, I don’t really get why you don’t do it… Es: Because this is the role I’m playing. Mu: But the role was given to you, wasn’t it? You didn’t end up doing this because you wanted to, right? It’s not a dream you’ve had for a long time or anything, right, Warden-san? So there’s no need to let it tie you down. Couldn’t you just quit? Es: What are you… Mu: Warden-san, we call you “Warden” because that’s what you are, right? I was assigned to be a prisoner, but that doesn’t mean my heart will become just that of a “prisoner” too. After all, I’m still me.

Kazui

Funny- for someone who said he's going to take a wait and see approach, he comes straight out of the gate about his intent to find a way out to Es

Kazui: Really – sorry, sorry! I really had no intention of causing you harm, Warden-kun. I was simply looking to safely gather some information and assess the situation in this prison a little better. Es: Huh? Kazui: You see, depending on who they are, once someone is here it might be impossible for them to break out. I'm the oldest here, so naturally, I should be the one testing how far we can go against you.

He goes on to explain in his first questioning that he does have concerns about Milgram but doesn't want to express them.

Q.20 Do you have any complaints about your imprisonment? Kazui: I mean I do have some. But y’know, there’s some things about it that are so far removed from daily life. It’s easier to just not think too hard about it.

Progressing to trial two, Kazui is now disappointed in Milgram. It gave such high expectations for itself, and how it could judge crimes deemed fine by the law and-

Kazui: I haven’t forgiven myself… even if my lies are forgiven, it won’t resonate [with me]. It might just be both of these. All the lies I’ve told are tying me down. Ever since I was little, I’ve never truly opened myself to anyone. But in the end, people can’t be saved if they don’t [open up]. And by now, it’s gotten to a point where I can’t do it by myself anymore… (machinery whirrs, bell rings) Kazui: I did think Milgram would be able to force its way past that, though. Es: Is that an attempt at provocation? Kazui: You didn’t manage to reach my sin. Es: … Kazui: Even though I want you to… Milgram isn’t so great after all, is it?

-it really is better to be a let down, than let down, huh.

Mikoto

He has also stated from the start that he didn't want to be here. He has a job after all! He has rent to pay, obligations to meet- are you going to take care of it guard? You better, you know~

Es: Your name and age? Mikoto: Uh… Mikoto Kayano, 23. Wait, no! I’ve been wanting to talk to you this whole time, Warden-kun! Es: What is it? Make it short. Mikoto: Alright… when is this whole thing going to end? Es: Hah? Mikoto: No, it’s obvious, isn’t it?! Suddenly being dragged to a place like this, being told all this weird stuff about killers and all that– is this some kind of comedy? A reality TV show? One of those monitoring things? I’ve been holding on to that thought this whole time, and that was also the reason I tried to get along with the others, y'know – because that’ll look better on a TV show, right?! – but look, this is stretching out for way too long…! What’s up with this? Es: (sigh) You really still believe that? That Milgram is some kind of joke? Mikoto: I do! Of course I do! I mean… I really don’t remember anything of note. Even if you talk about sins or murderers– I don’t know about any of that! I’m just a normal worker at a company…

Mikoto: What’s with that?! Then aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, just labelling me a murderer like that? Es: I’m not. Milgram tells me that you did it. That’s enough for me. Mikoto: Why are you just blindly believing that? There’s no way of getting through to you…! (sigh) Anyway. I really don’t know anything! Nor have I killed anybody, or done anything bad! I was just living an ordinary, everyday life… and yet I got dragged into something this weird! (slams hands on the desk) Of course I want to think of all this as a joke…! Wouldn’t anyone? Es: (non-committal hum) Mikoto: I have my own life, you know? And I just got accepted into the company that I was aiming for… If I get fired, you’ll have to take responsibility for that.

Oh? What's that guard? He's being blamed for something he hasn't even done? For shame, for shame! Do you know how much this will hurt an innocent- no, an honest man?

04 - “It’s just so much that I don’t understand. Honestly. Why do I have to face this kind of fate…? I can’t do this.”

Mikoto: Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end, right? I’m pretty good at that. Making things work out to the best of my abilities. Es: Is that so… Mikoto: (laughs) …But… it’s not coming to an end. All of this. With things I’ve never even heard before, the whole ti— Es: … Mikoto: —the whole time… I have to make all these irritating experiences…!

He is stressed. He is reaching his limit. Can't you let off just a little? Isn't it unfair to punish someone for dreaming?

Es: In precise terms, it’s called dissociative identity disorder. Generally speaking, it refers to when a person experiences severe pain or stress, and a new personality is created to try and isolate the original personality from the resulting trauma. Mikoto: Yeah. I… probably come out to ease the stress Boku experiences. The fact that I come out for longer just means that Boku is constantly under extreme stress. Es: Stress… Namely the environment of Milgram, right? Mikoto: Right. Especially the fact that you judged against forgiving Boku is causing a lot of stress. That’s why he’s entrusting me with his heart.

Es: Even if it was you, John, who was in your body at the time – there’s no way for you to prove that. At the very least not in a way that would be accepted in court. It could still be judged that you’re pretending— Mikoto: You…!! What do you think? Es: I…? Mikoto: I’m the one who did it! Boku didn’t do it! You know that because of Milgram! I don’t care about the law, I want to know what you think!

Don't worry; he'll forgive you if you choose right- right?

And now for the Musician prisoners.

Haruka

This shouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone who's noticed, but he holds Milgram in high regard. It's the first place he's felt fully accepted. He's also started to learn how to connect with people in here- something he felt he always had difficulty with before

Es: I’m the prison guard. That just now is how I’ll educate you prisoners. I’m allowed to do so. [grabs Haruka] Got that? Listen carefully, prisoner number one. I’ll say it any number of times. I’m the prison guard. Understanding your true nature is my job. No matter what you are or whatever nasty work you’ve done, I’ll see all of it. Making judgments is my job. To say something like that… “You’ll be abandoned”? Don’t take me so lightly. Until I know your sins and complete my judgement as to whether they’re forgivable or unforgivable, you’re objects for me to govern(2) Don’t think I’ll let you escape.  Haruka: Prison guard… Es: Wait a second, Haruka. What are you smirking for? Haruka: Ah, I’m sorry. It must be creepy, right? Es: It does creep me out. [throws Haruka] Haruka: Ah, you’ve got it wrong… This is a strange thing to say, but it made me a bit happy. Es: Happy? Haruka: Yeah.  Es: What an odd thing to say, even if I’m the one saying that. Being imprisoned, being restrained, even being interrogated like this too, isn’t it natural to get angry in these kinds of situations? Hm… Now you mention it, you were always like that from the beginning. There’s a gloominess about you, but you’re immune to the chaos of Milgram itself. The point is, reacting like Futa and Mu would have made more sense. Haruka: That’s right. Futa got really angry. Scary—Ah, no, I mean, this is Milgram, isn’t it? I don’t really know what it’s for. But, having you, the prison guard, take some interest in me, listening to the various things I say… For some reason, it made me happy and such. Es: Hm.. Haruka: Even if that is your job. Even if it’s just to reveal the wrong things I’ve done.

Q.12 Tell us your hobby. Haruka: I like talking with the other prisoners Q.22 What do you think of the prison outfits? Haruka: They’re kind of relaxing Q.23 Is there anything you’d like to have sent to you there? Haruka: Not particularly Q.25 When you get out of here, where do you want to go? Haruka: I can’t think of anywhere

As Milgram continued to progress, Haruka gains more confidence. And has grown more comfortable in Milgram as a result. He states that he likes himself now. He doesn't want to leave this environment that has been so accommodating to him.

Es: You… Are you really Haruka Sakurai? Haruka: Eh? Wh-what are you saying? It is me! But everyone has been telling me that recently – that I’ve changed. Es: Yeah. When I think back to how you were trembling in fear back during the first trial… you sure have gotten bolder. Haruka: (giggles) Es: I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing though… Haruka: (laughs) If I’ve changed, then I’m glad! Up until now, I’ve always really hated myself, that’s why… Es: Hm? Haruka: A-ah, I think the reason I’ve become like this is because I had two benefactors, and one of them is you, Warden-san, so– Es: Huh? Haruka: I wanted to thank you, Warden-san! Es: Thank me? Haruka: Because you forgave me, Warden-san!

Q.01 Do you love yourself? Haruka: I think I like myself now Q.03 Do you want to leave Milgram? Haruka: I want to stay here forever Q.18 Which of the other prisoners is most like you? Haruka: Nobody They’re all amazing people

Well- maybe that'll change with this new verdict? Who's to say.

Shidou

Shidou wants one thing out of Milgram, and it's disgusting a death sentence. Preferably stamped and signed by a child (like Es).

Es: You sure are composed, aren’t you?  Shido: That’s just my personality. I just simply don’t think bad of it—this place, I mean.  Es: You mean, Milgram? Shido: Yeah, this place will put me to death.  Es: What? Shido: I might not get a golden opportunity like this again, so I’ll get straight to the point. Es… You decide how the prisoners will be dealt with, right?  Es: Yeah. That’s right. Shido: The death penalty is what I’m hoping for. Thank you in advance. 

However, with the ongoing events in Milgram, his viewpoint has become conflicted. He still wants to die, but he doesn't want others to. However, he's the closest thing to medical help that they have so he can't die just yet.

Shidou: Es-kun. I’ve killed a lot of people. Like I previously told you in the interrogation, I’ve killed for scientific reasons as well. So… Es: Are you about to beg me not to forgive you again? Even though I’ve already told you it’s no use? Shidou: That’s right. Please don’t forgive me… is what I would like to ask. Es: … Shidou: I… “I don’t want to be forgiven”. That feeling of mine remains the same. I need to be punished. I need to atone for my sins. I don’t think Milgram is in the right, but…! There is no better place than this to atone for my crimes. But… as long as Milgram continues like this… we won’t be able to save those who get injured if I don’t get forgiven!

Shidou: … That won’t do… I mustn’t be forgiven. Otherwise… the countless lives I’ve taken will never be paid back.  Es: Heh. If you’re really trying to give your life as compensation for the people you’ve killed, then there’s no reason to stay alive that will hold up, anyway.

Mahiru

It's not quite an intrinsic desire to stay in Milgram specifically. But what kind of girl wouldn't love a heart pounding adventure~? The mystery, the thrill- it's enough to make your heart burst!

Mahiru: [giggles] Just then, it felt like I was waiting for my date to arrive. Kinda made my heart flutter.  Es: I’m not exactly one to talk, but… I’m surprised that you can say such a thing despite being in this prison. Mahiru: Really~? But, this unfamiliar setting makes things super romantic, you know? Thanks to it, every day has been such a delight.

20/06/10 Futa: Hey, why are you acting so carefree all the time? You’re the oldest of the girls here, you should act it and deal with the others properly. Mahiru: Eh~? I’m acting carefree~? But maybe you’re right. I mean, I…… ah, let’s make this a quiz. Hey, Futa-kun. What do you think I like doing? Tick, tick, tick, tick…… Futa: Ahh, what even is this mood you’ve started. It’s annoying. Just tell me the answer already. Mahiru: Bzzt! Time’s up! The correct answer is “travelling” and “exciting things”~ You don’t get many chances at a lifestyle as exciting as this, right? So of course I’m going to be a bit carefree, ufufu~

She may have endured a lot of pain in the interim period between trial one and two, but that doesn't stop her from enjoying Milgram and the people in it! It just means that she thinks her way of loving is unforgivable now.

05 - “Spending my time at Milgram, I’ve really grown to love everyone here. I love you as well, Es-kun! But… me loving people can’t be forgiven, right…?”

Hey, tell her; what isn't she doing right?

Amane

Amane is very aware that Milgram isn't normal. But neither was her upbringing, so maybe she'll fit right in here? Maybe she'll fit in so much that the religion that she adheres to will fit like a glove. And if not... then that just makes this yet another trial from god, right?

Es: Geez… You’re quite something for your age. Even most adults would be at least a bit anxious in an environment like this. Amane: Eh? It’s not scary at all. After all, God is there to protect me! Es: In that aspect, you really are a child… Amane: Of course this is a rather unusual experience, but I am aware that it is something like a trial. I am certain that, once I have overcome this, I will be able to achieve further personal growth once more.

Amane: Hm. You may say it’s wrong, but isn’t what you are doing here a crime as well? Well, I do have something more important to me than the general law, so I will not try to judge(/look down on) you either, Warden-san. Es: Geez, you’re so stubborn– Amane: You see! I don’t hate Milgram, either. Rather than one single law, there are other standards to judge my sins by. And those are closer to my spirit, as well!  Es: Hmm. Amane: The standards that judge my sins are somewhere else – in my heart, my blood, my entire body, they are firmly rooted in all those places! Es: And within those standards, your murder was not a sin? Amane: Exactly! Es: I see. Amane: Ah, I am looking forward to it! Seeing whether your judgement will align with that of these higher standards! If that is the case, maybe Milgram would be the right world for us to live in, rather than the outside world! Milgram relies on your judgement, isn’t that right? In that case, you could become the mediator for a far more righteous world!!

Q.20 Do you have any complaints about your imprisonment? Amane: No, since this is a trial set for me by God.

Of course, being rejected and having those voices in her head between trial one and two wasn't helpful. But she's willing to talk this out. You've talked before and Amane is a kind girl, willing to give chances.

Amane: Warden. Es: What is it, Prisoner? Amane: We’ve been disappointed by you. Es: Hah? Amane: Even though we could sense the possibility of the new world we desire here in Milgram… and in you. Es: I don’t care how much you look down on me. I told you that won’t work. Amane: Furthermore, you may say incomprehensible things, such as us “not being forgiven”… Es: Oi. Amane: But we are generous. For now, let us make some time for a conversation with you. After all, our history is one that is built on dialogue.

Es: Shut your mouth…! I am the one casting the judgements here! Amane: Hehehe. And how does that set you apart from us? Es: … I told you to shut up… Listen to what I’m telling you. Amane: Hehe… This is nice. If the world you’re striving for is admirable in my eyes… That is to say…

Even to the sinners that deny her.

Kotoko

Kotoko has never really hid the fact that she wants to co-operate with Milgram- with Es. As someone who wants to work outside of the law, a place like Milgram is almost too good to be true.

Kotoko: Don’t space out, the interrogation isn't over. Es: A-ahh.. yeah. Kotoko: Eh, well, if you're done with it anyway, then it’s not a problem. Guard-san. No… Es. Don’t you want to join forces with me? I think the two of us would make good partners. Es: Join.. forces with you? Kotoko: With you, in the role of a prison guard, with information you gather from the interrogations, and me, in the role of a prisoner, with information I gather from my daily life here… Working together and sharing our findings. What do you think? Es: Stop joking around. Kotoko: Why? I think it’s quite a good bargain. Look, you can view the incident with Kayano Mikoto as a free trial-

Kotoko: Heh. I want to be like you. I refuse to tolerate sin.  Es: You won't tolerate sin? Kotoko: Yes. I despise evil. Hurting the innocent through violence, taking away from others, killing people… I can’t stand it! There are too many cases of the law being unable to deliver a verdict to sinning. Just by exploiting the loopholes in the law, the sinners who have tortured and bullied the weak can still live out their lives unpunished! I want to change this world, but I alone only have so much power. Es: Kotoko…   Kotoko: To be honest, I don't know your true intentions. And I don't know if you are a similar person to me with similar thoughts. In the end, I could be deluding myself with wishful thinking. Even still, this place has multiple methods of deducing good and evil. To me, MILGRAM’s very nature has a kind of charm to it. How about it? Do you understand me as a person now?

Q.01 Who exactly are you? Kotoko: Yuzuriha Kotoko The person who plans on becoming your fangs. Well, that all depends on you though.

21/10/26 (Kotoko’s First Trial) Kotoko: ……come, Es. Let’s fight together.

After having her mindset validated, Kotoko decided to take up her end of her proposed deal in full force. Force being the key word here. She is ready and willing to go at a moments notice (or even without one). Aren't you happy to have such a loyal partner? Hmm? She's acting like if she could take the power you hold at any time, she would?

02 - “Heh. As expected, you wanted us to work together, huh? I’ll be answering to your resolve and your expectations. With all the strength I have.” 03 - “I gave the prisoners that you didn’t forgive what they deserved. Going along with Milgram’s system, I didn’t go all-out yet. I figured you’d need some more time to think about it too. …What’s with that face?” 04 - “I did tell you to follow your intuition and that I’d leave things to you, but you’re really going easy on them. I think I would’ve forgiven less people. Hmph, if only I was the warden [in this place]… Well, no ill feelings, I guess.”

... That's probably just your imagination~ Well, it is what it is. After all, she knows just how taxing this much responsibility is on Es' poor little shoulders... Don't worry. She'll take that burden on.

Kotoko: I know it well. It’s so hard to hold the responsibility of a guard all alone. I’ve also felt this way. You are such a kind person. You can’t stand the prison changing with the power of your choices. So you need someone to be with. Leave all of the dirty work to me. Es: I’m… a kind person? Kotoko: Does your head hurt anymore? Don’t worry. Leave it to me, and together we’ll be able to create the right MILGRAM. Es: I see… that MILGRAM...

Just make sure not to betray her, or go back on your word- okay? It's like Futa said. If you get off now, you're a traitor~

Anyways, I hope this was a fun read! It was fun discussing this and I hope the logic tracked for why every prisoner was put in each group!

[good-beanswrites]

In line with the previous ask because I'm so bored at class and this au is living in my brain or is my brain living in this au...

The first few days were tense. The prisoners swung rapidly between the painful awareness of their lie and the odd feeling of believing it. They panicked that they were showing too much on their face, or they’d said the wrong thing, or they acted strange around Es. And then moments later they were glancing at the prisoners around them with apprehension – they were murderers, after all. 

It went on for several days, stopping only when Mahiru had quite enough of the whole thing.

“We’re having a bonding night!” She announced after Es’ door clicked tight for the evening. Not taking no for an answer, she gathered everyone in the panopticon. To those who worried it was bad for the experiment, she assured them she’d be doing the exact same thing even if they truly were prisoners.

Fuuta crossed his arms. “I didn’t come here to make friends. I don’t need your little fucking girls’ night.”

“We don’t have to be friends,” she said, her eager smile making it difficult to believe. “But if we’re going to be living together for this long, we have to get to know each other. Oh! Why don’t we start with something easy? I won’t even ask about your lives yet. Let’s talk about the songs we sang!” 

Her attention swung to Haruka, making the poor boy flinch. “I heard you rehearsing one day, when we walked past the recording rooms. You sounded beautiful. I’ve heard tons of love songs that didn’t put as much heart into their singing as you did.”

“A-ah!” He kept his eyes glued to the ground, but a smile was wobbling its way to his lips. “Th-thank you. I – uh, I wasn’t, wasn’t doing anything special.”

“Oh but you were! And I assume you had the other heart-wrenching one,” Mahiru folded her hands over her chest as she turned her gaze to Kazui. “Your voice is pretty hard to mistake for another.”

He bowed his head in thanks. “I’m flattered. And I’ll say the same about you. I caught a bit of your recording session as well – I don’t know if I ever could dream of matching your speed and enthusiasm.”

“My goodness, you’re making me blush!”

Mahiru only had to pick on a few more people before the conversation picked up on its own. It was difficult keeping ten people completely separate for such elaborate filming processes, so at some point they all had overheard bits of songs coming from within the recording booths, echoing from a distant set area, or rehearsed quietly to oneself in a closed dressing room. 

Muu agreed that Haruka’s song had been very emotional, and she commended Shidou on moving her as well. Yuno and Amane traded compliments about their voices and song styles. Mikoto told Kotoko her song was very powerful, and he liked the message of it.

Yuno looked around, mentally matching up voices with the muffled snippets she could remember. “Wait a second, who had the heavy one? With the yelling?”

Fuuta puffed out his chest. “That would be me. Pretty cool, huh? It’s called Bring It On, and –”

“No, no, not that one.”

He blinked. 

“I remember yours, but there was another one too.”

“Yeah, I heard it as well!” Muu said. A few joined in agreement. 

“They gave someone else a rock song…?”

The group looked to one another, waiting. They looked some more. 

Mikoto’s carefully held face broke into a grin. “Aw, you guys got me. I was trying to keep it a fun little surprise until later…”

“You?”  They chorused their shock.

He shrugged innocently, furthering their disbelief. 

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of music!”

“That’s so cool!”

Shidou said, “I know it’s only been a few days, but never would have expected that side of you.”

“Eh, I’ve got a few unexpected sides of me.” Mikoto winked, and the conversation moved on.

[isfjmel-phleg]

4, 6, 8! :)

4. have a scenario: you have to break someone out of prison, and you are allowed a squad of four people. they can be real or fictional. who are you picking?

Already answered!

6. favorite go-to home cooked meal? (I’m surveying you all for new meal ideas lol)

If I have all the ingredients, I like to make mini naan pizzas.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Brush naan with olive oil. Spread with hummus (pesto is also a good option). Sprinkle with garlic powder and paprika. Add mozzarella, feta, tomatoes, and olives (or comparable toppings of your choice). Bake for 10-12 minutes or until cheese has melted. Pairs well with a salad.

8. themes and/or character dynamics in media that you are a sucker for?

Themes of needing to constantly restrain oneself for whatever reason, especially if failure to do so is literally destructive. Hits a little too close to home sometimes.

[mumblelard]

while i was out this morning, the air smelled like cupcakes baking down the street, then marshmallows burning, a burn barrel gone blue but not yet out, the hearth still standing in a house still smouldering

[annaizscribbling]

Ch 2.

Wordcount: 3504

Content warnings: Hallucinations. Paranoia. Blood More horror.

He is draped over the couch as Virgil walks in through the front door. His every limb seems to have been carefully arranged, with crossed legs artfully angled, hands pretending to have been thrown haphazardly in his lap, like the wind could have blown them into that careless position.

But Virgil knew better. The air of faux casualness, the way his half-lidded eyes may appear to be lazy but are watching with the intensity of a predator watching its prey. There’s a coolness to a lion resting high above its territory, sunbathing on a rock. It lays with its throat exposed as if vulnerable, but all the creatures on God’s green earth know better.

Internally, Virgil paces the walls of his mind like a prisoner in a too small cage. He’s running so fast without going anywhere, like sprinting in a hamster wheel. 

Virgil didn’t leave the waters in time, that thing was happening again. The cave sharpens Virgil’s senses. It makes the world known to him, in all of its uncovered, unjust glory. The armored shell that is protective deception, Virgil feels as if he has pried his fingers below the edge and pulled up, out, tearing it from the vulnerable, pale flesh hiding below. Truth. Sight. Wisdom.

The cave is sight.

And at the head of the harbor is a slender-leaved olive and near by it a lovely and murky cave. 

It takes time to dull those sharpened senses again. It is like adjusting to being in the dark again, his mind reels as he slowly loses that extra instinct. So for now, Virgil is cursed with eyes. True eyes. Eyes that peer past the thin deceptive membrane that usually veils his blunt judgment. Like a breath of life being pushed into dead lungs, Virgil’s tired, dirty eyes are touched by the benevolent hand of the water.

And now he can see.

What a blessing and a curse it is to truly see.

Eyes that stay unclouded. Eyes that no man may restrain and veil. Eyes that do not fall for the folly of hell and its relentless attempt to deceive him. He will not be deceived.

At least not by him.

His yellow gloved hands are laying over top one another. The base of one palm sits over the end of his wrist. Black dress pants don’t quite conceal black socks that run beneath his leather dress shoes. The shoes are polished to perfection, shined enough to see a warped reflection of oneself if peered into long enough.

Virgil’s churning hatred grows. His black shirt is perfectly pressed, save the slight crease where the third button from the top is strained. It’s subtle. He liked his shirts just a touch too tight there. When the capelet is gone, one’s gaze is naturally drawn to his lean chest instead of the watching eyes shifting in his sockets. The vain bastard.

Mismatched eyes roll to the side, looking him over with that ever-present smugness. Virgil watches as the eyes swivel down, then up, taking in every flaw he has. He feels raw, like his skin has been torn up from his flesh, pulling his protection from his fat like pulling on a loose thread to unravel a worn out sweater.

“Evening, Virgil,” he says. The way his name rolls off that forked tongue, like he’s playing with it. Playing with his meal before he ends it all. Swishing it around like one does at a wine tasting before spitting it into a bucket.

Virgil doesn’t answer, he just glares. There’s a bitter resentment brewing in his chest and he wills it into bleeding through his eyes. Tears can be of sorrow but Virgil’s are so often hot with fury.

“We’ve missed you,” he continues, the slightest tilt of his head accompanying the movement. His thin lips point down in a small frown. The lower eyelid on his good eye comes up in an analytical squint, but only barely. The twitch is so slight. He’s feigning that lopsided concern again, but it’s a cover. Careful deductions are being made rapidly, coming as natural as breathing. He has been fashioned from nothing but the underhanded and unseen sly deliberations of a sinner.

Not to fall for it, Virgil hardens his heart, or perhaps it has been hardened for him. “Don’t speak for them,” his mouth is laced with iron like a property gate, sharpened at the top and too tall to climb.

There’s a pause designed to shame him. He exhales slowly, eyes lightly closing for a second as if in pained patience. It's a trap, even closed eyes can be watching. With the weary good naturedness of the wise and kind, he smiles bitterly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Fine, Virgil. Then maybe I missed you. How’s that, hmm?” His voice drips like honey out his mouth down his lips, running to his chin and clinging to the soft tissue of his exposed neck.

Virgil runs his tongue across the back of his teeth, they feel sharper in his mouth, like he could cut his own gums just by biting down. He glares unyieldingly.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” He presses, as if he’s caught Virgil in a web. That damned smug smile plays and toys on his lips like a top spinning along the edge of a table. His yellow eye seems brighter, like he’s caught a piece of the sun for his own. “I just care,” he says as he uncrosses his legs and adjusts the cuff of his dress pants. Perfectly elegant.

“Liar,” Virgil spat out, angrily thrusting his hands in his pockets. It was a lie. He doesn’t ‘just’ do anything. He’s a two-faced conniving snake.

Just like the cave reveals to him.

There’s a weighty pause, as he seems to spin Virgil in his mind, looking for a new angle. Virgil can see the way his eyes scan him, those perceptive pupils prick him.

“We’re concerned,” he tells him gently. It’s not quite a delicate voice, but the type one uses when breaking bad news to a child. Virgil isn’t focused on the tone though. No. His blood boils.

‘We’re.’

As in ‘me and Patton.’ As in ‘remember how he betrayed you?’ As in ‘we are against you together.’ As in ‘who’s on the outside now, Virgil?’

Virgil felt water begin to drip down his face, falling from the imaginary heavens. Not tears. No. Too cold for that. The water is more than cold, it’s icy water like an ocean wave crashing against a shore in the dead of a winter night. Refreshing but startling as it sprays his pale skin. The temperature is so low it seems to burn him before the cold starts to set in. The frigidness sends a shiver across his body, goosebumps rise up as the shock takes him off guard.

Water. Water. Why is he getting drenched in the middle of the living room?

Why?

Why would it–

The cave wants to help.

The rush of unbearable dizziness nearly knocks Virgil off his feet as he is hit with it. The room spins and he stumbles before catching himself.

Blink.

There is no sense but the gift of sight. If the nerves within his body still function, they do not do him the decency of cooperating. He is no physical being, not even the crudely shaped pretense of a body he usually resembles. His is simply an understanding detached from any form, and the aftertaste of adrenaline hovering above the ground in a cloud. He isn’t a body.

Yet he can see.

In the center of a faded pink desert there is a yellow sun. The sand pale like blood that has been watered down and left to dry. The sand is parched and desperate to take where it can, be it greed or simple animalistic desperation one may not say. It sucks the lifeforce of whatever wander’s legs are unlucky enough to find themselves trekking across its rolling hills and sloping mountains. 

In the center of a sickly sky there is a yellow sun suspended in a cruel expanse.

The sun is watching, always, it is watching. For there is no night and no moon. No respite from the fiery beam of light. There is no world of stars to look upon in the dead of night. It is eternal. The black slit down the center of the yellow sun is an unyielding shade of darkness, with no discernable end to the inky void. The yellow sun turns and rolls in its paper dry residence in the sky, unwaveringly following any poor fool of a traveler unlucky enough to have caught its piercing attention. 

The yellow sun never missed a thing, for all things resided below, uncovered.

What goes on below the inch of flesh that covers one’s corporeal form is not hidden from all eyes. What sounds does one’s body make that even the owner does not get the privilege of listening to? What shapes do one’s mouth form while they lie? 

The yellow eye doesn’t have to wonder. It knows.

When it blinks, if it ever does, that will be the opportunity to weep. To stare into the face of its eye and sob is to tear one’s own chest in half, displaying a beating heart slowly cooking under the heat. Don’t let it win in the last ways it has yet to conquer you. Do not falter.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it, Virgil.

He won’t. He won’t let him win.

“Virgil?”

He forgot about the fangs. Oh god.

How could he forget the fangs?

Sweet smelling breath like syrupy antifreeze coats the inside of a raw pink maw. A trail of saliva runs from the side of the mouth to a canine. Teeth sharp as daggers glint in the warm low light. Maybe they pierce, puncture, then drain the blood from an unsuspecting neck. Maybe they just tear you to shreds. Maybe in a passionate bout of heat, lips are slipping and sliding across one another, and in a shocking turn of unforeseen terror, the fangs are locked around your mouth, ripping, pulling. There may be passion, but there is no love in such things.

The forked tongue reaches out like a finger hooking your chin. Your face is jerked upward.

Your eyes meet and you are lost to the vast sky.

Still, there are no stars.

Blink.

A yellow man is standing by a stark white hospital bed in a dim room.

The sickly colored light cast shadows in the little corners of the large room. The man’s shadow is warped and too long, twisting along the waxed floor.

There’s a frail child nestled into the cold white sheets. He’s so much smaller than the bed, so much smaller than the gray world he has been brought into. His gaunt face is nearly as sickly pale as the bedding. Doe eyes like melted chocolate, robbed of what warmth they may have once held. Shaky smiles that smell like weakness, taste like vulnerability.

The yellow man holds the child’s tiny hand. He is somber. His gentle touch is a lifeline more so than anything the hospital may provide. He slowly brings up a soft glove to delicately rest over the child’s eyes, blocking the little boy’s vision.

“Don’t look.” The yellow man whispers, a small, reassuring smile on his thin lips that the boy cannot see, but can manage to hear. That’s what matters.

And the boy obeys. There is apprehension in his weary little face, but trust doesn’t always thrive in absolute security. Fear of the outside, the below, and the above often fosters a stronger faith than any peace ever could. With no one else’s hand to hold, any hold could be considered warm.

There is a burden, a weight unlike he’d previously known upon the man’s shoulders, like large hands are slowly pressing him into the ground, holding his shoulders and pushing. Pushing and pushing in the hopes he will finally lay down and accept his defeat.

But the child anchors him to this world. Nothing matters more than the sickly boy on the too large bed, whose eyes he hides from the stark cold room they’re residing in. His precious eyes need not be subjected to its hopelessness.

The medical equipment begins to grow angry, frustrated, uneasy, like spooked animals in a herd. It furiously beeps and blares, urgent noises filling the sterile little room. Panicked footsteps thunder down the echoey linoleum halls outside. The boy stiffens and tries to gently pull the man’s wrist down, to see what is going on. What will become of him? What is coming?

The yellow man whispers a sweet reassurance, keeping his hand over the boy’s eyes. He knows that it is not time for the boy to see. Only the yellow man’s eyes are strong enough to know, and he will carefully ensure that it stays that way for now.

As if a professional, the man reaches over the boy’s head with his free hand, carefully retrieving one of two small clear masks attached to a variety of things the boy doesn’t understand. Sometimes the boy is frustrated by how little he understands about his own little room. Gently, the yellow man slides it over the boy’s mouth, securing it safely.

The boy blinks slowly beneath the man’s hand. He doesn’t fight it as he feels his body lull, going to sleep. The yellow man’s face is impassive, but he is not infallible. The back of one of his gloves tenderly traces the side of the boy’s sleeping face, and there is a tangible shake in his fingers. It is painful. It is real. He may not be infallible, but he is strong. The boy is asleep, deeply once again. 

Such a peaceful expression.

He enjoys the moment for barely longer than the span of a breath.

The man knows he is a hypocrite at times, such things come with the job, he supposes. He adjusts his gloves, slowly walking away from the side of the bed. He then walks to the door and opens it, staring out into the vast expanse in the form of the sea.

He lowers his eyes.

Blink.

Virgil stares at him. He feels strange now, finding himself back in the living room he’s so comfortable in yet so agitated by all at once. It doesn’t look right, though. Because the carpet is gone. There is no real floor, even.

Oh, and he is frozen still. Like a statue, he doesn’t so much as breathe. He has one foot barely touching the ground, like he was stuck in a photograph, one catching him just beginning to run forward. Strange, so very strange.

The ground is a few inches covered in water, and it’s beautiful, like a mirror it is so still. The living room is reflected in the darkness. The water gently ripples around his legs, gentle, so very gentle. Virgil’s grungy tennis shoes and the cuffs of his skinny jeans are soaked. It’s cold.

The water does not touch him. It skirts around him, lapping at an invisible border. It angers the water to not be able to lick his dress shoes, wet his skin, engulf his ankles. The air is damp and heavy, but his skin is still dry, almost flaky. A shed is approaching. Virgil used to care.

He looks tense, his scales glimmer coldly in the light. His jaw is tightened in some amount of restrained distress. One hand concealed in a glove is outstretched as if to catch something.

Virgil is on edge, he’s awkward and uncomfortable. When is he not? No, he knows the answer to that. When he’s angry, he is sure of himself, but it’s a fleeting feeling before the doubt creeps back in to haunt him. But at least the water is there. The water is a comfort, even if it isn’t enough to fully soothe him. The water around his ankles laps at him in a gentle, rocking rhythm. It’s tender, like a melody not meant to be heard but felt, sensations on his skin approaching and receding like a chorus that swells but never dwells long in any one way.

Virgil comes a little closer to the frozen snake, his calloused fingers worrying his left hoodie string. It’s a habit that has left the strings ratty and worn. He probably noticed the habit. Of course he did. He sees too much. The water detests him. He has his own eyes, his own sick perceptions. The water hates him. He is shrouded in a dry haze of stupid deception. The water hates him. Virgil hates him. He thinks he hates him. It’s hard.

The silent sound of the water is beginning to get to him. Like when he’s down in the cave, but he’s not in his cave. Ah, but his mind longs to return. It’s where he belongs, isn’t it? Maybe his mind never truly left the cave. Maybe he never should have left at all.

Oh. Oh, he’s getting so dizzy. The water is beckoning.

Virgil slowly sinks to the floor, onto his haunches, then about to half fall into a sitting position. The water is soaking through his pants. That’s okay. It’s alright with him. The water may go where it pleases.

From where he’s so low on the ground Virgil notices that it looks almost as if his hand is reaching for him now. Like a desperate attempt to snatch him away.

Blink.

The world goes back to normal so quickly that the air feels ripped out of Virgil’s lungs. Like he’s been thrown against the ground and had the wind knocked out of him. The water is gone like it never existed. Like as if the tide could recede, taking the dampness of the sand with it.

“Virgil!”

Virgil looks up as the gloves hand grasps his shoulder as Virgil finds himself hitting the ground. Did he fall? He sure doesn’t remember falling.

“Let go, Janus,” Virgil finds himself snapping. He harshly shoves the gloves off him.

“You collapsed. Calm down, take it easy. Here,” Janus extends a hand to help him back up to his feet. Worry swims in his eyes like tadpoles in a pond of tears. No.

He doesn’t accept the help, instead sending a glare brimming with hatred. Janus doesn’t know what Virgil saw, what he still sees. He knows better than to trust a snake. “Get off me.”

Janus sighs again. He does that often. It makes his blood boil hotter. “I’m not the reason you fell, there’s no need to be upset with me, now come on. Up you come,” he reached out again.

“Just shut up, and move your hands before you lose them,” Virgil growls.

What’s gotten into you?” Janus shakes his head like a tired parent, the conniving, infuriating, slimy bastard. “Stay put then, I’ll call Patton, since you’d likely throw a tantrum if I dared look you over.”

“You’re not calling anyone, you bitch. Leave me alone. You shouldn’t be up here anyway, you don’t belong here,” Virgil says through his teeth. He feels like a caged animal, biting and growling through a chain-link fence. He feels like his blood has been replaced with an aimless vitriol.

Janus raises an eyebrow, not nearly as offended as Virgil craved him to be. No. He’s seeing again. He knows. Virgil feels sick. He knows. He knows. He knows.

“… you’ve been going again, haven’t you?” he realizes, and it’s hardly a real question, because he knows, they both do. “Or did you ever really stop?” he murmurs, more to himself.

Panic, dread, fury, it all comes together in a horrible concoction that burns red in his belly. Virgil feels his hackles rise, his spine hardening and his teeth begging to be uncovered by his lips. “That isn’t any of your fucking business.”

There is a graveness in Janus’ disgusting, poisonous, yellow-colored eye. “You know what it does to you. Why do you keep letting it—”

“Shut up! I am not falling for this,” Virgil hisses, clumsily yet aggressively getting to his feet. “I hate you. I hate you and I know what you’re doing. To me. To Patton. To Thomas. I know. I can see. So don’t you dare try me again because I swear that I will tear you to shreds with my teeth.”

Janus does not get angry. Nor does he look afraid. Instead, he looks more sad than Virgil can recall seeing him in a very long, long time. A soft expression of a bittersweet fondness lines his face like faded smile lines. His shoulders slump in a disappointed tiredness. There’s a tiny shake of his head.

“Oh, Virgil,” he says softly, “what has it done to you?”

Virgil flees. He runs. He sprints off to his room without looking back. Up the stairs, his sneakers thundering loudly against the carpet. He can’t stand to look at that snake any longer.

The water flows unceasingly.

Ch 2. Ch 3.

[sweetwhumpandhellacomf]

She Would Have Done The Same

Inspired by this prompt from @whumporama!

FFXIV fanfic, takes place between ARR and HW. Not shippy.

---

With van Baelsar dead and the Praetorium a smouldering ruin, it was easy to write off the remaining Garlean castra after the Ultima incident. Eorzea had won—no, the Warrior of Light had won. Elodie Valeroyant had won, rendered the former invading army a diminished threat.

It was also easy, after such a feat, to forget that she was still simply one woman with a knack for healing magic, and as such, was not immune to getting into scrapes. The emergency signal transmitted by her linkpearl caught the Scions off guard that afternoon, and although they began to mobilize for a rescue, it wasn’t until Minfilia was unable to hail her for an hour after that they began to truly worry.

Some reconnaissance and information gathering revealed that Elodie had been in La Noscea on an expedition for the Botanists Guild and wasn’t equipped for heavy combat. Thancred found signs of a scuffle near Raincatcher Gully—dropped bags and plant samples, the scuff of Imperial boots in the mud.

“Of course it’s the bloody Imperials,” he muttered into his linkpearl after relaying the information to the Scions at the Rising Stones. “Let’s meet up at Wineport. I’ll see what I can find out before joining you.”

Infiltration was ever among the rogue’s strong suits. All it took was a well-executed concussion and some clever words, and one would find oneself in enemy territory looking exactly as if you belonged there. The uniform was a bit baggy on him, but he didn’t think he’d stand out; the rank and file likely had no say in how well their clothes fit.

He kept in touch with Minfilia and Alphinaud with furtive whispers in isolated corners, reporting in on what he saw and heard. The castrum was being manned by little more than a skeleton crew, and he only saw one very bored officer in the sector he chose to explore. There seemed to be one building under heavier guard than anywhere else, a soldier piloting a magitek armor pacing back and forth in front of the doorway as well as two swordsmen engaged in uneasy conversation. Squinting, Thancred could make out the words on their lips.

He caught “Warrior of Light” accompanied by a jerk of the thumb at the black iron door. That was all he needed.

“I’ve located her, I think,” he murmured into his linkpearl. “Just got to confirm it so we don’t go in on a wild dodo chase.”

“Be careful, Thancred,” came Alphinaud’s reply. “We can’t have the both of you in trouble.”

Thancred huffed quietly but didn’t answer as he made his way over to the building, carefully moving between stacked crates and passing armor. There were no windows, but a vent high up on the wall would suffice. He found a crate empty or else light enough to move with minimal effort and snuck it over, climbing on it to get a decent look inside.

Thancred had been expecting to see his fellow Scion alert and awake, maybe impatiently waiting for rescue or working on escape herself. The figure huddled in a corner, head drooped to her chest and shivering faintly, couldn’t be her. Elodie could never be in such a state. But the dark skin, the ears—hells, the shattered monocle hanging from its chain and glinting off the faint light, those were all Elodie.

Thancred suddenly couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Not like this, not tossed in a small room like a broken toy. This wasn’t just the Warrior of Light, not just the savior of Eorzea. This was his friend, this was the woman who had saved him when he was puppeted by that damn ascian. He couldn’t leave her because she wouldn’t have left him.

It was easy enough to distract the guards. Triggering an alarm on the other side of the castrum was trivial, and one of the gas grenades he brought along with him took care of the magitek pilot who decided to stay and guard the prisoner. The door unlocked with a clunk and he stepped carefully inside, hating the way Elodie’s slim form flinched at the sound of his footsteps. “It’s Thancred,” he whispered, hurrying to crouch by her. Up close, he could see her left eye was swollen shut, her shoulder was hanging too loose in its socket, and there were cuts and blood soaked into her botanist’s coveralls. “I’m getting you out of here. Can you stand?”

“I-I think so.” The quiver in her normally steady voice sent a spike of cold through his stomach. If she was so injured, why hadn’t she healed herself? Elodie was a more powerful healer than anyone he’d ever met—but as she tried to push herself up and dropped back with a gasp, he saw the magitek suppression collar clamped onto her neck. When she looked up at him, lower lip trembling, he knew things were much worse than anyone had imagined.

“Here,” he murmured, moving to the side with an uninjured shoulder and sliding his arm under hers to help her stand. She towered over him by nearly a fulm, but once she was standing, she was able to support herself by grasping tight to his shoulder. “We’ve got to go quickly. I know you’re injured, but the false alarm will only distract them for so long.”

Elodie didn’t complain, just nodded stiffly and started to limp alongside him. There seemed to be something wrong with her ankle; probably not broken, thank the gods, or he didn’t think she would be able to walk at all. It was still upsetting to see her like this. Even in person, Thancred always thought she was larger than life. Unflappable, shrugging off small injuries, an unstoppable force.

Every time she whimpered in pain, his gut clenched.

Yalms away from the building he’d pulled her from, Thancred froze. Hurrying footsteps, armored, coming back their way. He spotted an open storage shed and pulled Elodie towards it, pushing her into the dark corner and yanking the door shut. He heard the click of a lock and swore—more time he’d have to waste unlocking it again. “Be quiet,” he hissed, pressing his ear against the wall, listening hard. Muffled voices, one seeming to issue commands. He almost didn’t notice, due to how slowly she did it, that Elodie was pressing her face into his shoulder. He did notice, due to the cramped space, that she was still shivering.

He waited for the voices to pass, for the footsteps to recede, before relaxing. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Another dark space is probably not where you want to be just now.”

“It’s f-fine,” she answered, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “I trust you.” Something twisted in his gut.

The lock was open in moments, and Thancred let Elodie renew her grip on his shoulder before continuing on their way to safety, all his senses alert. As soon as he spotted the side gate he’d come through, he picked up the pace. Elodie let loose one small noise of complaint as the speed made her ankle worse, but the sight of freedom seemed to bolster her spirits otherwise.

The change in atmosphere outside the black metal walls was palpable. Thancred hurried over to a small glade on the edge of the cliff and set Elodie down against a tree, then spoke into his linkpearl. “This is Thancred,” he said. “I’ve got Elodie outside the southern wall of the castrum.”

“I told you to be careful!” Alphinaud protested, but Thancred could still hear people making ready to move out.

“I wasn’t going to leave her like that,” Thancred snapped. “She’s in rough shape, can hardly walk.”

There was a pause as Alphinaud came to some conclusions. “Sonya’s here, luckily,” he said. “She can carry her. Probably better to keep her occupied around Garleans…”

Thancred huffed a short laugh. Sonya would probably strike down any soldier she saw if she wasn’t busy looking after Elodie. “I’ll keep watch til you can get here. Thancred out.”

He looked down at Elodie, now leaning against the tree, her eyes closed. Even out here, in the warm air, she was still shivering. “Are you cold?” he asked, starting to pull off the baggy uniform tunic.

“No,” she said, with a minute shake of the head. “I-it’s the—this.” She raised her hand to cautiously tug at the suppression collar. “I think… I think it converts my aether to levin when I try to channel magick.”

“Gods,” Thancred said, shaking his head. Once more, the situation was worse than he feared. To not only be unable to use your own spells, but have them turn against you in such a manner? “I’d try to take it off, but I’m no Cid.”

Elodie’s lips twitched up in a brief smile, and she peeled her good eye open to look up at him. “That’s alright. Y-you’ve done plenty.”

Thancred draped the baggy tunic over her regardless, and the weight seemed to calm her. He stood back up and kept his eyes peeled for movement—either Garleans or, hopefully, the Scion rescue team. When he heard distant swearing and recognized Sonya’s voice, he grinned and stepped out of the high shrubs around the glade to wave them over.

Sonya was the first to make it, crashing through the brush. “Hells, Elodie,” the hrothgar said, stooping down to get a look at her. “You’ve got to stop getting in trouble.”

Elodie offered a weak chuckle. “I did try,” she said, unresisting as Sonya scooped her up in her muscular arms.

Alphinaud was soon to catch up, followed closely by Hoary Boulder and Coultenet. “Elodie,” he breathed, standing on tiptoe to get a better look at her injuries. “Heavens forfend, when I learned it was Garleans—Nevermind that. Do any of your injuries need immediate care?” When she shook her head, he sighed in relief. “Good. Let’s see you to safety.”

Hoary in the lead, the group arranged themselves so that Elodie was safely in the middle of them. “Thancred?” she asked, her voice wavering. He quickly shifted spots with Alphinaud, looking down at her. She seemed to be dropping out of consciousness, the ordeal having taken its toll. “Thancred, thank you.”

“For—?”

“For coming to save me. I always…” She drifted a bit, before screwing up her face and forcing herself to finish her thought. “Always thought it’d be nice… to have a knight in shining armor, when I was little. Just one time.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Thancred said. “Rest, Elodie. You damn well deserve it.”

She hummed and closed her eye again, dropping straight off to sleep.

[pandoraimperatrix]

When the war is over

NejiHina Week 2023

Day 5 - Choice

READ ON AO3

NejiHina Week 2023  

Day 5 – Choice  

Will you choose me when the war is over?  

And knowing how well you can read my eyes; I know you can hear the question I’m too much of a coward to voice, your kisses giving me no true answer but the ecstasy of our meetings help me to forget.  

I face hordes of men, slashing and brutalizing their bodies without flinching. Nor death not the dead can stop me while you heart still beats, while air still fills your lungs.   

Living soldiers and supernatural threats alike will never frighten me, only the truth. However, against the silence of your non-answer, I am powerless.  

The meaninglessness of killing, the violence are nothing against the doom befalling over me every time your eyes stray, searching for blue skies. 

From the heavens incompressible horrors fall, with you by my side, in battle, in bed, I fight men and gods alike undaunted.  

But how can I fight truth? How can I win over history? How can I kill the part of me that will not be satisfied, that will always yearn for more and more and more of you. 

I don’t mind the blood anymore, for when you join me at the Nakano River at night, I barely notice the red flowers dissolving, lead away by the currents as you wash me, warm fingertips in my hair, feverish sex engulfing mine in rapture, nor ice-cold water nor our feverish flesh can’t make me forget, but I still pretend.  

I pretend that this is forever, I pretend you will choose me when the war is over.  

Nobody thought the war would last so long.  

But sometimes, I have trouble remembering a time before it.   

There was once truly a time in which I was content by living a life in which I walked always two steps behind you?  

In which the idea of having you moaning my name as I take you against a three as the world ends around us was ridiculous?

Unimaginable?   

There was once truly a time when I slept easily on an empty bed?  

There was once, truly, a sorry past existence in which I didn’t find home in the curve of your soft waist? In which I didn’t know the paths of your body as my own homeland and didn’t know the taste of your mouth?   

Where I was free from the prison of death, the decay of a wartime, where I was accepting of my fate as a creature cursed by the ability of desire what he could never have, of picturing a reality that would never cross the boundaries of his own mind. A pitiful man convinced by himself that his heart’s deepest yearning was impossible and should be buried in shame. 

There was really, such time?  

I’ve lost the count of the men, undead, gods and aliens I have murdered, and yet, I can remember the first night you searched for comfort in my arms, and every night since then. I hear men talking all the time how they can’t sleep, that the dead come to haunt and stela the little rest they can manage to get, but by your side, in our bed, the oblivion of sleep takes me over easily than when I was an innocent man.  

Hinata-sama... No, don’t answer me, please, just take me inside of you again, please make me forget that the war will one day end, and you will remember that you don’t want me. That you gave up on me eons ago, that I’ve lost the right of even wishing you would look at me.  

You will go back to seeing me as nothing but a placeholder. A choice made in haste and despair, something you regret even now as I eat your moans, and bury myself deep inside of you as if I belonged there. After, it will be as always, the forlorn look in your eyes, your silences, even if you can’t let go, because war drives people to hedonism, it’s hard to deny oneself comfort when the world around dies in smoke and ashes.  

Even remaining in my bed, head pillowed on my chest, you’re already gone. 

Averting your eyes as if I won’t notice that you still cry sometimes, when you realize it’s me you see just before climax takes your mind away and all I have left to hold on tight is your quivering body and the torturing feeling that even though I’m the only one that has you, you will never crown me king of your heart. 

[ewingstan]

6.8 felt like a big point in the story for me. So it seems like a good point to update my overall impressions on Breakthrough:

I think Victoria is a strong protagonist. That said, Wildbow's strength is character arcs focusing on the protagonists slowly but surely deciding to sacrifice their selfhood in order to make the bastards pay. Victoria already lost her selfhood and got it back, and while its probably too early to really get a sense of it, I don't have any clear expectations of what her arc could be.

Rain has had some of the best writing I've seen from Wildbow and his story has been incredibly engaging. But I don't think I understand Victoria's leap to "he's taken big steps towards becoming a hero" stance. He defended himself against a bunch of people who were trying to kill him. Mama Mathers was gonna send people after him, his clustermates were out for blood, he didn't have a safe group anymore except for Breakthrough (who wanted to fight the guys trying to kill him) and March. Obviously he was gonna help fight, it was his best and only chance to save himself. We haven't really seen him have a chance to do something truly heroic for someone else yet. We probably shouldn't; as much as I like Rain, a recovering Christian Identity member really shouldn't be given a position as a cop.

I'm more excited to see where Kenzie goes than any other character right now (I know her ending isn't great, but we can have good times until then right?) She has the most interesting relationships with every other character and has such an unusual perspective on everything that she consistently elevates any scene she's in.

I know we're still early in but it weirds me out how we still know so little about Chris. He's got an interesting if seemingly hard-to-narrativize powerset, he has a lot of active threads out, and he's gotten my favorite line so far:

(yeah i know its corny. It's still extremely my shit). But we still know pretty much nothing about him besides 1) gets along well with Kenzie and 2) is weirdly eager to throw himself into battle. We knew more about Alec even by this point in Worm. What's this guy's deal?

(I know some of this guy's deal. I don't yet know how we get from here to what I know about this guy's deal).

I feel like Tristan and Byron have been waylaid by the plot for the last few chapters, but I want to get more of them, which I'll take as a good sign.

Ashley is usually the most entertaining character in any scene. Her whole deal is catnip to me. I still think her wanting to go to prison is bullshit.

Sveta is a very fun and engaging character who is clearly meant to be overly naive, but at the same time I feel like the text ends up justifying her opinions too often. The paragon do-gooder voice shouldn't be right too often in a parahumans book, it ends up with too many thematic contradictions between it and Worm. Yeah, her being the moral voice does give her a chance to come out and plainly say the underlying thesis of the work:

But there's still weird issues. The big one for me is still the "Ashley and Rain should turn themselves in" being treated mostly as true; Sveta is treated as naiive for this, but only for believing the justice system is complete enough to process them, not for the belief that "serving time" is a necessary part of cleansing oneself of sin. I mean, Amy going to the birdcage was depicted as useless self-flagellation and running away from responsibility! Taylor doing jailtime was a game she had to go along with to flimsily justify her inclusion on the Wards! Wildbow obviously has put active thought into the theoretical and practical shortcomings of the justice system beforehand, why is it suddenly being sanctified? I'd chalk it down to just being Victoria and Sveta's perspective, but literally nothing is pushing back on it besides Kenzie and Ashley is going out of her way and characterization to agree with it. And I know I'm not gonna get a satisfying answer to this because its one of the things that people bring up as an archetypal problem with Ward, but at the same time I can't just accept "fuck you its ward" as a satisfying explanation! I need answers John! What were you doing with this!

[artistsmellslikeunemployment]

Zaheer stole the medallion of Guru Lahima or whatever his name was because he was looking for a proof of his suspicion that flying was a real possibility. Had he taken it for other reasons that would be an earthly possession. Since P‘li’s death (that he didn’t even mourn about) he was able to fly, indicating her being the last tether that kept Zaheer from „becoming wind“.

But does that mean he was unconvinced of what he was planing? This „mmmh as yea my thoughts make sense, let’s do it and see if it turns out correct“ has an immense casualty rate. And this requires being indifferent to guilt, doesn’t it? Because how can one be incorruptible, opening all Chakras, and still do these horrible things? Is it a higher form of morality that I don’t reach? One life in exchange for millions? Does it mean a sin is only one under the lens of subjectivity?

mf literally took the head dive, not knowing for sure if it would work…

Later:

Anyways,

It always irked me to see this incongruity. How should that be possible to become spiritual but commit homicide without lying to oneself and live in illusion?

So here’s my take:

Zaheer was completely disconnected which is really fascinating honestly in the context of higher spirituality. Well, he didn’t become enlightened but simply unlocked a rare and old form of bending then i guess? Maybe the ability to fly opens up to one when unaffected by fear. Zaheer‘s fears don’t concern his lover anymore, not possible death or the death of others, not his body. Because he disconnected from it.

I mean, the premise literally says „Empty. And become wind.“

The (what was it, fire?) Chakra Aang opened didn’t rid him of his fears, he just learned to let the fear flow through him.

Maybe that’s the difference… also, balance doesn’t mean sameness. Because that’s stagnant and subtends the flow of energy and natural cycles etc.

Zaheer thinks the existence of „power“ is inherently flawed, like a perversion of nature that he has to eradicate. So he deprived himself of the same. Forming no bonds, only expedients. Not seeing that having relationships with friends and family is the power that saves lives, Korra‘s life. Right?

To answer all that we’d have to define what „power“ really is I guess.

It can’t be the possession of a skill, an ability or even tool. Those things are all neutral. What isn’t neutral is the intent to use them -> so is power the autonomy to make decisions? That you can’t take away. Is it a devised concept with no real manifestations? But blackmail and oppression are real effects merely when one is in the possession of aforementioned mediums.

Where am I going with this?

In the end it comes down to exactly what Zaheer says - those instruments in the hold of a few is a problem when the power should be with all. So that holding needs to be gone. Now in order to achieve that you gotta be the one person that can overpower the powerful. That’s contradictory to his belief.

I end up where I started: Zaheer doesn’t know what he’s doing XD

But my dude does not cause revolution as he thinks, he forces evolution. Isn’t that the real perversion?

We all agree that changes are necessary in the political world of Avatar but one cannot destruct a system without offering a replacement or else the same corrupted system will rebuild itself, just worse.

I know the Red Lotus thought the natural order of things is disorder hence no system at all. But without any clean up effort the mindset taught under the old system won’t vanish into thin air. Criminals released from prison would be just as impulsive and scared and self-righteous. People need a little education which needs to be organised in some way. Or else every individual will take justice in their own hands. Zaheer even needs to educate his own team about which direction they want to go:

Does he think the solidarity will magically appear in the heads of people? Why should they react any differently from Ming-Hua? He can’t be the only one knowing shit.

I think his problem is that he let go of too much, sacrificing his sensitivity.

One who does not know fear forgets how the scared people think.

Zaheer is much like a monk: regulated. But there still is a distinction. The nomads do not abandon their human flaws, Aang could feel his excitement, Jinorah demanded recognition, Gyatso engaged in joy and Yangchen expressed her anger. Zaheer Never shows any of that.

He has an idea of how the world should operate but doesn’t know to get there because the driving factor for such a world are the simple people who grew up paranoid about making their living. Setting them free won’t gain them a sense of how to interact without paranoia.

I don’t know if any of that makes sense. I started typing without direction. Hope you had fun reading my cobbled together comprehension of Zaheer…

[caesarandthecity]

Dissociation and the Search for Identity

One of the most significant effects of trauma is dissociation, a mental state in which the body and mind become disconnected as a way to cope with unbearable pain. For much of my life, I lived in a state of detachment from my own body, avoiding touch and physical connection because they reminded me of the traumas I had endured. My body, in many ways, became a prison that I did not want to inhabit. This experience of dissociation led me to question my identity on many levels.

At one point, I began to explore the possibility of a gender transition. I surrounded myself with transgender individuals, hoping to understand whether this was the right path for me. However, instead of witnessing freedom in these individuals, I saw something else. They had stepped out of one societal "box" only to find themselves confined in another—one even smaller and more restrictive. I realized that for many, the journey of gender transition was not so much about freedom, but about a deeper struggle with identity and a response to profound trauma.

For me, the answer did not lie in changing my gender. As I delved deeper into my own self-exploration, I realized that my journey was not about altering my external identity but about reconciling with my internal one. Dissociation had led me to question who I was because trauma had created such a vast gap between my true self and the version of myself that I projected to the world. By reconnecting with my soul, I began to heal the wounds that had once driven me to question my very being.

Dissociation, I have come to understand, is not just a detachment from the body—it is an attempt to escape the unbearable weight of trauma. It can manifest as a desire to change identities, to redefine oneself completely, but true healing comes not from changing who we are externally, but from rediscovering and embracing our true selves. I have found that my path was not about becoming someone else, but about reconnecting with the person I had always been, beneath the layers of trauma and pain.