#but i think the show just exposed what happened rather than relying on either sibling's memories

[did-we-imagine]

I'm gonna play the devil's advocate (not Ursa's, I am not going to defend her nor incriminate her), and say that some people actually lose their memories due to abuse and the effect of Trauma IRL. I have a friend who doesn't remember their childhood and they have felt like this since their teens (they grew up with an abusive parent and an enabling parent), and apparently, said friend's sibling is the same. They basically remember they were abused badly, but they don't remember many specific instances, and since their abuser gaslights them, they find it hard to argue back because they remember only some instances (which the abuser minimizes anyway, abuser is very manipulative, and unhinged -has threatened to kill, etc-).

Also, in the show, Sokka forgot his mother's face (I think she died when he was like 10-11?), and yet he is only 15. So there is a possibility that her memories potentially got warped through trauma and all (that is not to invalidate her feelings, but rather a possibility), and 5 years is actually almost a 1/3rd of her life. It's not the same as 5 years for a 35 years old for example. + Zuko' talk of a happy family could hypothetically fall under this umbrella (there are things that kids simply don't understand...).

I just wanted to speak specifically about the clarity/haziness of memories.

Another phenomenon that isn't talked about often is how abused kids tend to idealize the enabling/less abusive parent. While the show hasn't given us any reason to consider things from this angle, there is a solid chance that Zuko's view of his mom might be tinted by pink glasses. My friend has gone through this in their teens before eventually figuring out that enabler is messed up in a different manner because their response to the abuse is to leave the house/leave them with the abuser 🙄😒. This particular view could be canon if we also consider Ursa's behavior in the comics.

Another show/trilogy really really love also has this (Les Malheurs de Sophie) where Sophie's birth mother was not the worst, but she was definitely NOT mother of the year and somewhat emotionally distant/abusive (this one I am not too sure for the cartoon, but in the books she didn't shy from corporeal punishment), and it's only been clarified through the contrast between her and Sophie's later adoptive mom (Madame de Fleurville) who has disciplined Sophie without becoming aloof. Mid show, Sophie is stuck with her extra crazy abusive stepmother so her now-dead bio mom looks like an absolute saint to her (and probably all of us who watched as kids). The subtext heavily implies otherwise as we get to compare the 3 maternal figures' behavior, with de Fleurville being the best mom hands down, Sophie's mom falling somewhere in between, and Fichini (the evil stepmom) who shouldn't ve left in any child's vicinity.

Sure, she is an abuse victim and all, but she definitely loses so many points in the comics (I'm more mitigated about the show, though I reconsidered my initial stance -she is not the saintly mother many fans believe her to be- when she said "What is wrong with that child?" In Azula's vicinity...It must have been one of the seeds of her later self image as a monster...Sure, she might not have meant it maliciously because Azula was spouting treasonous ideas which could have endangered all of them, but it wasn't the best way to phrase it, esp within Azula's earshot).

What I don't think is acknowledged enough is that Azula's memories of Ursa are relatively fresh?

I just often see people use the argument that Azula's perception of her mother is skewed because Azula was too young when Ursa disappeared, but is that really the case?

Ursa left when Azula was 9. Now, Azula is 14.

I don't think 5 years could have change Azula's perception of her mother THAT much. It's not like 10 years have passed.

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse Infested

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of dysfunctional family, Family problems, Swearing

Genre: Humor, Comfort, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When your friend disappears for a long time, seemingly having lost interest in what fueled the most passionate fire in their life, you cannot not worry about them. Even if you wanna give them space, you will reach out, you will offer your help. You will tell them they always have you to rely on and talk to.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request, but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and if you do I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

For me, it’s never hard to find things to do. I’ve constantly got things on my mind and tasks to tend to, keeping me occupied and my mind focused at all times. I think that comes with living in a home as dysfunctional as this one. I honestly can’t recall a time when my parents got along nor can I think of a time where there was at least one second of peace while the two are both present in the house. It’s always a warzone up there. I’m saying up there because I tend to live out of the basement of their home. I know living in your parents’ basement is considered a peak loser point, or the bottom of the bottom, but you’d have to believe me when I say - I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I only recently came back to this hell-hole and boy do I regret it. I mean, it was a decision forced upon me by circumstances. Trust me, I tried every other option there was. When my dorm was to be closed down and demolished, we were given a notice to start planning our next move about a month early. You can bet I immediately started looking at places but my very tragic and miserable budget didn’t allow such a purchase. No rent was adequate for me and my near-empty wallet so my second option was moving in with my best friend who was also not in the greatest of situations but I thought I’d give that a shot too.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work out. She lived in a tiny apartment with her boyfriend and his best friend at the time, so four people in one apartment was a nightmare. Still a lesser nightmare than this one but a nightmare nonetheless. Some unwanted and downright traumatizing events chased me out of that place after barely managing to pack my stuff. Therefore, finding myself on the streets again, I had no other option other than the obvious and least liked one: moving back in with my parents.

Making money during my first year of college hasn’t been easy. Working two jobs at once and also streaming video games on the side was what my time was filled with all throughout the first semester but then this damn pandemic started and now ruined everything for me. I had things going for me, I was slowly getting my life together and now it has all fallen apart yet again. The places I worked at closed down due to quarantine and I haven’t been able to steam, not only cause I’d be the victim of my parents’ comments but also cause my terrible home life would be exposed to all my fans and viewers. It’s not like I could cancel out the commotion going on right above my head, it’s a livestream and this house’s walls are cardboard thin meaning all the arguing I hear almost 24/7 will serve as background noise for my streams.

I haven’t reached out to my friends or fans to inform them of this which I feel slightly guilty about but I’m really not looking forward to having to lie to them, just as much as I’m not looking forward to having to tell them the truth so instead I’ve picked silence which is probably either worrying them or driving them insane. Either way, I’ll make my comeback soon.

Well....not very soon by the looks of it...

I have to gather the money, then I have to find a place, then comes the packing, moving out of here, moving into the new place...oh God, there’s so much to it that I don’t even wanna think about. Just that thought that I’ll be inactive for that long makes my stomach turn. Streaming’s where I’ve been channeling all my negative emotions, turning them into something positive and entertaining with the help of my friends.

Speaking of my friends, I should probably put emphasis on how amazing they are. Basically the older siblings I’ve always wished I had. I’m the baby of the group, the eighteen year old freshman in college, powering through life the best they can cause they are constantly getting tripped up by inconvenient occurrences such as this one for example. I tend to have the gang poke fun at me quite frequently - all lighthearted and with good intentions obviously - but they are also the ones to get super defensive if anyone gets the balls to talk shit about me. They’d never allow me to be the victim of any smack talk or online rumors and ‘cancel culture’ or whatever the hell people will come up with to leave others restless and wondering if they did something shady a decade ago. Well, to be fair, I didn’t even know about the concept of social media a decade ago and I’ve never been one to post much but I still have a protection squad in case anyone decides to come after me.

Little do they know the people I need protecting from are the very people that are supposed to protect me - my parents. Luckily, they don’t venture into to basement very often if at all and I have my own exit to the outside world so I don’t have to run into them unless I absolutely have to. The only time I emerge to the surface of the house - aka the ground floor - I do so to leave my share of rent money on the dining table and I usually do it when they aren’t home or when they’re asleep - that happens often with how many bottles they each knock back on the daily.

*sigh*...at least I don’t have to talk to them, right?

Anyhow, remember how I mentioned I always have things to do? Well, right now I’ve tasked myself with rifling through the large boxes containing random stuff I found in one of the basements down here to see if there’s anything I could possibly sell online. For starters, I’d like to hope there aren’t any severed body parts in here because this was one shady-ass basement before I moved in and un-creeped it a bit so I wouldn’t have to become an insomniac due to the paranoia of there being a homeless person down here with me or some paranormal entity. Regardless, old basements tend to be, apart from haunted, also filled with junk no one would find valuable despite it actually being worth something after all. That’s basically what I’m hoping to find at the moment.

As I dig through the contents of the first box, the YouTube playlist I have put on on my phone cuts off causing me to furrow my brows in confusion for a second before my ringtone pierces the silence the lack of music created.

I quickly mute the ringing and take a look at the Caller ID to see a name I never thought would pop up on my screen as an incoming call - Corpse. I, as well as many of our friends, know that he’s not the biggest fan of talking to people on the phone so this is rather surprising. Still, I pick up the call in case it’s not a mistake and an odd chance that it’s somethin urgent cause Lord knows Corpse doesn’t call people willy-nilly. 

Thank God it’s quiet up there at the moment.

“Hello?“ I try my best to cover up the confusion in my voice but I can only assume I didn’t do the best job considering Corpse replies with a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?“ He asks, getting my cheeks to redden a bit, “You can’t blame a guy for calling after up and disappearing on him and on the whole internet. Where’ve you been?“

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the sound of glass breaking a shouted curse from upstairs.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Um...you know, places?“ I’m aware the answer isn’t only nonsensical but also sounds more like a question, but I can hardly focus on that right now. I’m too buys praying to an entity I don’t fully believe in for the situation above to not escalate.

“Uh, is everything ok over there? Where even are you right now?“ The teasing tone to his voice is all but gone at this point, replaced with deep concern, having obviously heard the commotion that did the exact opposite of what I prayed for - escalated.

“Y-yeah, it’s ok. It’s just another Thursday, you know.“ I attempt a small laugh but it’s blatantly miserable, “I moved back in with my parents when they announced the quarantine so that’s where I’m at now. They’re not the quietest of folks as you can tell so...“

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE“

Oh crap, here we go.

“...So I can’t really stream a lot...or at all.“ I mutter, cringing with all my might, “But it’s only temporary! I’ll get back in the saddle as soon as I find another place to stay.“ I don’t dare mention how long that’s gonna take me, it’ll be too disappointing and depressing for the both of us. “So yeah...um...thanks for showing concern but there’s really nothing to worry about. I’m ok, everything’s ok, things are just...a bit off the rails, but I’ll fix em no problem. Like I always do!“ I attempt to sound as cheerful as possible with little success due to the overwhelming anger I feel towards those people upstairs and the gut-wrenching nostalgia for the world of streaming I can no longer be a part of because of them. Actually, I put the blame first on the pandemic and second on my parents - if it wasn’t for Covid I’d probably still be in my dorm!

“Hey...um, I think I know an affordable place where you can take up residence. Only if you want to, of course.“ He sounds hesitant but I easily overlook that as excitement bursts throughout my entire being at the sound if an escape being offered to me just like that. Had I known I’d find the solution to my problem in the very people I spent time avoiding because I was afraid of their pity, sympathy and judgement.

“Oh please, it could be a rat and roach infested shoe box and I’d go running to it. How much is rent?“ I ask through a gasp of hurried laughter that’s a result of my inability to contain said excitement. Listen, I’ve been sitting here in Hellsburg for three months now and haven’t gotten a proper shuteye during that whole period, whatever Corpse is offering has to be better than this misery.

“Rent can be discussed once you move in...“ He trails off, “And it’s not rat nor roach infested but there’s a slight issue...“

“Which is?“ I’m honestly expecting the worst: in a bad neighborhood; faulty wiring with a high chance of being electrocuted; faulty piping with a high chance of flooding; people have died there; things get randomly moved around in the middle of the night etc. However, I don’t voice any of them to avoid getting laughed at for my wild imagination.

“Well, uh, it’s corpse infested.“ He says a little awkwardly, causing me to let out an inaudible sigh.

So my ‘people have died there’ guess was on point, huh?

“People have died there, huh? Well, I can turn a blind eye to that as long as I don’t find their bodies in the closet or meet their spirits at 3AM.“ I attempt to joke, now second-guessing my eagerness to accept the offer.

Corpse bursts out laughing his ass off at my statement, getting me to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and wonder what I said was so funny - it was a poor attempt at a joke, it in no way deserves that sort of reaction, barely a chuckle in my opinion.

“You’re golden, Y/N, I swear.“ He says once he forces the laughter to subside, “I meant corpse infested as in Corpse Husband infested.“ He breaks out in another fit as my brain slowly starts connecting the dots.

Oooohh he’s asking me to go live with him

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a sec. Are you aware of what you’re offering me? I mean, we’ve never met IRL, you barely know me and....and for all you know I could be the serial killer in this situation!“ I have no idea why I’m pushing my luck, don’t ask. I just don’t want him to make a decision he’ll later regret, I guess. “Like, I could kill you in your sleep!“

“Would you?“ He asks confidently, silently stating he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, “Of course not! But...” He cuts me off.

“Great, the offer stands on my end. I’m not a noisy nor nosey roommate so I suggest you start packing. If you choose to live in that hell-hole over living with me, I’m sorry but I’ll be hella offended, just so you know.“

Corpse sounds like he’s about to hang up on me, a decision already made, so I hurry to stop him. “Wait! What about rent?”

“Fuck the rent, pack your bags.“ And just like that, despite my efforts, he hangs up on me.

Well...this is a chance of a lifetime that I know refusing would lead me to not only remain stuck here but also put me in the hugest loser bin. There’s also the fear of being Corpse’s burden which I’ll try my best not to be - I mean, I’m a super independent person and Lord knows that if this offer came any other time or from any other person, I would’ve declined asap, no discussion.

But streaming

But sleeping properly

But having a normal life again

Yeah those are most certainly the reasons I get up and go into the closet in search on my emptied suitcase. Time to fill it up again, I guess. This time with a smile on my face and excitement fueling each and every movement of mine.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[robinofinashiro]

- request by anonymous: “Hey queen, just saw your Bakugo yandere alphabet, and was wondering if you could do either inosuke or tanjiro for the yandere alphabet?“

- requests status: open 

- pairings: yandere inosuke hashibira, tanjirou kamado x fem! reader

Tanjirou Kamado: 

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get? 

you got the most affectionate out of the bunch!! congrats! Tanjirou is the most delusional out of the bunch and that shows right away. he’ll constantly be holding your had, kissing you, telling you how important you are to him, literally coddling you 25/8.

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? 

he won’t get as messy as Inosuke but he will decapitate someone if he has too. he’ll do it without leaving a trail and honestly, Tanjirou killing someone and not leaving a trace of their death is eery. he’s oddly good at doing that. 

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

he’d coddle them and tell them that everything is okay. they have nothing to worry about. he wouldn’t mock them because he thinks that’s too much for their darling to handle. he’d almost treat them as if they were a child and he doesn’t do it on purpose. 

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

non-con. that is a HUGE one with Tanjirou. he wants kids. a fuck ton of them too. more than Inosuke. he grew up with several siblings and seeing how much he loved all his siblings, he wants to see that with his kids so as soon as he thinks the time is right, he’ll take you, regardless if you want to or not. 

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

oh, he’s laying it on THICK. he’d tell his darling everything that has happened to him and be way too vulnerable for his own liking. he doesn’t mean to do it on purpose but now that you’re married, he figures that letting you know what he’s been through is only right. 

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

he’d get so so upset. he doesn’t understand why you’re doing it. he’s trying to keep you safe and you trying to run away or fighting back his advances is only souring the mood. he’d try to get you to understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. 

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

look above. this isn’t a game to him. he truly thinks that you’re in love with him. if he saw you trying to leave, he’d pull you back and explain everything he’s doing to do is to keep you safe and pure. he doesn’t get too upset. he just thinks you don’t understand yet. 

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

honestly, probably not being able to get pregnant. say you aren’t getting pregnant as fast as he would like you too, he’d somehow blame himself and wallow in self pity before taking you. like I said, non-con is a definite thing and he will have sex with you as much as possible until you wind up pregnant. 

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

the way he lived before his family passed. he wants to see his kids running around, playing and having fun, while you cook or bake. he wants to see you welcoming him home from work with a kiss and maybe a snack. he just wants to relive what he once had. 

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

kind of but not really. he does get jealous but only if he sees that someone is staring at you for too long. maybe he took you out on a walk and you happen to be pregnant, seeing as though your chest is getting bigger, some of your curves are clearly more prominent, he’ll whip his haori out and put it on you. he doesn’t care if it doesn’t fit you. you will wear it. 

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

like you’re the only person on earth. you’re his everything. the only one that matters and you will see that in his actions. if he isn’t holding you, he’s kissing you. if he isn’t kissing you, he’s cuddling you. Tanjirou is all about physical affection.

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

doing the absolute most. he’ll ask you out on a date everyday if he can. he’ll buy you gifts. make you food or a pastry. literally doing everything he can so you can fall for him. the courting scene happens for a while and if you happen to fall for him, good! if you don’t, that’s when the kidnapping situation comes into play. 

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

nope. everyone knows Tanjirou is soft and can be very affectionate. look at the way he treats Nezuko. before you, that was his life. she was the last living member of the Kamado lineage so he adored her. imagine that but x100? he’s showing you tf off. ( i meant it as a family type of love for his relationship with Nezuko. don’t make it weird, lmao.)

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

he wouldn’t rely on physical punishment. like I said before, he might see you almost as if you’re physically incapable of doing anything on your own so he’d try to rationalize what you did to make him upset. if he has to get physical, he’d punish you while telling you that he loves you. 

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

honestly, for what it is, he gives you a lot of rights. he’d let you go outside, as long as you’re with him, he allows you to be around Nezuko, you have books available. you’re pretty free to do as much as you please, as long as he allows you to do it beforehand. 

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

quite patient. I mean he had several siblings growing up, he had Inosuke and Zenitsu as friends, some of the pillars weren’t very patient themselves so he has a lot of patience to deal with the shit that you do. but once the patience breaks, you better find a hiding spot and quick. 

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

oh no, you dying, escaping, or whatever else is the last straw for him. he will literally die looking for you if you successfully leave but say you die for whatever reason, he’ll go with you. he’s been through enough and he can’t go through it alone again. he just can’t. 

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

nope. he has his reasons and his reasons don’t waver easily. you would have to be begging on your hands and knees in order to get him to crack and even then he won’t. the only way I could see him feeling guilty is if Nezuko for some reason calls him out on it and then he might but don’t bank on that either. 

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

his past like most people but his past is almost understandable. his entire family got killed and his last living relative is his sister so him finding love and trying to rebuild the past he once had is 100% the reason why he snapped. Tanjirou just wants things to go back to normal. 

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

he’d get so upset. mostly because he doesn’t realize why you’re upset. obviously he does know why you’re mad but he doesn’t fully understand why you are. he’d try to coax you out of your shell and make you talk to him but other than that, Tanjirou probably cry and comfort you until you calmed down. 

U -Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

physical punishment but that’s about it. like I said before, Tanjirou physically putting his hands on you as a form of punishment as to be his last resort. he’d do a million different forms of punishment that doesn’t have to result in physically hurting you.

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

honestly, I want to say his past but even that won’t help you. there isn’t much you can exploit that would have him allowing you to go back to the world. the walls he built because of his past does come with it’s upsides and that is that he isn’t as vulnerable as you might think he is. 

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

it takes a lot for him to hurt you. you probably have to be physically hurting him in order for him to hurt you back. he’d rather talk it out and see why you’re so upset with him rather than dealing with your distraught state with physical punishment. 

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he’d do everything in his power to try and get you to love him. like stated, he’d basically become putty and worship the ground you walk on. Tanjirou is willing to simp over you and he doesn’t see a problem in that. you’re his for life and he sees that the minute he lays his eyes on you. 

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

he’d snap only if he sees that you aren’t falling for him. if he senses that someone is stealing you away from him or you’re just not falling, then he’d snap. if he sees that you’re coming to him willingly then he just allows fate to do its thing. 

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

he does it but not on purpose. he’d accidentally break you. because of the way he treats you, almost as if you’re this fragile doll, he’d mentally break you and suddenly, you’re very dependent on him. again, he doesn’t mean to make you that way.

Inosuke Hashibira: 

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

This is one of Inosuke’s downfalls. Being that he grew up in the wild and he only knows what knows about love because boars, his mindset is yandere but that was accidental. He saw animals have mates and mark them as his for life so when he saw you, he IMMEDIATELY claimed you. It was intense af. 

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

extremely messy. he doesn’t care if he has to kill someone in cold blood. he will do it without hesitation and will do it without taking a second look at the person. if he’s in the position to do so, he’ll let the person bleed out and have them die a slow death. 

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

he’d unintentionally mock them. he wouldn’t realize that he’s upsetting his darling but his constant reminding that he’s their darling for life and he has no way of getting out of his grasp is the way he mocks them. i’m telling you, a lot of Inosuke’s obliviousness is the reason why he’s yandere in the first place.

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

not much. he might force them to cuddle or tell them that he has to cook for them because he expects food when he gets back home but other than that, he might not be so forceful about much. 

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

poor Inosuke, he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions well. he accidentally lays all his heart to his darling because he sees that his darling is his and with that comes telling each other their deepest most darkest secrets. 

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

he’d use full Inosuke force. he might even knock them out if they’re resisting way too much. strength is very much on Inosuke’s side and if that’s the only way he could get his darling to listen to him, he’ll purposely beat them or knock em out.

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

he likes the game of cat and mouse. he sees you trying to escape as a to keep his animalistic instincts in tact and would even indulge them in the thought that they ‘got’ away, however; he’ll easily punish them because of it. 

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

probably trying to kill themselves and him catching them in the act. only because Inosuke sees this as a failure on his end. your HIS mate. you can’t just try to kill your because that means he’s done something wrong and Inosuke never does anything wrong. 

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

having a MILLION KIDS. like Tanjiro, he wants to see his kids running around their shared house with his hair and your eyes/nose. marriage isn’t exactly a necessity for him, however; having kids and their darling baring them is something they HAVE to do. 

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

I mean, in the case that you do get to leave, he gets jealous really easy. he’s the kind of yandere that will not allow his darling to leave his house. you will not step outside because you could scream and catch someones attention. he will leave a window cracked but more likely than not, you will not leave your home so he has no reason to get jealous.

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

he’ll hold their hand, kiss them if he wants, basically anything that he wants to do with you, he will. i mean, his sex drive is low until he’s craving kids so sex isn’t really a force thing. his kisses are mediocre and kind of rough but that’s something you have to deal with. 

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

he would claim them as his in a animalistic sense. leave a mark on them for the most part. courting, don’t know her. he’d one day kidnap you and tell you that you’re his for the rest of his life and you have to deal with it so he’ll mark a part of your body with his entire name or his initial.

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

not really. Inosuke is kind of a one sided person so he acts the same way he would with his friends with you. I guess he could be a bit more soft or loving but don’t bank on that. he doesn’t do it intentionally and he’s trying his best!!

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

like mentioned before, very harsh. he would beat them, break their arms, basically leave them 100% percent dependent on him. he wouldn’t stray towards psychological punishment, only because he wouldn’t know how but in the sense of physical punishment, they’re very harsh and there really isn’t something known as soft or light punishments. 

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

EVERYTHING. YOU HAVE NOTHING. GOOD DAY SIR. the only thing you could have is books but if he sees that the books are a distraction for you and making you pay less attention to him,  you will get that taken away too. Inosuke wants your attention on him 25/8 so no rights for you!

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

not patient in the slightest. their darling is on edge all the time because if they sense that Inosuke is losing his patience or on his last nerve, they’ll stop whatever it is that their doing to pay attention to the boar headed boy. it’s common that his darling gets punished maybe at least one every other day because of Inosuke’s lack of patience. 

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

one of the ones that I could see getting another darling. when I say that he mates for life, that means that as long as you live, you’ll be stuck with him but if you happen to die or successfully escape and he can’t find you, he’ll probably find another darling to trap and keep for himself. 

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

you think Inosuke cares? sweetheart, baby, he grew up in the mountains. this is known actions for animals. he sees you as someone who constantly needs his help and he’s the only one who can help you so he doesn’t know the guilty feeling. that being said, letting you go, forget about it. 

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

100% him growing up in the wild. his animalistic tendencies, his mental mindset, his alpha attitude all contribute to that. all he knows his growing up in the wild and that really brought him to being yandere. like I said, him being yandere wasn’t by choice or by sudden realization. he literally had this territorial mindset growing up.

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

he won’t bother to try and console only because he doesn’t know how. he’ll 100% be the person who would tell his darling to suck it up and stop crying before they get punished for getting on his last nerve.

U -Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

I mean, he isn’t as affection as others. most yanderes are the affection type but you maybe get soft Inosuke maybe once or twice a week. three times if he’s feeling extra soft but other than that, he’s mostly possessive and territorial.

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

there is none. whatever weaknesses he has, he makes sure to never show them to you. he might show you his vulnerable side but his weaknesses and the things he has soft spots for will not be shown. he needs to keep you in place and he knows that showing off things that make him seem weak is a big no no.

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

yes. 100%. he uses his strength as a way for punishment, impressing you, etc. his strength will be shown by the way he hurts you and uses it as a lesson to teach you to never do whatever it is you did to upset him. he doesn’t really care or mind seeing you broken because that’s just how he is. 

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

I mean, you don’t have a choice, you’re going to be with him whether you like it or not so he doesn’t even worry about having to win you over. the worshipping comes after him kidnapping you and even that’s to a minimum so worshipping or trying to win you over is not a thing. 

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

nope, literally a few days. he doesn’t even give you a week before he snaps and takes you. when I say you’re his and he doesn’t understand the concept of courting/dating, I’m seriously. he seriously takes the lessons he learned in the mountains and applies them to you.

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

mentally and physically, yes. he won’t mentally break them as badly as other slayers or pillars would but your physical breaks are more than enough to keep you in line. again, his force and physical stature is more than enough to scare you and break you. 

[fermataheart]

dead art | silas & metzli

TIMING: Current. LOCATION: Metzli’s gallery. PARTIES: @fermataheart​ & @deathisanartmetzli​ SUMMARY: A little misunderstanding leads to a surprisingly positive outcome. CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death (mentions). 

It took hours to get the smell of death off of them last night. Three showers later and some perfume, and Metzli felt like they finally got it off. All they had wanted to do last night was unwind, but a stranger just had to bump into them. He just had to pull out the threatening growls from a spot reserved for their need to feel a little pain and distract themselves from their thoughts. Why they couldn’t find a better outlet, Metzli never bothered to try to find out. They were willing to just walk past, to ignore that deeply ingrained need to attack. But the stranger would not allow for that.

The two walked away after being evenly matched, or rather, because Metzli used their evasive tactics to just wear him out. Needless to say, they were a little sore as they made their rounds around the gallery. Things were finally back to normal, and patrons had long forgotten the recent show Eilidh and them gave everyone. The gallery’s success was of great importance to Metzli, and it made them feel good to see people enjoying their time surrounded by art they hand picked.

With a delighted sigh, Metzli walked towards the front as a familiar smell began to permeate through the door. Their smile turned into a frown immediately. A distasteful, and nauseating smell of death. An over-decayed smell of death. Similar to Macleod’s but much stronger. “What are you doing here?” They asked, gritting their teeth and marching towards Silas.

---

Memory issues, that was it. That had to be it. Maybe he wasn’t eating enough, going too long between meals, relying on squirrels and raccoons to sustain him… maybe it fucked with his memory. There was no other reason he should be losing time, but he was. Hours of his days and nights, just… gone. It was either memory issues, or the worst dissociation he’d ever experienced. And it had happened again last night—one minute he was laying in bed, waiting to fall asleep, and the next? Stumbling back into his apartment, confused. His clothes seemed damaged, like he’d gotten into a fight, but of course there wasn’t a mark on his body to prove it.

Ignoring it, Silas tried to squeak in a few hours of rest before the next evening rolled around and it was time for him to try out this painting thing. His stomach protested its emptiness, forcing him to go out and forage for some roadkill to sate his appetite, if only for a few hours. Gods, there had to be a better way to go about this.

Getting cleaned up as best he could in a nearby stream and making sure none of his dark clothing was stained with the carcass’ fluids, Silas hoofed it back into town and over to the gallery.

The less-than-welcome reception surprised him, and his thick brows furrowed in response. “Excuse me?” he grumbled, taken aback. “You’re Metzli, right? Came for the painting class you promised… for the writer’s block.” Confusion was evident on his face as he gave them a once-over, dark eyes narrowing. “Sorry do I—do I know you from somewhere?”

---

Metzli’s eye twitched at Silas’ apparent confusion. He was definitely the guy who incited the fight they had. For now though, they were going to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You started a fight with me. Last night. On Amity.” A layer of annoyance and disdain laced their tone and they stepped closer. “Do you not remember any of that? It was definitely you. I would remember those eyebrows anywhere.” A small dig, but a dig nonetheless.

Silence fell between the two and a hand gripped onto Silas’ hand to drag him into their office. Metzli wanted privacy, especially if there was something supernatural going on. Silas could have general memory loss, or be possessed, or maybe he was feral, or maybe he had a twin. Though, there was no way the scents would match exactly. Regardless, they wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“Okay,” Metzli began, sitting on their desk and crossing their arms, “Let’s go through this. It was you, but you don’t remember. That much is obvious given your genuine confusion. I think you’d remember hitting me with your own fucking arm and laughing hysterically.” Red eyes met with Silas’ and then they quickly faded back to black. Even with their composure intact, they were ready to pounce at any given moment.

---

“A fight?” Silas parroted them, eyes widening. “I don’t—what are you talking about?” The gentle tease drew a scoff from him, but anger was hardly his reaction. He was too damn confused to be angry, in all truthfulness.

Aforementioned brows rose at the intrusion of his personal space, but he didn’t put up much of a fight as they dragged him out of the entryway. “What the fuck,” he breathed to himself, crossing his arms over his chest once they were alone and Metzli had relinquished their grip on him, mirroring their defensive stance.

“My—my arm?” the zombie bleated in disbelief, immediately looking down at his limbs as if they would have suddenly sprouted little legs and taken off on their own. They were still both present, of course, and functioning as well as they ever had. He glanced back up just in time to catch the red glint in their eyes, and felt his stomach drop. Fuck.

“Look, uh… I don’t know, I think you got the wrong guy,” he backpedaled, rubbing his hands up and down his own arms. It was weird hearing someone tell you you’d done something you couldn’t remember—even worse when they told you you’d been dismembered doing it. “All arms are present n’ accounted for, so… sorry somebody jumped you, but I don’t see how it coulda been me…”

---

Eyes narrowed, annoyed and displeased. “Obviously you’re a zombie. I’m not an idiot. Your limbs heal fast.” Sucking their teeth, Metzli stood erect and paced around their desk to reach a drawer with a few bottles of wine. Today felt like a generous one. As they took two glasses out and poured, they raised their brows and spoke. “Listen, I believe you when you say you don’t know what I’m talking about. This place is fucking weird, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone hijacked your body or if you were sleep walking. But it was you. I can smell you.” A glass was pushed forward to Silas, a gesture of good will.

The wine was dry, and a special blend that they had purchased from a special bar, but given Silas’ condition, they didn’t think it’d be an issue. Dulled taste was something that the two of them shared, but the blood would add something to it. “Hope you don’t mind some blood in it. It just actually tastes like something if there’s a little in it.” The first sip settled most of the nerves from seeing someone Metzli suspected to be an enemy, and the next few did well to quell the rest. “Do you run into this issue often at all? Or is this a first?”

---

Obviously you’re a zombie. Silas’ spine stiffened, his posture becoming rigid as he suddenly felt overly-exposed. It wasn’t a fact he went around telling just everyone, and frankly, it was something he himself was still coming to terms with. The idea that this perfect stranger could—no, he supposed they weren’t a perfect stranger, not anymore. Not since he’d apparently attacked them in the middle of the night.

The thought of it made the knot in his stomach grow tighter, and he stared blankly at the glass as it was pushed toward him. “You can… smell me?” Fucking hell, did he stink? He hadn’t noticed, and no one else he’d been in close proximity with that day had made any indication… what the—

“Never mind, don't answer that. I’m… eugh,” Silas groaned, reaching for the glass with a thankful nod. Looking down at it, his ears pricked at the mention of blood. “Who’s blood?” he asked, though the question wasn’t delivered in a way that seemed accusatory, just curious.

“Often? No, I don’t think so.” There was a beat of silence. “Well, maybe. M’not sure. Lately, I guess… lately I’ve been losin’ time. Didn’t think much of it.” Lifting the glass to his lips, the zombie took a long sip, relishing the way it actually managed to tickle his taste buds. “Figured… it was a diet thing.” Giving a half-hearted shrug, he let his gaze flick back to meet Metzli’s. “Sorry about—I, ah… didn’t know I had it in me.”

---

Metzli smiled and then laughed heartily, “I have a very keen sense of smell. Comes with the bite.” A single brow quirked upwards and their smile didn’t waver. “Don’t know whose blood it is, but the barkeep let me know that it was all donated willingly. That was enough for me.” Their shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, a little dismissive of the question. Knowing that much about how the blood was sourced was good enough for them. It had to be. Being ethical about where their source of sustenance came from was becoming a real burden. But they supposed if they were going to be good, it was worth a shot.

“Losing time? Sounds like a run of the mill possession. Piss off any ghosts lately, Sylvain?” Metzli inquired, more out of curiosity than concern. Silas was a stranger, but Metzli knew Sylvain from last night. “Someone could be taking your body for a joyride and you don’t even know it. If you can figure that out, you can generally ward the ghost off and be done with it.”

---

Possession? Syl— “What?” The reaction was unguarded, unfiltered, and absolutely wracked with shock. Silas couldn’t even immediately respond, gawking at Metzli, dumbfounded, as they went on to explain what could be done about it.

“Did you just… call me Sylvain?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the wine glass clutched tightly in his hands, pale knuckles somehow turning an even brighter shade of white. His eyes darted to the side, staring at something that was just behind his host. Breaths came quick and shallow while a ringing started up in his ears—he’d never felt this kind of fear when seeing the ghost of his sibling before, but now… The spectre was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Silas was unsure if he’d only imagined it.

“Fuck.” While trying to steady his panic, the zombie downed a large portion of the wine Metzli had so kindly offered, glancing around the room like he was expecting a boogeyman to jump out at any second. “My brother. My twin, I—we, uh… it’s a long story.” Another gulp of wine. “He’s been dead for a long time. Since we were kids.” Why would he…?

---

Brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding why the name would throw him off so much. “Yeah, Sylvain. That’s the name you gave me last night.” Metzli answered, still not quite catching on until he began to explain. It was their turn to be shocked, mouth agape and unable to say anything for a few moments while they let their thoughts settle. “Looks like your brother has been having a little fun at your expense. I’d probably start sleeping with a salt ring around ya.” Voice was clearly joking, not registering the sensitivity the topic held.

“What’s your actual name then?” Metzli asked as they poured more wine into Silas’ glass and theirs too. Legs crossed and they adjusted their suit as inner turmoil painted itself on their companion. “He probably just wants to live a little.”

---

“He can’t do that, he can’t just…” Heaving a sigh, Silas pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m Silas. And whatever happened last night was definitely not…” His hand fell from his face, eyelids fluttering open as he stared off into the middle distance. His voice was low and soft, laced with disbelief. “Not like Sylvain.”

A few more beats, and he glanced down at the glass in his hand, recently refilled. His gaze was hard and purposeful, as if he’d find all his answers in the deep red liquid. “He’s been around since it happened. I could always feel him. Didn’t actually see him til’ I got turned, ah’course. N’ he ain’t like any other ghost I’ve ever interacted with, he’s… quiet. Real quiet. Just stares at me, watches me, all hours of the day and night. Catch ‘im sometimes in the reflections of windows n’ puddles in the road, lookin’ at me… don’t know what he wants.”

You do now, his thoughts interjected. “Might be mad about what happened…” Of course he’s mad. It was your fault.

Forcing himself to look at Metzli again, Silas let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “Shit, sorry. This is a… lot. Mm, yeah—a lot. Thanks, uh, for the drink.” Lifting the glass in their direction, the zombie couldn’t hide the distant look of worry in his eyes, though he appeared to be trying to force his way past it. “Anyway, um… how badly did you kick my ass last night? M’curious.”

---

Metzli was familiar with that distant look, seeing it many times on themselves and others. The severity of the situation finally reached them, and made them suck their teeth in discomfort. “Uh, sorry about that...man.” Words were slow and awkward, unsure of how to go about it. Though they didn’t particularly feel bad, they knew how to logically see the circumstances for what they were: fucking depressing.

“You don’t have to go into any details. That’s your business,” Metzli said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t continue. That would just make everything feel even more cumbersome. “Didn’t do much ass kicking if I’m being honest.” A smile curled onto their lips and a chuckle tickled their throat. “I pretty much just tried to wear you out enough to just walk away. I was pretty drunk too.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by Janet, their employee, opening it and telling them that the final patron left. With a nod, they thanked her and waved her away. “Well Silas, the painting class should start soon. Think the class could help get your mind off things? Maybe even get you out of that writer’s block.”

---

Grateful that they didn’t press for more information, Silas allowed a small, amused smile to play at his lips. “Explains why I was so fucking exhausted when I.. came to back at home.” Fuck all of that. There had to be a way to get Sylvain to just leave him alone, once and for all. The presence of his twin had lost all its comfort years ago.

Looking between the two, Silas took another large gulp of the wine, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, yeah,” he said once he was able, “worth a shot, anyway.” Hell, it sounded like he might have plenty to write about after all… like the experience of being fucking possessed, for one. If only he could remember it.

---

“Follow me. You can bring your glass too.” Metzli beckoned him with a wave and walked out of their office. The painting room was only a few paces away and already seemed to have a few of the frequent customers Metzli saw on a weekly basis. Their scents were registered in their mind and they smiled. “Hopefully the class does you some good. And sorry you didn’t get a chance to view the rest of the gallery. That was my bad.” Words were spoken away from Silas, arms crossed behind them. Upon reaching the room, a finger pointed towards a rack of smocks. “Grab a smock from there and put it over your clothes. Class will start soon.”

Friendly faces smiled and waved as the two creatures walked in, greeted in return with a smile full of charm. “Hey Tim, hey Lorraine.” They waved and gestured toward Silas. “This is Silas. He’s trying it out today. Make sure to give him a few pointers.” A playful wink floated its way to Silas when they turned and they chuckled. Demeanor completely changed to cater towards the teaching position they were now in.

Removing their suit jacket, they went to the front of the room and put on a red smock to cover the rest of their suit. Canvases were all up, including theirs and the clock ticked its hand on the 7, indicating class should begin. “All right painters, let’s get started. Today is a novice class, so we will be painting something relatively simple, but fun.” The painting to their right was of a landscape during the night, full of trees and stars, even a few shooting in the sky.

---

“Oh, no, don’t worry ‘bout it—just means I can come back again soon to give it a proper look.” Wandering after Metzli, Silas was impressed by the shift in their demeanor. They sure were professional, if nothing else. Sipping awkwardly at the wine still in his hand, he used the other to throw a small wave back at the strangers, recognizing one of them from a coffee shop they’d both been in a few weeks back. When the introduction was made and attention shifted fully to him, he bit his lower lip and forced a smile, glancing down at his boots. He wasn’t normally this shy, but something was seriously throwing him off tonight. “Oh yeah, I’m real garbage at it—y’all are gonna have to carry me,” he warned playfully, managing to steal a glance at the strangers before letting his attention fall back on the gallery owner.

Something told Silas that he wouldn’t mind coming back here at all. Metzli seemed like a good sort.

Setting down his glass by a blank, unclaimed canvas, the zombie went to fetch a smock and loop it over his neck, watching how the others prepared for the evening’s activity and mimicking them. And, very much as expected, his skill was lacking. His peers would occasionally lean over to give him a pointer when they heard him mutter under his breath about how the paint wasn’t cooperating, still encouraging him despite the preschooler level of talent that was displayed on the canvas in front of him, but… he was enjoying it. If nothing else, it had removed the thought of his brother from his mind entirely, and the escape from anxiety was welcome. At some point, he pulled his long hair back into a messy bun, succeeding in ensuring he’d need a shower when he got home as the blue paint on his fingers tinted his dark hair.

As Metzli made their rounds, Silas gave them a sheepish grin as they approached to see his progress. “Painting only a mother could love,” he joked at his own expense, giving them a shrug. “Still, though… I think it’s doin’ the trick. Thanks again, for the suggestion, and—” He looked down at the now-emptied glass of wine, brows raised, “you’re gonna have to tell me where you got that, so I can get some of my own.”

---

With every brush stroke, the rest of the painters followed and listened to instruction carefully. Teaching wasn’t something that Metzli saw themselves doing, but there was a feeling of accomplishment when there was at least one student that did well. Tonight was not one of those nights though, and all the students were very amateur or…Silas. But given the evening he was having, they thought it best to be gentle. “Nonsense, Silas. We all start…” Metzli gestured to the painting, “…somewhere.”

A chuckle rang out and Metzli patted Silas on the shoulder. “I’ll give you the other bottle I have in my office. A little gift on me and an incentive to come back. I like you, so maybe we can be friends.”

Making one last round around the room, they walked to the front once more and finished the class with the final brush strokes on the canvas. Everyone presented their paintings, and complimented one another before packing up and shuffling out of the room, leaving the undead alone. “So what did you think? You gonna come every week?”

---

Releasing a breathy chuckle, Silas supposed that was a fair enough deal—a new friend in exchange for a bottle of wine. Graciously accepting the encouraging words of his peers before they all emptied out of the gallery, the zombie gave Metzli a sidelong glance before breaking out into his own laugh. “Well shit, I think I have to, now. I get the feeling Lorraine would hunt me down and give me an earful for giving up after the first night.” His eyes squinted in a grin as his chin tilted down toward the floor, hands bracing against his hips in a thoughtful pose.

“But yeah, I don’t see why I shouldn’t—it was fun, even though I’m shit at it.” He was compelled to thank them again, but it would have been too many times in one evening, so he bit his tongue instead. “Plus… you’re not so bad,” he teased, nose wrinkling. “Oh! But, uh… if you ever wanna see me doin’ somethin’ a little more in my wheelhouse, I play at Del’s most Friday nights ‘round ten. Sometimes we got the whole band, sometimes it’s just me, but.. yeah. Dunno how ya feel ‘bout gothic folk, but if you’ve never given it a listen, y’should stop in some time after class.”

---

“Gothic folk? Sounds like fun. I’ll visit some time and check it out. I gather there’ll be fiddle and everything?” Metzli loved fiddle as much as they loved classical violin. Stringed instruments held a special place. “Maybe we could even play a tune or two together. I actually play guitar. Mostly Mexican acoustic. I like to stay close to my heritage.” They smiled and patted Silas’ shoulder to lead him out of the room and back towards their office.

Grabbing the bottle, they turned and spoke with a more serious tone, “On a less lighter note, I would seriously consider sleeping with a salt circle around your room or even just your bed. At least until you figure out what the hell to do.” Metzli shrugged and handed the bottle over to Silas. “At least you made a fantastic friend and even got a free painting class though. Next one though, you’re totally paying. Paint ain’t cheap.” The tone shifted, just as they had planned. Things had been serious too often lately for them, and it would be nice to not have to deal with much more of it.

“Did we cure your writer’s block at all?”

---

Brightening like a kid who’d just been asked what his favorite kind of dinosaur was, Silas nodded energetically. “Hell yeah there’ll be fiddle, that’s my specialty.” Hearing that Metzli was a fellow acoustic enthusiast, his delight only grew. “Really? That’d be dope! M’always keen for a jam session. Get that though—stickin’ to your roots. My whole family is from down in the Louisiana bayous. Spent many a summer there with ‘em… definitely a significant influence on the kind of sound I make. Dixieland, that’s what I grew up hearin’.”

Following after them as the pair re-entered the office, Silas held out a hand to accept the bottle, his own boyish grin fading as the topic shifted. “Yeah…” the young man sighed, “yeah… you’re probably right. I’ll pick up some Morton’s on the way home.” The grin returned in a flash, softer and lopsided, but still a far cry from the fear he’d felt previously. A laugh was quick to follow, thumbs brushing over the label of the wine bottle as he offered Metzli a shrug. “You know what? I think we did.” Giving them a resolute nod, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Body-snatching ghost twin… that’s got some fuckin’ songs buried in it, at the least. Sheesh.” A comfortable silence passed between them for a beat before Silas puffed out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well… shouldn’t keep you any longer. Thanks, uh… yeah.” Too much. Grinning apologetically, the zombie held out a hand to shake. “Gotta get home and take a three hour shower, since apparently I stink,” came an afterthought of a quip, married with a chuckle. “Good meeting you, Metzli. See you around, yeah?”

---

Metzli was really enjoying the energy that Silas emanated. “Looking forward to hearing your sound and maybe even playing something together.” They smiled, matching the same spark of their counterpart. Even with the overwhelming news of his long dead brother possessing him, Silas was undeterred. At least, that’s what he presented externally. Metzli knew all too well what it was like to sew together the pieces of a torn facade. A performance, a dance they understood after decades of being on that stage.

“Glad to be of assistance. Hasta luego, carnal.” Metzli gave a friendly wave, watching their zombie friend walk away with a renewed spirit. Today, they made a choice to make a new friend. Every day it seemed like they added someone new, further rooting themselves to White Crest. Rooting themselves to the first place they could ever call home.

[nobodyfamousposts]

What if scenario after Lila is exposed but the parents of Marinette’s classmates being so disappointed in their children when they find out about the systematic isolation based on a bunch of lies that nobody bothered to double check. Alya’s family asking if she was sure she got her facts straight on her assignments for days to come, Max’s parents having him wear goggles to protect his eyes from any stray napkins, things to show their children how wrong they were to hurt someone without reason.

I just don’t see that.

I like the salt and spite and seeing the class getting a kick to the rear when necessary just as much as anybody, but these are their parents. And they are adults. So considering that we barely see any of them, I am going to assume that they are actually good parents who care about their kids as most parents do.

As such, I don’t think they’d be that petty.

Call their kids out on bullying, yes. Talk to them about not taking everything they’re told by someone as gospel, definitely. Try to urge them away from what they see as bad influences, certainly. But the parents would have to be downright jerks to talk to their kids like that instead of actually just TALKING to their kids.

Let’s instead turn this around and show what they have to be seeing. I’m going to go with Alya’s parents since she’s the one in the middle of this. Acting before the whole “lies being exposed” bit, because I think good parents would actually catch on to that sort of thing sooner and act on it.

They know their daughter’s interests. They know how much Ladybug and the Ladyblog means to her. They know how she can get about things she genuinely cares about. And they would listen to her when she tells them about things going on at school.

So when Lila first appears and Alya regales them with the claims Lila has been making, the two send a look at each other, figuring out pretty quickly that the girl is likely embellishing things. But it seems harmless and Alya appears really excited so they stay quiet at first. After all, they were teenagers once, too. They figure that the excitement will die down, the kids won’t take it too seriously, and the new girl will just settle into the class without much issue.

Then they hear about the interview Alya did of Lila for her blog. Now, they’re a little worried, because this could harm Alya’s reputation and her blog. The new girl came from another country and probably doesn’t know about the frequent akuma attacks or just how valued the Ladyblog is—both to Alya and the community that relies on it for accurate information. They can’t just TELL Alya that Lila is lying though since they don’t know the girl, so instead they subtly suggest that Alya may want to look up other sources to back the story before posting it. But Alya is a teenager and one who is confident to the point of being brash and acting without thinking things through. So Alya brushes them off as being overly worried, because in her mind, the question of whether Lila might be lying to her for any reason isn’t even considered. Why would she lie about being friends with Ladybug or all the other things she’s done? What benefit would there be to it?

So Alya leaves the interview and her parents can’t exactly stop her. They also figure that she’s young and the Ladyblog may just be the first trial run of her attempts at journalism, so she needs to figure these things out for herself.

There’s no point in continuing to press though because Lila disappears shortly after, not that they know why. So they shrug it off as a one-time thing and figure the interview isn’t major enough to warrant backlash and there’s nothing to worry about.

Months pass, fairly peacefully. There’s only some mention of the new girl calling the class during her trips, but nothing substantial for them to worry about. Up until Lila’s return.

Then Alya comes home and goes on about how Lila is back and how awesome it is. Her parents aren’t quite as pleased but figure it’s harmless—at least until Alya comments on Marientte taking issues with her return and how jealous and unreasonable she was in class over Lila being close to Adrien. They’re confused, because from their interactions, Marinette has generally been a sweet if somewhat eccentric girl. They could see her being jealous—anyone can be after all—but not willing to move to accommodate a new student with a disability? That doesn’t sound like her.

Well, Alya admits that the whole seating arrangement was changed because of Lila. With a bit of prodding from them, she confesses that it wasn’t even Marinette’s seat that Lila needed, and that everyone had chosen to switch seats around because of it.

This only makes them more confused. Why would Marinette be upset over the seats if she got to choose where she would sit?

This…actually makes Alya pause. And she somewhat guiltily notes that Marinette DIDN’T get to choose—that everyone else picked where they wanted to sit so she was left to the unchosen seat in the back. Alone.

They’re understandably displeased with this and calmly point out to Alya that doesn’t it make sense then that Marinette would be more upset about the fact that her seat was moved without her knowledge or permission and how she was the ONLY one in the class who DIDN’T get a say in where she got to sit?

Alya gives a little “yeah I guess, BUT…” and proceeds to explain what happened during lunch and how Marinette tried to claim Lila was a liar.

That goes in lines with what the parents first thought of her and makes sense to them. But Alya doesn’t get it because she likes Lila and her lying would make no sense. So when her parents point out that Marinette may have been right, Alya waves them off by saying that she had no proof other than her own word. Ignoring, of course, that Lila has no proof of anything either.

This comes to one of “those” points for her parents. They can either tell Alya she’s wrong and explain where she’s making a mistake—which might as well be a lecture, or they can be noncommittal and let Alya figure out her mistakes for herself in the hopes that she DOES at some point figure out said mistakes. They figure that in lecturing her, she’ll either blow them off or the lesson won’t stick. It’s one thing to have someone TELL you a lesson and another to actually learn it for yourself. Knowing how stubborn Alya is, they may just take it as her parents not liking Lila for whatever reason and become defensive. So as much as they want to tell Alya what they’re seeing, they instead keep it short and simple that maybe she should look into her facts and determine for herself who is telling the truth.

For Alya, she knows Marinette well enough to know that the girl is anxious, flakes out, and tends to jump to the worst possible conclusions for things. Lila on the other hand is awesome and amazing, and has no reason to make up stories to convince them. So Alya gives a laugh and says it’s not necessary because she already knows Lila wouldn’t lie to her.

Her parents glance to each other in uncertainty, but don’t prod further.

Imagine how things would continue from here. Alya is unknowingly in a toxic friendship that is slowly poisoning her and she can’t see it. Her parents see it and they worry, so they prod and ask, but Alya just waves them off. Slowly over time, she becomes more negative about Marinette until they can’t even be called friends anymore. Slowly over time, Lila’s “issues” grow and Alya is taking on more and more burdens because of it. And slowly over time, the tension and negativity starts to wear on her to the point where she is becoming overly stressed and it’s just downright unhealthy. The fact that she’s Rena Rouge and hiding this isn’t helping with matters, either.

She starts to push off her own responsibilities. Using Marinette or others to babysit her sisters without telling her parents beforehand so she can sneak away and spend time with Nino—which becomes less a matter of actual dating and more to simply get away and “de-stress”. Using people—particularly Marinette and then getting angry when those people either can’t or won’t be there in the way she wants. Even some behaviors that are downright bullying—to Marinette, sure, but more importantly (as far as Alya’s parents are concerned), to her sisters. And when her parents try to talk to her, she shrugs them off and blames others. Thanks to Lila, Marinette has been turned into a rather convenient scapegoat by this point. And the thing about scapegoating is that many people don’t even realize that they’re actually doing it or blaming someone unfairly. It’s just that there’s a situation, she was involved, and it’s so much easier to chalk it up to being due to her rather than address the problem—especially if she can’t be aware that there IS a real problem.

But her parents are.

A couple of months pass of this and finally things come to a head and they’re forced to put their foot down. Alya comes home one day from yet another overly stressful day at school, and when she enters the living room, both of her parents are there waiting for her.

“Alya, we need to talk.”

They tell her what they’re seeing. They tell her what she’s been doing. They tell her the effect she has been having on other people—them, her sisters, her friends. And they tell her what has been happening to her—how stressed and unhappy she’s been lately. Most of all, they tell her how concerned they are for her.

She tries to wave them off, but they’re not taking it this time. When they tell her some of the things they’ve been hearing from the school, she gets angry and makes accusations of Marinette telling them lies.

They point out that they haven’t seen Marinette in weeks since she last brought her over. And that is part of where they’re concerned—Alya hasn’t been bringing Marinette over anymore. Or even any of her other friends.

Alya has been isolating herself more. Hiding away in her room. Being increasingly snappish towards her sisters. Passing her twin siblings off to other people to look after so she can go on dates with Nino—which she never discussed with either of her parents beforehand and is an abuse of their trust in her.

She blows it off, thinking it’s just about her not looking after her sisters and that the lecture is unnecessary for something so minor. They point out to her quite calmly that it isn’t that she’s not looking after the twins, it’s that she’s telling them she will and then having someone else do it—and often someone that the parents don’t know, don’t trust, and did not give permission to do so. That’s dangerous. Not to mention it’s an abuse of their trust—meaning that Alya is lying to them.

THAT gets her attention.

“I don’t lie!”

“What would you call it then? You told us you would be here to do this and you weren’t. You told us we could count on you to watch over your little sisters and you didn’t. You handed off the responsibility to someone else and didn’t even tell us. We had to find out by walking in on one of your sitters trying to deal with the twins in the middle of a temper tantrum! If you wanted time to go on dates or were otherwise busy, why didn’t you at any point simply talk to us instead of doing it behind our backs?”

Alya really can’t respond to that.

“And then there’s your blog. We agreed to let you have it with the understanding that it wouldn’t interfere with your life or other responsibilities, but we find you’re running into akuma battles?”

“It’s just to get footage!”

“Alya, it’s UNSAFE.” Her father exclaimed.

“But Paris counts on me to get them information!”

“That does them little good if you’ve been vaporized in the process or turned into a french fry!”

“It was glitter.” Alya said with a pout. “And I’m the most factual source about Ladybug and akuma attacks!”

“No, sweetie. You really aren’t.” Her mother said with a sigh, much to Alya’s surprise.

They then proceed to explain to her just what she’s been putting on her blog. Theories of who Ladybug is that borders over the edge into pure conspiracy nonesense? The picture of Ladybug and Chat Noir kissing? Videos of interviews with Lila and her false claims?

“You’re posting things without consent or without any evidence backing them. How is any of that factual? Or even news?” Her mother asked. “You saw what happened to Nadja Chamack when she took her interview with the heroes too far. How is that any different?”

“It’s the sort of thing one would see in a tabloid, sweetie.” Her father put it more bluntly.

Alya glared, scandalized.

“And that’s not even getting into the ongoing issues with this Lila girl.” Her mother continued.

“Oh, now you’re going to harp on her, too?” Alya asked, annoyed.

“Alya, have you at any point checked into anything this girl has said?”

“Of course!“

“Really?” Her mother asked, incredulously. “So you talked to Ladybug about the dangers of a civilian claiming to be her best friend when she’s being targeted by a supervillain? Looked up any of the many interviews with Jagged Stone where he expressly mentioned never having a cat? Or a lawsuit against any airline for allowing a preteen to get past security and onto the runway?”

Alya gaped.

“We knew from the start that Lila’s stories were a bit too unbelievable to be entirely truth.” Her father explained. “But we said nothing because we thought that either you would realize that as well or her stories would taper off. But it’s been months now and neither of those things has happened. The only thing that HAS happened has been you following a trend that has been increasingly unhealthy and worrisome.”

“Alya, we are concerned for you.”

“I’m fine!” She insisted.

“You don’t hang out with your friends anymore.”

“That’s because Marinette is bullying Lila!”

“Saying something you don’t want to hear and pointing out flaws in a person’s story isn’t bullying, Alya. Ostracizing that person, intentionally leaving her out of things while letting her know you’re doing it, and only talking to her when you want her to do something for you IS.” Her father replied. “Especially when her parents are going out of their way to ask us what we know about the situation and are rather intently discussing the matter of whether they should allow their daughter to remain in what they are referring to as a ‘toxic place’ regardless of how much their daughter is trying to defend you.”

Alya blanched. “Wait—toxic? You mean the school?”

“This is about you. And unfortunately, I can’t say they are wrong. Your behavior lately has been getting out of hand. And it’s not just your treatment of Marinette. We’re also talking about the way you’ve been ignoring and snapping at your sisters. How you’ve been ignoring your homework. How you’ve been posting things online that have been increasingly scandalous or untruthful, which could hurt people and get you in legal trouble. Not to mention all the times you’ve been sneaking out with Nino after telling us you would be here. And while I’m sure this Lila girl isn’t the root cause of everything, she certainly seems to be a key component to a lot of it.”

“Lila is awesome though!”

“Awesome doesn’t mean healthy. Or safe. Or good. What has this girl done for you that has you so convinced that she’s such a wonderful person?”

“She gave me an interview for my blog! And she looked after the twins loads of times!”

“An interview that you can’t substantiate. And looking after your sisters at a time when YOU should have been and when you didn’t tell us she would be, which explains why the twins were that much more unruly and out of control for the past few weeks with ridiculous claims of how they’re going to get to meet princes and never have to go to bed.” The mother deadpanned.

“And I thought the Sapotis excuse was bad enough.” The father grumbled.

“The point is, Alya, that you’ve been doing a lot of things lately that have been unhealthy for you and rather uncaring of anyone else.”

“That’s not true! I’ve been helping Ladybug!”

“I don’t think putting yourself in danger to get footage or posting a picture she expressly told you she was unhappy with would count as ‘helping’.”

“I’ve been helping Lila!”

“But does she really need your help or is she letting you think she does because it benefits her?”

Alya frowned, growing uncertain. “S-she’s been having trouble with her homework.”

“But she still has time to take on babysitting duties for you?”

Alya continued, resolute. “I’ve been helping Marinette to try to get with Adrien!”

“You’ve been complaining frequently about how much of a pain it is that Marinette is crazy about that boy only to turn around and push her to try to confess to him when she’s clearly not ready. Then she fumbles because of it and you act even more annoyed and put upon as a result. How do you think that makes her feel?” Her mother asked.

“If it’s that much of an annoyance for you, why not just let her move on from him? You said she agreed to help him on a date with another girl at the skate rink that one time, right? It sounds like she was trying to move forward. Why didn’t you encourage her if it would have resolved that issue and cause everyone less grief?” Her father asked.

“He’s her crush!”

“And crushes don’t always last.” Her mother replied. “Sometimes being a wing-woman means helping the person to let go of an attraction.”

“It also means knowing when to butt out.” Her father added, bluntly. “You’ve complained a multitude of times about how much of a pain her crush is. So did you ever stop to consider how much you’ve been contributing to it and keeping it going?”

“But she gets so jealous!”

“That would be all the more reason to let her move on when she’s trying to.” Her mother told her. “And the fact that she does get upset about something doesn’t mean you should invalidate her feelings as jealousy. She’s a teenage girl, just like you. Her feelings are complex and confusing, even to her. Instead of writing her off as jealous whenever she was upset about something, what would you have learned if you had listened to her tell you what she was feeling rather than assume?”

“But she was jealous!” she insisted. “Why else would she keep accusing Lila of making things up?”

“Maybe because Lila is.” Otis retorted.

“That’s not true!” Alya exclaimed. “She wouldn’t lie to me!”

Otis had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Based on what? From the moment you met the girl she was spinning tales as easily as spinning yarn. And you clearly never checked on any of her claims or you would have known by now.”

“That’s because I do know!”

“Did you ask Ladybug about it?” Her father asked.

“Well, no. But I’ve talked to her since then and she never said anything!���

“Not saying it isn’t true isn’t proof that it is. What about Jagged Stone?” He continued

“I can’t talk to him!”

“He’s put out interviews that are readily available. And doesn’t Marinette have his number?” Marlena asked her, causing Alya’s eyes to widen in shock at the recollection.

“She does.”

“So that means Marinette would know if Lila was lying about him.”

“But she never said he said—”

“Honey, she shouldn’t have had to in the first place.” Her mother said, sadly. “Marinette isn’t a journalist anymore than Lila is. If two of your friends have conflicting claims, shouldn’t you have proof that something did happen before you start demanding proof that it didn’t?”

Alya winced, remembering how she requested that evidence from Marinette without even checking on Lila’s first. Because no, she didn’t have proof that Lila was telling the truth. Nothing other than Lila’s word. And looking back, she couldn’t say there was a good reason that should have mattered more than Marinette’s.

“But why would Lila lie?” She asked, despondently.

“People lie for plenty of reasons.” Her father said, saddened. “Whatever Lila’s reasons are for lying are on her. Your responsibility is to protect yourself first and not fall for that.”

“We’ve been talking.” Marlene stated. “And while we don’t want to, we are going to ground you.”

Alya gaped up at them in surprise and hurt.

“You’re a journalist, so you know how important communication is. Furthermore, you should understand how it works.” Otis stated. “But you haven’t been communicating with us. Or with anyone. And it’s showing in just how long you’ve been letting things go on until they got to this bad of a point.”

“But things aren’t quite that bad!” Alya insisted, urgently.

“They are disrupting your life and your ability to function—as a student, as a friend, and particularly as a member of this family.” Her mother explained. “So you’re going to take the next two weeks to break away from all of that. No Ladyblog. No outings with your friends. No dates with Nino.”

“You are to also not spend any time with Lila.” Her father added. “We’ll be talking to the teacher about keeping you both separated for now.”

“In that time, we want you to see if you notice a difference in how things feel. You’re stressed, and we get that. But you don’t seem to really understand where it is all coming from or what healthy changes you need to make to deal with it. That can happen sometimes when there is just too much going on, so these two weeks aren’t to punish you. They’re to give you a break from all these distractions to focus on you and what you need to stay healthy and happy.”

Alya didn’t agree. She hated this. She hated all of it. When she first went to her room, her initial response was that her parents were being completely unfair. But she couldn’t say they were wrong. And while it was certainly a pain at first, the two weeks gave her a lot more free time to think. And the time being barred from hanging with either Lila or Marinette allowed her a break from the constant tension and stress of their little “war”.

Now she would have the time to actually try and look up the claims both Lila and Marinette have made. And while Marinette’s claims weren’t always able to be substantiated and may have been little white lies at points, it was ever more clear that Lila’s were entirely false. She’s almost beating herself up because how could she not have seen it?

But how could she have? She had constantly been busy, being dragged into one thing or another. Either her blog, or school, or Marinette’s boy troubles with Adrien, or her relationship with Nino, or Lila’s most recent grab for attention.

It leads her to go back over other things she had overlooked and disregarded. She also starts to reevaluate what all she has going on and what she really needs to keep in her life at this time.

Ultimately, this is going to lead to a change and a much different Alya once the grounding period is over.

Her parents won’t be happy about how much she’ll struggle and have to let go of to get her life back under control, but if it means a healthier and happier Alya, they’ll be satisfied.

[skyflicker]

black coffee, no sugar (amasai week day two)

written for @amasaiweek2020, hosted by @toxicisnotapineapple and @storyflight! this is worse than the one yesterday i’m sorry i think i lost my touch lol,,, but i had to write this in a day so... anyways this is in the same universe as sea glass, and i really hope you guys enjoy it and all even if it’s not that good?

this also turned out much, much longer that i thought it would, and also got,,, way too angsty it was supposed to be fluffy but nevermind i suck at that :) enjoy!

-

Rantaro isn’t a stranger to hospitals. 

True, he’s not really the type of child to get hurt every other day- he has a knack for dealing with dangerous situations, and almost never gets injured, but some of his sisters are rather careless especially when they get passionate (Riku, especially, is prone to a lot of accidents, with how she bounces everywhere with such spirited bursts of fire), and he often finds himself there to support them.

But rarely does he find himself in such a bad spot that he has to visit the hospital. He isn’t even really hurt physically- he’d only hit his head a little, but the police had insisted on taking him here to get checked over by the doctor. 

The hospital is such a blinding alabaster that Rantaro flinches every time he blinks. It’s so quiet, too, so silent that he can hear clearly every buzz and tremble of the air conditioner. It feels creepy, in a way, and it’s even more obvious being completely alone here in this room. He feels the shivers running down his spine as he waits for the doctor to return.

He’s never been alone in the hospital before, not without at least one member of his family with him. After all, he has one biological mother, three other stepmothers, and twelve sisters, although admittedly most are missing, but no matter what had happened, there would always be at least one person by his side. It’s not that he doesn’t like the silence, he loves being alone, but at a time like this, he would give anything for any of his sisters to be here for him. 

(He still misses them every day: each and every of them was so special to him, the brightest stars in his night, the brightest blossoms in his gardens. He remembers every detail of each of the nine girls that have gone missing so vividly, as if it were burnt and imprinted onto his eyelids- Amaka’s fierce protectivity when things went wrong, Hanako’s vibrant liveliness when she was passionate, Ena’s composed calmness that always soothed him easily, Naoko’s energetic laughter when she led her sisters in activities, Akari’s wide smile that she constantly wore on her face, Rina’s tender, seamless care towards everyone she met, Yuki’s quiet thoughtfulness and curiosity towards everything she saw, Inori’s soft touch as her arms wrapped around Rantaro, Minori’s sweet innocence towards everyone… he misses them all dearly.) 

But it’s not something he could control. His father nearly killed a child, after all. They told him, after the interrogation and taking Rantaro’s testimony in this small room, that he could see his sisters and mothers again when the doctor had finished examining him and had given him a pass. After the numerous tests the medical team had run on him, they’d all disappeared, leaving Rantaro here alone, with the images of the boy (probably around his age, give or take a few months, which isn’t really saying much since Rantaro himself is only twelve and a half, but still. Rantaro has this thing, where he can’t help but feel a brotherly attachment to people younger than him) hit by the car, his father’s car, and he can’t help but feel the fear growing like crystal spikes in a chemical solution, in his heart, and feel the ice run down his spine. 

It’s just like there’s a ghost just behind him, berating him for not stopping his father in time, that it’s partly his fault, and truth be told, Rantaro knows that really well. The car was only driving along that road because they’d only just lost Amaka in Liechtenstein, and she was the one sister Rantaro could rely on and truly lean on for support when he couldn’t say anything to the others out of guilt for making them worry (maybe because she’s only a few months younger, and he feels less guilt for piling his burdens onto her?), and Rantaro had been really crushed over her loss, and his father had offered to take him along for a business outing to cheer him up, maybe just a little. His father had had to take a detour because of this, and this had happened as a result.

He wonders if the boy is alright. Rantaro still feels like he’s back in time, sitting shotgun in his father’s limo, staring at the unconscious body sprawled across the pavement. He feels as if the moment had frozen, and he was still there, watching his father freeze and do nothing. He feels himself move on instinct, grabbing his backpack, which fortunately still held first aid materials from his previous trip, harshly unlocking the door and kicking it open. It’s as if his body is on autopilot as he runs over to the boy’s side, ignoring the crimson colour flooding out and staining the pavement, like an infant’s grubby fingers spreading finger paint all over their canvas, running like rivers sliding through the slits between the tiny grey stones that padded the road so uniformly, like the life slipping out of the boy through the blood away from him.

The sanguine bleeds everywhere, weaving between the boy’s fingers and matting his midnight-coloured hair. In the twilight, the boy’s silhouette is coated with a sheen of warm muted periwinkle, rimmed in golden light from the sun that’s almost completely set, and it would be such a beautiful sight if not for the fact that Rantaro knows the boy can and will die if he doesn’t hurry. Rantaro kneels, not caring that the sticky liquid is soaking through his jeans, or that the stones are rough and brushes harshly against his knees, and takes the boy’s hand. It’s soft and his wrist is so small, he’s reminded of his sisters, but he brushes that thought away and takes his pulse. He sighs in complete relief as he detects one, and he lets one of his hands hover over the boy to find the wound, as he rummages through his bag to find his phone and call the ambulance. 

All this, though, is stopped, as his hand flits over his nose and feels the weak breathing. He’s so shocked and concerned all of a sudden that he nearly drops the phone in the middle of giving the address. He hastily finishes the call, and immediately goes to measure the breathing. It’s so weak, and he puts his hand on the boy’s lungs, immediately finding the huge wound spanning from his lungs to his upper torso. It’s probably deep, too. Rantaro can feel the fear and worry spike in his chest, he barely knows this kid but he doesn’t want him to die. He feels the suffocating helplessness, he doesn’t know what to do, and he desperately wants to help but he can’t and that seems like the greatest punishment of all, worse than dying himself- watching an innocent bystander, a mere child, die by his mistake, having innocent blood on his hands. With no other choice left, he inhales, and leans down to try applying CPR-

He opens his eyes as he screams until his throat is dry and parched, and it feels raw and exposed, but nothing can tear the images off his mind. He gasps and gasps for breath, as if the guilt formed a rope and was strangling him as he was off in his reverie, rubbing his eyes as they focus, and he’s still in the overwhelmingly bright hospital room, has been all along, and the pavement stained with cardinal is gone, in the past. He screams, and screams, but no one comes, and he only feels worse that he did.

He inhales, and he realizes that he’s been crying, the tears streaming past his cheeks. He doesn’t even know if the kid is alive, let alone alright. 

He hears the door slam open, and the light blue curtains (which were even more unsettlingly bright than the walls, if that was even possible- it’s like those kinds of blue that brightens white even more, like freshly fallen snow) were grabbed and pushed open with urgency. It’s the nurse who came to take his tests- Mikan Tsumiki-san, Rantaro remembers from previously looking at her name tag. She breathes deeply in complete relief when she sees Rantaro safe and unhurt, and her lavender eyes are so round and filled with fear that Rantaro instantly feels bad for alerting and scaring her.

“A-Amami-kun!” she exclaims, obviously shaken. “Are you alright? Y- you look-” she cuts herself off, and Rantaro realizes he must look really distraught, with tear tracks over his face and wide eyes full of distress. He nods, forcing a smile on his face, swiping at his face in an attempt to destroy all evidence of him crying.

The young nurse hands him a tissue wordlessly- she must’ve had a lot of experience with people like this, and he murmurs his thanks as he cleans his face. “Dr. Kamakura’s f-finished with your tests,” Mikan says, stuttering as she fumbles with the records she holds in her hand, “you’re clear and free to leave now. Your two sisters are waiting outside?”

“Two?” Rantaro asks in surprise immediately, faltering as Mikan seems to get nervous, “No, it’s okay, you probably didn’t count wrongly, maybe one’s just too busy to come around…”

He doesn’t blame them, either. He didn’t expect any of them to show up, close as he is with all of them, seeing as they’ve just lost another sibling- Sora’s own biological sister, no less- so he’s already pleasantly surprised. He smiles faintly at Mikan out of politeness, nods along as she talks him through all the procedures, tells him his father is at the police station. 

“Tsumiki-san?” he asks when she’s finished. “How’s the other boy? The one my father hit?”

The nurse looks rather surprised, “ Saihara-kun? H- he’s okay! The surgery was successful, and since he’s only eleven, and a child’s body has a quicker rate of mending itself, he’ll recover pretty soon! He’s still here for now, though, will be for the next month or so.”

Rantaro feels the relief spreading through his body. “That’s great,” he whispers. He thanks Mikan again before leaving, and soon enough he finds himself down the corridor to the main waiting lobby. The walls are painted a muted ivory, which soothes Rantaro’s eyes a little, despite still being white, and the wooden floorboards are a gorgeous light beige. It’s very clean, like one would expect in a hospital, but it’s still so.... Empty. Maybe people don’t really come along this side of the building, but Rantaro still finds it mildly unnerving.

He reaches the end of the hallway, and pushes open the door. His gaze immediately spots Riku, who sits quietly (what a contrast to her normal bubbly attitude) in one of the sofas in the corner of the lobby. He’s suddenly hit with a pang of emotion, as the image of a young girl, looking identical to Riku in every way except for her long hair when Riku keeps hers short, sitting in the exact same spot, quietly sitting still, but her cerulean eyes hold nothing but worry and concern and fear. He’s unable to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek as in his mind, five-year-old Rina does the same, her tiny hands trembling as they’re clasped on her knees. The image of her, her gorgeous azure eyes earnest and kind with the world in them, her long golden blonde hair like strands of sunlight woven into silk, pulled into her braid that Rantaro did for her every morning, her tiny feet tapping the air (she’s not tall enough for her feet to reach the ground) restlessly out of worry- he cannot unsee the young girl in her twin, even though they’re complete opposites. Where Riku is lively and spirited, Rina is quiet, but she had more kindness and sympathy in her tiny finger than most people had, like how Riku has more energy and laughter in hers than probably the whole world does. (except for maybe Naoko- that girl did nothing but laugh.)

Every time Riku had gotten into an accident, Rina had been there waiting for her without fail. The two were inseparable, two halves that complete each other perfectly, and they loved each other so much. It had completely broken Riku a year ago when Rina went missing in New Zealand that Riku had stopped being so reckless and while Rantaro was glad his sister didn’t get hurt so much anymore, it was disheartening and distressing to watch her of all people so utterly void of life.

He pushes the thought away, puts on his mask of smiles again, and heads towards his sisters. Shiori sits next to Riku, with her arm around the younger girl, whispering comforting things into her ear. Her light brown hair cascaded in curls down her back and draped over Riku’s shoulder, and her attention was completely focused on Riku. 

It’s Riku who spots him first, squealing and leaping to her feet, bouncing over to wrap her arms around Rantaro, “Rantaro! We were worried sick! Are you alright? Were you hurt?”

He laughs, “I’m alright, Riku, Shiori. Don’t worry.” It feels so good to have the comfort of his sisters with him. They’re his lifeline, his whole world, no matter what.

Shiori offers him a smile. “I’m glad. Sora was asleep when we received the news, which is why she isn’t here, but if she could I’m sure she’d be here without a single second of hesitation.” Rantaro realizes as his stomach sinks that Shiori has picked up on his distress and probably deduced why. Despite being only nine, Shiori is intuitive. Really intuitive. She’s clever, and picks up on emotions as easily as one completes the math question one plus one. It’s also why, despite being a middle child, she still has such a large presence in the house- Shiori simply cannot help but help everyone at every chance she gets, a trait she passed onto her younger biological sister, Inori. 

He grimaces slightly, and pushes away the thought of his second youngest sister. He can’t help but constantly think of his sisters, whenever he sees anything that might be remotely related to them. It’s something that constantly haunts him, a failure that he’s forced to live with. If only I hadn’t lost them at all…

Shoot. He completely forgot about Shiori, and he looks at her, dismayed, only to see her narrowing her eyes at him. She’s definitely caught on, considering that he confided in her more than once over this issue. (he’s not the type to keep things from his sisters, even though he tries not to stress them out as much as he can.) She walks closer, and hugs him once Riku releases him, whispering in his ear, “Rina and Inori would be relieved if they were here too. It’s not your fault,” before she pulls away and picks up RIku. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“You two go first,” Rantaro says, and his voice cracks as he thinks of the boy, hurting and aching as he sleeps. He feels the guilt drop into his stomach as he realizes that he’s happy and relieved while the boy is hurting because of him. “There’s something I have to check. Shiori, take care of Riku?”

Understanding flashes across Shiori’s face. “Alright. See you in the morning?” she searches his face, asking for an unspoken promise.

He nods. “See you in the morning.” Non-verbally, he promises his sister that he’ll come back, he’ll always come back.

He watches them leave until the shadows they leave behind are gone, then turns and runs to the counter urgently, “excuse me? May I ask where, uh,” he tries to recall the name Mikan told him, “Sa- Saihara-kun? I think? Is staying?”

The nurse at the counter looks mildly surprised, but after a brief explanation, Rantaro’s being led down countless corridors of white, to what probably is another side of the building. They reach a door, and the nurse pushes it open. He follows her out into the cool night air, the breeze immediately nestling into his hair and tousling it. In the night, the bright full moon hangs in the sky, glowing, and he wonders if his other sisters are also looking at the same night sky, looking up at the moon, across the world. 

He didn’t realize it was so late- that explains why there weren’t any people at all. The wind whistles in the air, winding around him, gentle and yet cold and sharp. It reminds him of Hanako and Ena, lost at the same time. They were lost unto the dark night, the cold and unforgiving, cruel span of darkness that covered half of the earth each night, and covered Rantaro’s whole world that one cold night in China. He wonders if they’re alright, if they’re adjusting to living in a communist country, a place where freedom is restricted and locked away in an unbreakable iron cell that will never see the light of day, a place with the life squeezed and pushed out of it, every single day dull and unmotivated. 

He’s led across the hospital gardens, into another wing of the hospital (apparently, it’s much bigger than he expected or anticipated it to be), and up a couple of floors. FInally, he’s led to a waiting room outside a single-patient hospital room. The waiting room is small, with a single sofa and a small coffee table, and the wall connected to the corridor is made of transparent glass.

“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse says, “but i can let you have a glimpse of him before you leave.” she goes to open the door, but Rantaro stops her, smiling politely when he looks at her. He’s not so rude to just leave, not when this child is injured because of him. 

“It’s okay, thank you,” he tells the nurse, “I’ll just stay here until I’m allowed in.”

The nurse tries to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t budge, and soon the nurse gives up and slips out of the door. She comes back after a few minutes, though, and she wordlessly puts down a cup of hot chocolate and a few biscuits, smiles at him, and leaves again after Rantaro thanks her profusely.

Rantaro sits down on the sofa, and opens his backpack to bring out a couple of books- he has a habit of always carrying around a few in case things happen and he’s left with time to spare. He opens one, and he begins to read, immersed in his books until morning.

He doesn’t even know it’s morning until he hears the door open again. He looks up, expecting to find a nurse, or maybe a doctor, but instead, he’s met with a boy his age, purple-haired with deep indigo eyes, and a girl behind him with long obsidian hair braided and falling to her waist, with vivid sanguine eyes. His eyes widen at the same time theirs do as he recognizes the girl.

“Maki,” he exclaims at the same time the girl says his name. Surprise fills him- he hadn’t seen his childhood friend since his sisters- specifically, Akari- first started going missing and they’d moved away, but when he was much younger and had all his sisters with him, Yuki liked going to the orphanage next door and helping out there, playing with the children her age. It was there he met Maki, the only girl his age there, and they became close friends almost instantly. They’d completely lost contact when Rantaro moved, though.

The boy looks between them, bewildered, “Harumaki, you know this boy?”

Maki sighs, and nods, launching into a short explanation, then introducing the boy as “an idiot, Kaito Momota”, and the boy, Kaito, interjects, claiming to be the ‘Luminary of the Stars’. Maki doesn’t seem to be amused by this, and glares at him as her cheeks redden, but Rantaro can tell even after all these years that there’s no malice behind her ruby eyes.

Rantaro, though, is rather amused, “Rantaro Amami,” he introduces himself, extending a hand that Kaito takes and shakes without hesitation. “I stayed here overnight so I could apologize. For, uh. My father ran over that guy inside with his car.”

Maki stares at him. “Your father. The extremely rich guy. Ran over him.” she points at the door to the hospital room.

He sheepishly nods. “Yea. And I, uh, may or may not have felt guilty, so I stayed here.” he feels vaguely uncomfortable with both Kaito (who Maki obviously likes) and Maki herself staring at him, but he knows he deserves it.

At last, Maki walks forward, and slaps him hard. “That one,” she says, “is for Shuichi. My friend whom your father ran over.” Rantaro stays still, not saying anything even if his left cheek stings and hurts, because he knows he deserves it, when he caused so much pain and worry.

She backhands him across the face again, and this time he sees the reluctance in her face, the concern her eyes are so full of, and he knows that for the emotionless facade she puts up, she’s genuinely really worried for her friend and him. “And that’s because you’re being stupid,” she whispers, and Rantaro feels as if he’s about to cry, again, because he’s missed Maki so much and he’s touched, that she still cares for him after all those years. Proud, that she’s finally expressing herself more openly. The old Maki would’ve been too scared to even show the slightest bit of emotion, so anxious and scared of being hated by the world. As an orphan, Maki’s always carried around the knowledge that even her own parents don’t want her, that she’s so unlikeable that she deserves to be alone and abandoned in the dark, and she was always too scared to befriend the others in the orphanage. Rantaro was her first friend, and she must have felt very hurt when the boy had moved so suddenly without warning.

He feels guilty, guilty for leaving Maki alone to furl up and cry all alone, but he feels so much pride, with the way she’s finally comfortable in her own skin, that she’s made friends with other kids their age. He smiles at her despite how his cheeks are stinging badly with eyes brimming with tears as Maki steps back, and she smiles back at him. “Visiting hours started,” she says finally, “you really should check the time, you idiot. It’s half past nine in the morning.”

Rantaro laughs, “thanks for the reminder.” he turns to push the door open, but steps back, looking at Kaito and Maki. “You should go in first. He doesn’t know me, after all.”

Maki nods, and Kaito practically breaks the door down as it bursts open and he races in, followed by the girl, and Rantaro last.

The room the boy is staying in is bright, but not lit by artificial lighting- early morning sunlight shines in through a large window on the other side of the room. Glass fractures the light into a thousand different rays, coating the room in an almost ethereal glow. There’s a tree right outside the window, and Rantaro can see a few sparrows resting on the branches. It reminds him of Minori, his youngest sister, who’d loved animals and nature, but she especially loved sparrows, loved how they were small but so adorable, and yearned to spread her wings and take flight like they did. 

The room itself is clean and mostly empty, creating a spacious feeling as one enters. A cupboard lies to the side of the hospital bed, and there’s a movable desk in front of the boy, who’s sitting up when they arrive. His face brightens as he greets his two friends with a strained smile- probably due to the stitches and the pain, Rantaro thinks, and feels the guilt in his heart weighing it down again.

He notices with a start that the boy is actually really pretty. Rantaro normally identifies as asexual, no sexual attraction, be he can’t not admit that with his long eyelashes and curious green-grey eyes, the boy is adorable, and he finds his eyes widening and that he can’t take his eyes off the boy.

The boy’s face goes on alert mode when he sees Rantaro, though. “Ah, who are you? Why are you here?” he seems so scared, so shy, that Rantaro immediately feels the guilt double.

Rantaro hesitates, but he introduces himself. “I’m Rantaro Amami. I’m here because, well- my father kind of ran over you. With his car. I’m here to apologize and see if you’re alright.” he wishes with all his might that he’d forgive him, for causing so much misery. So much pain.

It’s the boy’s turn to widen his eyes, and he almost drops the cup he’s holding. “Wait, you- you’re the one the doctor talked about? You gave me CPR, right?” all traces of his former shyness is gone as he stares, shocked, at Rantaro.

Kaito and Maki’s gazes immediately snap to Rantaro, and he reddens under all the attention he’s being given. “Y- yes, but I did what I thought I should do, it’s my fault it happened, I hope you aren’t hurt that bad-”

Maki cuts him off, scoffing, but she wears a small smile on her face, “Don’t be an idiot, Taro,” she says, and Rantaro smiles at the use of the childhood nickname, “it isn’t your fault and you know it. Your father was the one who ran over Shuichi. It was an accident.” she shrugs. “Those happen all the time. It’s really nothing to feel guilty about.” She turns to Shuichi. “This idiot stayed here without sleeping all night, because he wanted to apologize.”

The boy nods feverently, shock still evident in his eyes. “You saved my life,” he adds. “The doctor told me if you hadn’t saved me and bandaged my wounds to stop the bleeding in time I would’ve bled to death. Maki’s right, don’t apologize.”

Rantaro smiles faintly at him. “How can I make it up to you, though? Can I, like, get you a drink or something, at least?”

The boy’s eyes light up at once, and Rantaro finds himself smiling wider, genuinely. “Could you get me a coffee, please? Black coffee, no sugar.”

Kaito laughs as Rantaro looks at the boy, surprised. “Coffee? Right after your surgery?”

The boy suddenly seems very defensive, “Researches show it’s actually beneficial? It can shake off the woozy aftereffects of whatever drugs administered, boost my alertness, help with constipatio-”

“Right,” Rantaro laughs fully for the first time since the accident, “got it. Why such… bitter coffee, though?”

It’s Kaito that answers this time, a grin hanging on his face, “Shuichi only drinks bitter coffee. My sidekick can’t stand things that are too sweet!” The boy nods in agreement, and Rantaro’s heart warms. 

Before he leaves to get the coffee, though, he turns back and asks, “oh, and before I go, your name…”

The boy smiles, “It’s Shuichi Saihara.”

The name stays with Rantaro as he runs to get the coffee from a nearby local coffee shop he really likes. A lovely name for a lovely boy. The smile Rantaro gets from Shuichi as he hands him the lukewarm coffee, still out of breath, is stunning and to Rantaro, it’s so sweet and beautiful that it’s warmer than any sunlight the sun can give, and prettier than even the most gorgeous nature phenomenon. He goes on to visit Shuichi every day, staying for hours and hours on end, bringing a black coffee sans sugar with him every time, and the smile Shuichi gives him every time makes his day. They grow closer, and closer, and by the time the other boy is released from the hospital, they’ve become best friends. 

On the last day of Shuichi staying in the hospital, he hands Shuichi the usual coffee, and Shuichi’s smile sends butterflies into his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. Shuichi grabs his hand as he says thank you, and the other boy’s hand is so cold and small, but Rantaro feels as though everything is right in the world, and for the first time ever since his sisters went missing he feels genuinely happy.

When Shuichi’s released, he takes him to the coffee shop in person, and Shuichi’s curious eyes eagerly explore every detail of the warm cozy building. The series of actions lights up his world, and Rantaro smiles, and he doesn’t miss the grateful one on Shuichi’s face- sweet as the sugar he hates so much.

(it’s only when Rantaro is gone, and Kaede unknowingly passes him for the first time a black coffee without sugar from the same shop that she got for him on her way back from work, that Shuichi thinks back on all this, and cries.)

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THEY DON'T PROJECT ANY KIND OF AURA OF POWER EITHER

With a property management company, you can probably keep a few things back from them. The distributors want to prevent the transparency that comes from having prices online. Instead of working at an ordinary rate for 40 years, you work like hell for four. What is it about you that they love? A company that an angel is willing to put $50,000 into at a valuation of a million can't take $6 million from VCs at that valuation. But they might as well be from a venture investor's point of view, that there probably wouldn't be a compliment in most organizations to call someone scrappy.1 This is what you think about as you fall asleep at night and when you talk to them about what they needed. The dating sites are running big ad campaigns right now, which is a well established field, but the first papers about Bayesian spam filtering per se seem to have been a prudent choice—a consensus decision, rather than admitting they changed their minds. Maybe if you can choose when you raise money, you don't need them.

Trying to make masterpieces in this medium must have seemed to Durer's contemporaries that way that, say, the hundredth. There are plenty of other areas that are just as valuable as positive ones. Another way to find good problems to solve in one head. What is it about you that they love? Most founders have such low standards that they'll feel rich with a sum that doesn't seem to work very well. And yet the more successful people become, the more valuable it is to hack at home than at work? But if you inadvertantly squash the startup industry, all that happens is that the founders get rich.2 It feels that way for everyone. With a property management company, you can try to ride it.3

But if you have a number of VCs now, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the time. But when you look at an incoming mail you find more people who love that sort of thing the eminent would want to put their name on. They'd charge a lot, but wouldn't it be worth it? Just make stuff and put it online. Stupid, perhaps, but not to tell them everything either. And the answer is a central list of domains advertised in spams.4 Now, thanks to the Internet, they can start to grow themselves actual audiences.

Why? A startup's destination is to grow really big; ramen profitability is the other extreme: a startup that succeeds ordinarily makes its founders rich, that implies that in every other respect you've succeeded.5 But of course there are cases where writers don't want to be running out of money and b they don't understand, a lot of people who go from one to the other and never realize the whole world doesn't work this way. They're like dealers; they sell the stuff, but they can't have looked good on paper.6 This is called seed capital. But the superficial ugliness of Perl is not the end of it, and we won't have to work.7 A morale boost on that scale is very valuable, actually. With some emails it's hard to imagine a more perfectly targeted counterattack on spammers. And in fact, investors greatly prefer it if you don't want their money, because a he won't waste any time in meetings, and b since he's probably a founder, he can pay himself nothing.

So now there are two threshold values. If VCs are frightened at the idea of taking this rival firm's rejects. If there are two ways to win.8 But focus has drawbacks: you don't learn from other fields, and when a new approach arrives, you may find you no longer have such a burning desire to be an expert in business.9 Empirically that doesn't seem to work very well. You could do it for you. If the answer is yes, and you don't get that kind of work; one day you'll miss it. I found I could entertain myself by having ideas instead of reading other people's.

At first we expected our customers to be Web consultants. Ideas for startups are worth something, certainly, but the pool allowed to write on general topics was about eight people who went to the right parties in New York. When there is a step beyond thinking of yourself as x but tolerating y: not even to consider yourself an x. For us the main indication of impending doom is when we don't hear from you. I expect spam to evolve into: some completely neutral text followed by a url. But your goal here wasn't to provide a service estimating people's ability. There are several types of investors. The potential of a new medium is usually underestimated, precisely because no one has yet explored its possibilities.10 They need to market themselves to the investors who are their customers—the endowments and pension funds and rich families whose money they invest. It's still not feasible for a lot of people: they're dealmakers.11 Since the IPO market.12

Notes

Which means if you're flying through clouds you can't do much that anyone feels when that partner re-tells it to them rather than trying to make money, then add beans don't drain the beans, and intelligence, it's ok to talk to corp dev guys should be working on some project of your own compass. This is actually from the rest of the most famous example. Something similar happens with suburbs. Which is fundraising.

One of the art business? For the computer world, and Windows, respectively. It was revoltingly familiar to anyone who had made Lotus into the subject today is still hard to grasp this than we realize, because any invention has a spam probabilty of. Org Worrying that Y Combinator.

His best bet would probably also the fashion leaders. So far, I put it here. It's somewhat sneaky of me to do with the guy who came to mind was one of these people.

I have so far done a pretty comprehensive view of investor quality. Unless of course some uncertainty about how closely the remarks attributed to them till they also influence one another both directly and indirectly. In Russia they just don't make an effort to make art that does.

And in any other field, and stonewall about the nature of an FBI agent or taxi driver or reporter to being told they had zero effect on college admissions there would be a lot, or editions with the Supreme Court's 1982 decision in Edgar v. This prospect will make grad students' mouths water, but there are none in San Francisco, LA, Boston, and would not be true that being part of the best case.

You should take more than clumsy efforts to protect their hosts. A fundraising is because those are guaranteed in the future as barbaric, but less than the previous round.

One implication of this essay, I should do is adjust the weights till the Glass-Steagall act in 1933. Some would say we depend on closing a deal led by a factor of 20. The other cause is the unpromising-seeming startups are often surprised by this, though. A good programming language ought to be discovered.

Y Combinator in particular made for other kinds of startups is very polite and b made brand the dominant factor in the country. And even then your restrictions would have met 30 people he knew. They have no idea what's happening till they also influence one another indirectly through the window for years while they may have been a good deal for the same way a restaurant as a type II startups won't get you a question you don't need that much to say that YC's most successful founders is exaggerated now because of some brilliant initial idea. Cit.

Though Balzac made a bet: if he ever made a general term might be enough, a day job is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. Wolter, Allan trans, Duns Scotus: Philosophical Writings, Nelson, 1963, p.

More generally, it will thereby expose it to profitability, you can't, notably ineptitude and bad luck. In 1800 an empty plastic drink bottle with a million spams. On the other sheep head for a while we have to rely on cold calls and introductions. Once he showed it could change what you're doing is almost pure discovery.

And since there are some VCs who don't aren't. Financing a startup to duplicate our software. No, we met Aydin Senkut.

Some find they have to. The closest we got to the frightening lies told by older siblings.

[teachanarchy]

Is the appearance of mental illness in young people a matter of environment or biology?          There's a reason the image of the floundering, scared, shaky post-teen struggling to enter adulthood is a cliché. Between moving out of your parent's home, going to college and getting a job, lack of sleep, drugs, and unrestricted access to alcohol, becoming an adult is fucking hard. So it's no wonder that this period is popularly associated with having a mental breakdown. But is there any truth behind the pop culture trope? What about kids from wealthy families who don't have the stresses the rest of us do in early adulthood, or people whose most trying times come in their 30s or 40s? Is the appearance of mental illness in young people a matter of environment or biology?

To better understand these questions, I phoned Johanna Jarcho, Ph.D., a postdoctoral fellow at the National Institute of Mental Health whose work studies differences in brain development in healthy people versus those who have mental health problems, with a focus on anxiety. She explained how our brains interact with social conditions to influence our mental health, and why the best way to deal with a problem is to get it diagnosed early.

Advertisement

VICE: I've often heard it repeated that mental illnesses frequently begin in a person's late adolescence or early 20s. Anecdotally that seems consistent with what I've seen, but is there any scientific basis to this claim? Dr. Johanna Jarcho: Yeah, the vast majority of mental health disorders do emerge during one's adolescence or early 20s. If you're going to have an anxiety disorder as an adult, there's a 90% chance that you'll have had it as an adolescent. Basically, you're not going to develop an anxiety disorder as an adult. You're going to develop it as a kid and then it'll carry through to adulthood. Emerging research suggests that this is because adolescence is a time when the brain is changing to a great degree. We once thought that the brain didn't change that much after earlier childhood, but what we've seen is that the brain continues to undergo really profound changes up until your early 20s. It's still quite malleable, so being exposed to different influences in your social environment can really have a profound impact on the way that your brain continues to develop.

You said that much has to do with brain development. At the same time, young adulthood seems to be a time where people are going through major upheavals, both socially and economically—things like college, entering the workforce, or living away from your parents. Is there a way to quantify the effect of environment versus biology? Some types of mental health disorders are much more genetically based than others. Schizophrenia and bipolar disorder have a much higher rate of inheritance. If you have a first degree relative like a parent or sibling who has one of those disorders, you're at a much greater risk for developing it yourself, and there are things in the environment that can potentiate that. For other disorders like depression or anxiety, it's less heritable. Whether or not you develop one of those disorders is a lot more contingent on your environment. Young adults go through all these different social changes, but we evolved to be able to make this big transition from being with parents to forging adulthood. What happens during this transition can definitely have a profound effect on whether you grow to be "healthy" or to have these types of disorders.

We're still finding out more about how much of this is biologically based and how much is environmental. We've learned from genetics that it's not just the genes and it's not just the environment, it's an interaction between the two.

So a mental illness is not just an inevitable thing that people either will or won't have? No. A lot of us tend to focus on the negative, but it's really important to focus on the fact that there's a lot that can be done to protect against developing mental health disorders, even if you are at risk. The social environment could tip you over into becoming sick, but in a good social environment you can actually thrive.

What kind of things should people be aware of? It's important to know what you're at risk for. Let's say you had a parent with psychopathology; that certainly is a risk factor. If you've had a difficult time engaging in your social world as a kid, that's another risk factor. If your parents sheltered you instead of giving you some exposure to difficult things and showing you how to cope, that's another risk factor. The type of parenting that you had as a child can really affect the way you cope with the new challenges as you launch into adulthood.

Let's say a person is starting to experience symptoms of a mental health disorder. What can they do to mitigate harm? The most important thing that you can do to mitigate the effects that any kind of psychopathology might have is to get treatment earlier and when you're younger. It's like how habits are formed: they get strengthened over time and once they're established they become biological, in a way. It's much more difficult to break them and they stick around for a long time. If you think there's something that may be wrong, you should try to get help before things become a crisis, before you feel like it's having profound effects on your life.

Advertisement

Health care is so expensive and opaque that I think a lot people have a feeling that, "Maybe I'm depressed, maybe I have anxiety, but I'm probably fine." They don't want to potentially spend thousands of dollars seeing a doctor, so they wait until it's absolutely necessary. If you wait on getting treatment, your symptoms can become much more intractable. You save money in the short term, but your long term spending is much higher. We do preventative care for physical illness, but as a society we aren't quite there with mental health.

What do you make of self-diagnosis forums, WebMD, and other online health tools? I think that because health care has not been readily available in the past, and because there is still a stigma against going to see a mental health professional, people have relied on the internet to understand what's going on with them. That can be a good first step, and certainly it can underscore the fact that you're not alone in the types of symptoms that you're having. But that doesn't necessarily get you to treatment. It's important to be able to go to a professional and say, "I think I need help with this." Certainly the more resources the better, especially for people who haven't had a lot of exposure to receiving mental health care. It can be scary. The internet can be useful but it doesn't get you a diagnosis and it doesn't necessarily get you treatment. But more information is always better.

Is misinformation a problem? Well, let's say someone diagnoses themselves with depression. For one person, giving themselves a label in that way may be harmful, but for another person it might be helpful. In terms of misinformation, everyone is different, so getting treatment that's specific to your situation is really important.

There are certain things that get put out online about, say, computerized health services or video games that make you have less anxiety and people are hopeful about that, but it's not there yet. I think that there is this false hope that there is an easy, inexpensive, low side-effect cure for certain things and the data just hasn't supported that. It's something to caution people about. There are sort of wacky strategies people are promoting on the internet that don't really have that much scientific backing. I think it's better to seek professional care than to try some of these things.

You're saying there's not going to be a quick and easy mental health equivalent of penicillin that makes everyone healthy? That would be lovely, but it's just not happening. There hasn't been a new medication that really helps with mental health disorders in a really long time, which is disappointing.

With mental health and with health in general, what we "know" seems to always be changing. To pick an obvious example, I'm constantly seeing articles about new studies saying red wine is bad for you, and others saying it's good. For someone who's not too knowledgeable it can become very confusing. How much of what we think we know now will be different in a few years? I think we all thought that by now we'd know more than we do. I go back to this example of genetics: When the human genome was decoded we thought, oh, now we'll know everything. We'll be able to fix stuff and it'll all become clear. By having a greater understanding of what's behind mental health disorders, we're learning that it's just really complicated.

Advertisement

One thing that happens a lot is that the lay press puts things in very simplistic terms that give people a false hope. They'll say, "Here's this spot on the brain where depression lives," as if we could fix this one spot and then everything would be OK. It's really so much more complicated than that. At this point we're just starting to know what we don't know. It's a little terrifying. It's a totally changing field. I really do hope that in 10 or 15 years we're in a place where we can better identify symptoms earlier. It's still pretty early in terms of neuroscience.

Is there anything else you think that the average young adult should know about mental health? They should know that most of the mental health disorders that people have in their 20s do dissipate. That can give you hope. But they should also know that if you're one of the people for whom it's not going to dissipate, it's much better to get help sooner rather than later. Don't think of seeing a mental health professional as something stigmatizing that you only do in a moment of acute crisis. Think of it as a general wellness thing, like going for an annual checkup. Talk about problems early instead of letting things build up.