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michygranger23 · 2 years ago

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Hello there!! I bring to you some backstory about Goblin!Dream and Lizard!Ranboo since I think it's important to know well what happened to them to understand why they are like that in the present time hehe. ANYWAYS INTO THE RAMBLE!!

"Backstory of Goblin!Dream and Lizard!Ranboo"

Tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo met when they were kids, and were good friends until high-school. Ranboo became a part-time intern in the Alchemax laboratories working for Dream, a scientist who was researching about the medical properties of snake venom to cure different illnesses and types of cancer. They became an intern because they were interested in the research and wanted to help.

It was Ranboo who helped convince Dream to let their school have the tour of the facility in which Tubbo was bitten by the spider. Tubbo got a little jealous that Ranboo got the internship, but that quickly faded and he was happy one of his best friends was being successful.

Dream was a good scientist, his previous researches with snake venom helped a lot of people with their diseases, but he still wanted to get rid of the disease completely, to make the people feel healthier, stronger, quicker and smarter than they ever were, not just being bearable to live with. So he worked harder to achieve it. He was always an ambitious person, always risking everything in line to achieve and get what he wanted (sometimes not seeing the risks and consequences of his actions, or getting very obssessive of the things he wanted, getting himself or others in trouble for it)

Because of some not so good results he was getting, he was being threaten to be fired because of his lots of failures that was costing the company a lot of money to fund his works (he never did ilegal experiments btw, but every try he was doing was not working). He was getting desperate, he needed to get the cure to work or else his live's work would be for nothing. So he decided to be the test-subject this time (he wasn't extremly sick but because of him over-working himself he was getting rather weak, and he didn't have time to find a human subject, he wouldn't risk the live of another for his work, if he died, it was his own fault). He performed this secretly as to not let anyone see if he failed and fire him in the spot.

At first it did worked, he felt much better and more healthy than he was even before over-working himself, but then things started to go south.

A couple of days later he started to feel his skin itchy and with pain, he noticed some white scales coming out of his skin (he kept his body completely covered after this to not let other people see it). He then started to feel his snails going itchy as well, growing longer and faster than usual, they were feeling rather harder and sharper as well (when he tried to cut them, the nail clipper broke. He started to wear more frequently the medical gloves to hide them). This changes were starting to scare him, so he tried to work in improving the cure to reverse this changes.

Ranboo always asked him if he was feeling alright when they saw him acting strange or weird, Dream always said that everything was fine (but he didn't get to pay attention as how his own intern was planning to help him, and the way they found his investigation and formula in his desk when he missed to save it on day, because he didn't want to worry them and he needed to work in a solution for his....condition). Ranboo had been working with him for like almost 6 months by now (this time was before Spider-Man had appeared)

Later at 3 weeks he started to feel strange his teeth, he looked in the mirror and saw how they were getting larger, sharper, more white than usual, specially his canines, they were looking like...snake fangs. He realized he was turning into a type of snake hybrid, and feared what would happen with his mind if he didn't stopped this. Alongside the fangs he started to notice a few days later that his eyes could see very well in the dark (well.. technically see the heat of things, like a thermo vision) and when he looked at his eyes he noticed they look a lot like a snake, with the pupils being slit and more greener in the pupil color.

Soon enough as the time where Spider-Man appeared and started to get the attention of the news it's when Dream's mind started to become corrupted by the "cure" (technically he wasn't corrupted, more or less it was bringing a part of himself that was buried deep in him, like in the Tobey Mcguire movie, but he doesn't have two personalities just to be clear. But it did started to make him insane, he still was pretty smart, and that's what makes him dangerous)

He didn't like all of this news about this Spider-Man guy, what did he exactly do to gain so much fame and being loved by the public?? Saving civilians?? He always did that and his work never got the love it deserves! ! He just wanted to unite society, a happy family, but they weren't listening to him. Maybe this society needs a new.. a bit of chaos.. to make them understand. And so The Goblin was born (He chose The Goblin because naming himself like a snake or smth would sound weird lol). Dream kept his secret of him being the Goblin to everyone.

Some months forward to the appearance of Spider-Man and Goblin, Ranboo was working in the lab getting a new cure for Dream ready for him (he didn't exactly know what had happened to him, but they still guessed something went wrong with the formula, so they wanted to help), in this case he changed up the snake venom for some lizard DNA, to try and see if that would help him. But in that moment Spider-Man came through one of the walls and the Goblin started to shoot at him, this caused panic in the labs as everyone tried to leave, Ranboo quickly took the syruk and ran away, but because there was too many people pushing they fell off and the syrum broke, making them cut with a glass that had some of that cure.

Moving forward to some weeks they started to feel very tired lately, like they weren't sleeping at all in the night (around this time a new villain appeared in town called, The Lizard)

Basically Ranboo turns into the Lizard if they feel very strong emotions like anger or fear, but also excitement if you count that, they realized this and tried to keep this a secret to everyone, making them distant of Tubbo and Tommy in fear of hurting them (he's conscious about his actions in this state). But that doesn't explain the increase of tiredness..well...let's just say that the part that Ranboo wanted to help Dream became his enderwalk, and Ranboo in this state told one day to Dream about this (Dream was unmasking himself in an alleyway when he encountered the Lizard, which was strange he made sure to not being followed, Ranboo told Dream they knew about his secret and wanted to help him a achieve his goals Ranboo in his enderwalk state knows about Dream because since Ranboo used the same bases of the formula Dream did he recognizes the same aura)

AND THAT'S IT!! I know it's quite messy and maybe it doesn't make sense, sorry about that!! I actually had trouble coming up with a coherent back story but I still hope you like this mess!! Anyways let me know your thoughts and opinions about it :D!!

#ranboolive #ranboo #endersmile #dreamblr #dreblr #discduo Spider-Man AU #MichyAU #tommyinnit #tubbo #michygranger writing

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luxurybeautyreviews · 10 months ago

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#Panasonic #Pink #Review #ScalpBeautySalon #TouchType

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cryptonature · 2 years ago

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Our Assumptions Are Natural, But...

One of my closest friends is a single mom raising two kids a hair above the poverty line with very little support. Her stories often shock me because my good fortune can feel like the default state of the world. This is one reason why privilege is a vital consideration.

A lot of folks get itchy about the privilege conversation because it feels like a strike against their moral character or a dismissal of their own struggles/achievements. This anxiety misses the point. Privilege isn't a scoring system to weigh our character/legitimacy.

The concept of privilege is a way to sniff out our assumptions, our biases, our unexamined beliefs about ourselves, others, and the world. We're all ignorant. That's not an insult. We can't know everything. We can't fully imagine the struggles of others. That's natural.

The work of considering privilege is the work of acknowledging to ourselves that our lives, our advantages, our talents, our good fortune, our supports, are not the default state of the world and shouldn't be universalized. It can be hard work. It is certainly endless work.

Examining privilege involves accepting that we all have assumptions. Of course we do. And of course we all have privilege. Taking ego out of the equation is so often the first step on the road to honesty and understanding. Not because we're broken, but because we're human.

Having conversations with others (and ourselves) about our privilege can be uncomfortable. When is it ever easy to reexamine the deep-rooted assumptions that make our world seem simple and straightforward? But strenuous truth serves us all better than easy falsehoods.

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hartxstarr-art · 2 years ago

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Half Life

Summary: He has nothing now. Friendships, and lovers, and goals, and dreams—he wonders if he ever had anything at all. The syndicate falls, and so does Spike. Faye feels quite the same.

Content Warnings: Angst and hurt/comfort. Not everything is fine.

Notes: Also on ao3. 700 word count. Post canon. Christmas.

Drinking martinis by myself on a sunday. Drinking martinis again on a monday.

“Half Life” by Trocadero. As a Red vs. Blue fan, I don’t necessarily view this song in a romantic sense. It’s about family, it’s about friendship, it’s about comrades in arms; it’s about losing someone you love, and missing someone you love, and thinking about someone you love—in this case: a sister about her brother.

Faye and Spike, after they find him broken and battered.

---

She knew now, as it came back to her in waves, that she grew up privileged. It never got below freezing in her hometown, so her father had them go someplace where it snowed for the season, during her holiday breaks; a ski resort or a log cabin, across seas, continents, chasing the snow and a cup of cocoa. They would play in the frost, get warm by the fire, and eat heartily; stews, and roasts, and candied fruits.

Spike never celebrated any holidays. He never had any vacations. He told her this on one of the rare days he felt up to talking, laying on the couch, no longer wrapped up as tightly. He stares up into the ceiling, and Faye thinks he isn’t looking at anything at all. Can’t. Not yet.

She got everyone something, a few weeks back—when everyone was still here, that is. A fancy-looking keyboard for Ed, a squeaky toy for Ein, a new toolkit for Jet, cologne for Spike. Not cheap stuff. She didn’t know why she did it at the time, but she knows now. Too bad it’s too late for that.

Jet always got him something, Spike said. Every year. A lighter, a wallet, a utility knife; in that order. Sturdy, practical. Very Jet. He hung up lights, wore funny sweaters, made Spike’s favorite meals. She thought she saw a ghost of a smile, at the recollection of the past three years.

She felt her heart sink.

It’s mid December, now. She doubts Jet will do anything this year. Not after that. Not after the limp still in his step and the constant furrow between Spike’s brows. Not after the quiet and the loss. She knows he knows this, too.

She wishes it didn’t feel so much like a ghost town aboard the ship. No more clicking of keys or barking. No music or whistling. Just the shifting of Bebop, it’s rumbling and rattling, the soft hum of energy. It’s stifling—no talking, no movement; like time has stood still, frozen, the tightness of the throat, near the top. Itchy.

Jet goes into the bonsai room. Spike has used up his word count for the day, laying his head upon his pillow and closes his eyes. He isn’t sleeping. Faye sits still for a moment. Debates. Heads to the storage. She finds the lights, rummages for the tape, gives up, takes the remaining box of adhesive bandages, and gets to work. It’s sloppy, and uneven, but by the end of the evening, she has the sitting room lit up in a colorful array.

She wipes sweat with the back of her hand and notices Spike lift his head, finally. He blinks. “Oh,” he says, which is one more word for the day—and it’s such a simple sound, but she found achievement in it, welling in her chest, her hands at her hips, as she surveys her work with renewed vigor.

She gestures, “Merry Christmas!”

He swallows. Chews the inside of his cheek. Puts his head back down, lifts it again—cranes his neck, looks at the lights. Faye watches them flicker in his eyes.

Finally: “It’s a bit too early, isn’t it?”

She huffs. “It’s the eighteenth.”

“Of November?”

“It’s December.”

“Oh.” He lays his head again. He’s silent for a long time. And then—“It’s been a month.” Simple. A statement. The passing of time.

“Yeah,” it comes out like a croak. She tries to compose herself. Stops, fails, feels the tears start falling. “Yeah.”

She cries, and Spike closes his eyes again. His mouth goes into a thin line before he gets to his feet, unsteady, aching, determined, and when he reaches for her she collapses into him, landing them backwards into the couch. She holds him, and it hurts, but she holds him, and she’s never held Spike before but he lets her now. Lets her finally notice the faintly protruding ribs and skinny limbs; and she searches her memory to see if he’s always been like that, always this small, this broken, and she cries even more when she remembers.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, slowly, thoughtfully. “It looks nice.” A beat, after she sniffles. “Thank you.” And she starts over again.

#my writing #cowboy bebop #cowboy bebop fic #faye valentine #spike spiegel #jet black #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #cowboy bebop fanfic #cowboy bebop fanfiction

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poketin · 4 years ago

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An Exercise in Observation

(can also be found on ao3 under poketin)!

Kanamori Sayaka has a sharp eye.

She’s known for it. The label on her favorite milk and what to look out for when someone’s trying to cheap out of her cashing in their favor for some of the good stuff. The way the fresher money tree leaves jut out rather than the slight sag they acquire as time passes. The guilty hunch of Mizusaki’s shoulders as she spends too long trying to make a shot perfect instead of getting things done on time.

It’s why when Asakusa fiddles and squirms in ways different than usual (and yes of course Kanamori has her comrade’s mannerisms filed away, you never know what information may come in handy for your own purposes), Kanamori notices.

Asakusa squirming is nothing new, fiddling with pencils, chewing on her rabbit, coiling in her chair then springing up when her energy needs to go somewhere, “BA-BWAA!” as she helpfully explained. Kanamori knows it helps her concentrate, lays the tracks in front of her mind’s train as it barrels ahead with anecdotes, tangents, and ideas, trying to wrangle its path before it derails and overwhelms her senses.

But Asakusa is twitching in a way that suggests she’s trying to curb her movement, only lurching slightly on the same side each time, not alternating like the blur of her swinging legs or crisscrossing ankles as she taps on the floor, but a movement devoid of silence save for a hiss between her teeth.

Irritation seizes Kanamori’s body, overriding any possibility of worry or patience as she spins herself in her chair and slams her feet on the ground, one leg draped over the other.

“What are you doing.”

It comes out as a statement because Kanamori hates pointless questions, preferring an acknowledgment that “Yes, I know something’s wrong and no amount of unconvincing jabber is going to prove otherwise, so spit it out already,” but in fewer words that can save both of them time.

Despite this, the course of action Asakusa takes is of no surprise to anyone as she tries to withhold her shock, her hat hopping off her head for the briefest moment. She turns to Kanamori with GUILT practically written on her forehead in thick, black lines. She’s either brave or stupid enough to look her in the eyes, nonetheless. Mizusaki smells danger, and hightails it out of the clubroom with the excuse that she’s going to buy them all drinks.

“W-whatever could you mean, Kanamori-kun?”

Her uniform looks fine, a smudge of dirt here and there, a grass stain peaking out behind the sleeve of her blazer, maybe even a twig in her hair if her adventure was recent enough.

Her hands are unmarred, curling and clasping at each other as they are, no bandaids, no bruising, no scabs.

Her hat’s as worn as ever, no new holes or tears, no irreversible bleach stains from a traumatic laundry mishap.

Kanamori’s gaze combs over Asakusa’s body but she doesn’t twist or turn in her chair at all. The telltale signs of Asakusa’s nervousness are what the unimaginative often call “normal.” She curls in on herself slightly, her eyes straight ahead rather than bouncing around the room finding the foundations of a fighter plane or a laser cannon in every cranny of ruffled steel, her legs hang like dead weights, hands steady in their twisting instead of squeezing love into her rabbit or bunching up in her clothes. It’s her usual self-expression that’s labeled “suspicious,” confirming for Kanamori once more that the ignorance of people has no stopping point.

Then there’s that pinched expression on her face that Kanamori doesn’t like at all.

“Did a teacher tell you off again?”

There’s been problems, Kanamori’s opinion of faculty falling somehow even lower every time a teacher snaps at Asakusa to pay attention as she doodles (as if she doesn’t get above-average marks in many subjects) or tells her to stand in the hallway if she can’t stop being a distraction.

“No, it’s been awhile since that’s happened,” Asakusa says, shaking her head. Inwardly, Kanamori notes with satisfaction that her anonymous letters about being “unable to receive proper education under teachers that see fit to constantly single out one student” have achieved their goal faster than she predicted.

Outwardly, she raises a single eyebrow.

Asakusa sighs, and before Kanamori has a chance to stop her, stands up and rolls her skirt up partway. Luckily, Kanamori’s brain hasn’t caught up quickly enough to fry itself and send heat blasting into her cheeks, so she notices the problem rather quickly.

“Mosquito bites.”

There’s an angry, swelling bump right above her right knee, with two more on her outer left thigh. With the way she leans down to tug at her socks, there may very well be more on her lower legs.

Deciding on whether to take a break and get medical help or ignore her discomfort to keep working on backgrounds seems to have been an easy choice for their director.

Kanamori stands up and makes her way over, without a sound.

“Sometimes you need to feel the grass between your toes…” Asakusa mumbles, as if that makes her case more reasonable or sympathetic.

But Kanamori is not one to pity.

She stands in front of Asakusa, who only wilts now that Kanamori is directly in front of her, and lets her fist fall onto Asakusa’s head, a common gesture of her disdain.

“And where was the bug spray in your pack?”

Asakusa jolts up, her arms crossed over her body protectively.

“To bring chemical warfare into their natural territory is a war crime, Kanamori-kun!”

Her eyes shine with such righteous indignation that Kanamori has to clamp her teeth down on the rush of fondness that floods through her. Of course the girl who once let a cockroach ride on top of her hat so it could “experience the world in an entirely new way” would never kill a mosquito that didn’t first invade her home base.

“Will it hamper your productivity?”

“Well…”

Kanamori sighs and cinches her arms around Asakusa’s neck, pulling her along.

“W-wait, Kanamori-kun! The power of my will won’t be defeated by mere itchiness—!”

Her voice becomes a muffled squeak as Kanamori tosses her onto the couch and flips open her bag. She points at the couch without looking up.

“Sit. And no scratching.”

She pulls herself into a seated position as Kanamori digs around in her backpack.

Asakusa immediately swings one of her legs, letting out a strangled note of distress as one of her larger bites brushes against the fabric.

Kanamori, now in front of her, grabs the leg in midair.

“K-kanamori-kun?!”

She could focus on the way Asakusa scrunches her mouth in bafflement or the way her brown eyes flicker between Kanamori’s own eyes and clasped hand. She could think about how soft the skin of Asakusa’s leg seems right above where she’s holding her socked ankle. She could read into the way Asakusa doesn’t jerk away from her, how she seems to trust her completely and is ready to follow her lead.

Instead Kanamori drops her leg and tries to make her voice less hoarse as she says, “Don’t move.”

She kneels down and pops the cap off the anti-swelling pain relief gel. More tenderly than she’d ever admit, she squeezes some onto her finger and rubs it on the bite near her knee. Asakusa sighs as the cool gel soothes the burning area.

Kanamori never hesitates, but she’s not sure how to approach the bites in more…intimate areas. She and Asakusa have always been on the same wavelength though, and wordlessly Asakusa leans over to roll her socks down, nose nearly brushing Kanamori’s as she straightens back up to adjust her skirt once more.

There’s only a couple bumps on her lower legs, and Kanamori gets through them faster than she wants to, what with the last few targets waiting for her.

“Asakusa-shi.”

“Kanamori-kun.”

Of all times, it’s now that Asakusa’s voice is clearest, firmest. There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes and her face is enviably clear of any blush.

Kanamori has never been one to stall on what she wants.

She squeezes out more gel, sliding her other hand up Asakusa’ leg, just barely grazing it until she reaches the spot where the final bites are. Once there, she gently grips onto Asakusa’s leg, her thumb trailing her flesh, urging her to turn so the welt is in clearer view. Asakusa obliges.

Kanamori has a good poker face even on the worst of days. Still, as she slathers gel on Asakusa’s soft skin, its coldness contrasts rather pointedly with the heat coming off her own traitorous face.

The door opens just as Kanamori is finishing up. To their credit, neither of them jump at Mizusaki’s return. Instead, Kanamori screws and unscrews the cap of the gel, cursing design flaws as she struggles to get it back on, while Asakusa hops off the couch. She smooths out her skirt and gives Kanamori a brilliant smile without a hint of their previous tension.

“Thanks, Kanamori-kun!”

She grabs a can of peach tea from Mizusaki and dashes to her desk, throwing herself once more into the spirals of far-off mountains and billowing clouds that hide them away.

Kanamori ignores the grin Mizusaki gives her as she hands off the cool bottle of milk, but what she doesn’t miss is Mizusaki whispering, “You so owe me,” as she straightens back up. They both know she’s not talking about the milk, and Mizusaki skips to her workstation before Kanamori can so much as scowl in her direction.

Never mind the fact that she’s smiling instead.

#knas #kanamori x asakusa #sayaka kanamori #asakusa midori #kanamori sayaka x asakusa midori #eizouken #keep your hands off eizouken!#Eizouken ni wa Te wo Dasu na!#kanakusa #asamori #keep your hands off eizouken #poketin fics

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janekfan · 4 years ago

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Click.

Jon,

I trust you’ll have the statement I left for you this afternoon recorded by end of work day tomorrow.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

If you are to be useful in your position as Archivist, speak to your employees about what it means to research properly. I expect to see marked improvement following your discussion.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

You must have forgotten to record the statement from last week. I understand. It takes time to settle into a new position. Still, you have new responsibility and you know I hold you in high esteem. Tomorrow will have to do.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

Apologies for the late notice. Record the statement Rosie provided you prior to your leaving today. It is imperative.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

Please refrain from spending the night in the Archives. It is a liability. I’m sure you understand.

Regards,

Jon cradled his head in his hands, massaging the tension taking up residence in his temples and rubbing his itchy, aching eyes. These were only the latest in a very long list of emails he could never seem to keep up with. As soon as he made his way through them, reordered his plans for the day, accepted a new assignment from Elias, always given at the very last minute, Jon’s morning was already eaten up. He’d taken to arriving an hour or two early just to give himself more time to organize his plan of attack.

Like clockwork, Martin arrived with a mug of tea prepared exactly the way he preferred it.

“Thank you, Martin.” Gratefully, he cradled the hot ceramic in his palms, waiting until the heat seeping through the walls became nearly unbearable before taking a sip and closing his eyes in the briefest ecstasy. As a researcher Jon doubted he’d get much out of him, at least not for a while. It seemed as though they had something in common--he was as inept at his job as Jon was at his.

“Pardon me for saying, but, Jon, you look terrible.” He felt terrible. Sore and tired and overwhelmed. This new job felt like drowning and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Elias chose him over Sasha. She had so much experience, was so much more capable.

“I will not. Now, thank you again for the tea. Please return to your desk and continue with the statement I gave you three days ago.” Properly chastised and flushing bright red, Martin stumbled over his farewells as poorly as he stumbled out the door. Jon took a breath that achieved nothing, then took another, trying to clear his head enough to read through a statement. With how far behind he’d fallen he really should read through two but the ones he ended up documenting on those old tape recorders made him feel strange, dazed and drained, like he’d spent the time sprinting instead of speaking. The phone rang, harsh electronic chattering jolting him awake and he glanced frantically at his watch; only a few minutes.

Hell, Jon.

At least pretend you know what you’re doing.

Isn’t that what Georgie always said? Fake it till you make it?

Gingerly, he lifted the phone from its cradle.

“Sims, Archivist.”

“Jon.” Of course. He’d already known. “I trust you’ve had a productive morning.” It was as though he was watching his every move and Jon surreptitiously skimmed over the room, searching for cameras while knowing even if they did exist, he would never find them.

“Y’yes. Yes, of course.” An oily sensation trickled down the seam of his spine and he had a sneaking suspicion that Elias could tell he was lying. “I’ll have that recording up to you straight away.”

“Glad to hear it.” There was amusement there, cold and calculating. Jon didn’t like being played with and Elias reminded him too much of a cat with a mouse. “I’ll be waiting. Jon.” The delicate severing of the line failed to make the watching any less. All the same he plucked the statement off the top of his pile knowing already not to bother with his laptop and sank into the smog and the smoke, gasping as the written words closed over his face and buried him in obscurity.

“Statement ends.” He heaved a breath, shuffled through the notes he did have to allow himself time to get his trembling fingers under control. “Supplemental. Victim does not appear to have any connections to, uh, well, anyone. It appears as though they cut themselves off to family and friends long before their voyage. They have never been found.” Lord, he hoped that would be sufficient for Elias. But he didn’t have any additional information and so it would have to do. Groaning between teeth clenched near hard enough to crack his jaw, Jon pillowed his heavy head on folded arms until the room stopped its spinning. A notification rang out, echoing painfully in the space between his ears.

A new email.

And rather than reading it, Jon took up the tape, packaging it neatly in an envelope on the way out of his office and toward Elias.

Jon,

You recall, of course, your promise the other day. I wish to inquire about the whereabouts of the paperwork I was expecting this morning.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

Do try to arrive to work on time.

Regards,

Click.

Jon,

Did you forget about our lunch meeting? We shall reschedule.

Regards,

Jon thumbed through the calendar on his phone, disappointing himself with the distinct lack of invites to this mysterious lunch meeting. He went as far as to search his inbox. He’d never delete an email, preferring a papertrail himself, and could not find a thing. But Elias sounded so sure that Jon began to doubt his own memory. He’d been tired, working several late nights in a row. It was possible he forgot. He did that when he failed to write things down. He buried both hands in his curls and pulled. Damn it, all. Jon. Get a hold of yourself. Do your job.

Doggedly and with manic determination, Jon chewed through the stacks of files arranged in order of importance, lessening their number by a considerable amount and he was exhausted. Elias had kept calling with inane and frankly useless information at all the wrong moments, spiking his already rabbiting heart rate because no, he hadn’t yet had a moment to go over the first statement sent along today let alone the following three. Slowing the rise and fall of his chest deliberately, Jon pressed a palm over his upset and sore stomach.

Work was piling up at such a rate that Jon had the brilliant idea of taking home a messenger bag chock-a-block full each night. He’d been told off thrice about falling asleep in the archives and at least when he passed out in his own flat he was caught by couch cushions instead of the solid pine of his cheap desk. Alright, finally. Large, uninterrupted swathes of time in the evenings and on weekends and he was finally, finally catching up with all of his back log. The tight fist of anxiety clutched mercilessly around his lungs and stealing away any chance of a full breath began to loosen. He could do this. He was passable at this job.

He arrived Monday, bright and early, unloading his completed work and filing it all carefully and neatly away. A thing of beauty he took a moment to be proud of.

Until he sat down to check his emails.

Jon,

Statements are the property of the Magnus Institute and should not be removed from the premises. I trust you understand and this oversight will not happen again.

Regards,

Projecting an air of confidence he most certainly did not possess, Jon approached Tim and Sasha with a short stack of files he hoped to divide between them. Understandably, they were cross with him for taking the position even though he really had very little say in the matter. He was hopeful their chilly attitude towards him would thaw over time because he missed them and they were his friends even if they were taking time away from him at the moment. Honestly, he’d like to take time away from himself and his mistakes and the crushing one tonne weight of his inability.

“What can we do you for, boss?” Tim’s new nickname for him didn’t altogether sound like a positive thing but Jon decided there was no use bringing it up. Especially when he’d come to beg favors. His voice got stuck in his throat and he cleared it, apprehensive and wishing he’d never had this idea.

“Hullo.” He nodded to each of them. Why was this so awkward? Because they hate you, you prat. “I’m, I wouldn’t normally ask, I know you’re working hard on the tasks I’ve already assigned you. But. I’m a touch overwhelmed?” He chuffed a laugh, it was either that or sob. “And, if you’re not too busy I. I’m sorry, I just.” As covertly as possible, he blinked away tears. “I need some help.” He held his breath. Swallowed nervously. Worried his bottom lip.

“Sorry boss.” And Tim looked so contrite the crashing guilt broke over Jon like a wave. “I’m still in the middle of the other things you asked me to do.” Sasha was next, tilting her head in sympathy, a small, sad smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“We’re all busy, Jon.” Gently, she spoke, probably trying to spare his feelings. “You should know, being the one passing out the work and all.” Oh. He’d thought. His desk was still piled impossibly high and Sasha and Tim had a few each but. No. Stop it, you know they're better suited to this than you. You know it. Don't blame your friends for your own ineptitude. They’d all been working so hard, he distinctly remembered recording and filing their work and Martin’s.

“Of course, it’s. I’m sorry. I’ll do better in the future.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Wonderful. Now he was trying to offload his own problems by putting undue pressure on his assistants and with as much as he was under he’d have thought he knew better than to burden them like that. It certainly didn’t make his job any easier. But. But he had thought they might be finished on some of the follow through, it had been some time. Okay. Alright. No harm done, not really, he murmured to himself, tucking the files under his arm and retreating to the safety of his office. He could brush off his researching skills and help out, it hadn’t been that long. If he planned better he could alleviate some of their stress.

Jon,

Going forward, I would appreciate if you would check over the work of your assistants to make certain all is well before being recorded and filed.

Regards,

It was a Tuesday.

He knew that because on Tuesdays Martin arrived an hour later. Something to do with taking care of his mum. Without knowing that, Jon wasn’t sure he’d know at all.

His stomach hurt.

There hadn’t been much time for sleeping, not with coming in over the weekend to sort through and double check perfectly adequate research. Why did Elias allow him to choose assistants in the first place then? What was the point if one didn’t trust their expertise? Tim and Sasha didn’t need him double checking their work. Even Martin wasn’t in need of it beyond a few grammar corrections. Regardless, he’d done it and he’d made quick progress. Perhaps he should have been spending his weekends at the Institute this whole time. He shivered, incredibly cold despite extra socks and an additional jumper. Cor, but he was dizzy, barely able to hold his head up on a weak and wobbly neck. Pretty sure he’d forgotten to eat yesterday. Hasn’t yet today and with the pain in his stomach he didn’t plan to. What did he have Sunday? Jon gave up wracking his clouded brain in favor of laying his hot cheek against the cool wood of the desk. Stacks of files and envelopes and notes so high he couldn’t see over them formed thick, impenetrable walls between him and the outside world. Was nice. Focusing his eyes on a brilliant pink tag, Jon let it take up his vision until it swam out of focus and tears slipped over the bridge of his nose, running down his cheek to the scarred surface. It was too easy to cry. He was being overdramatic, whinging because he was incompetant at his job and frightened he would lose it despite doing fuck all to earn it in the first place.

“Jon?” Angrily, he scrubbed the tears away before sitting up. “Oh! There you are. Wow, that’s. Well, that’s a lot of work.”

“I’ve noticed.” Irritated at being caught doing nothing, Jon scowled.

“I. Is there something I can do? To help?” Any closer and he’d surely notice that he’d been crying like a child over their schoolwork. Snapping, Jon let a defensive growl add a sharp, snapping edge to his words they didn’t need.

“Maybe if you spent more time researching and less on making tea.”

“Oh. Y’yes. I--of course.” The man stuttered around his apologies, leaving the tea behind on the corner of his desk before fleeing the room. Well, no surprise there. Jon Sims. Resident arsehole. He let his cheekbone smack into the wood, accepting his worsening migraine as a matter of course, deserving it. Through the valley between two mountainous heaps he could see just the handle of the mug. His favorite mug, if he was prone to those sorts of things.

Jon drank his tea as an apology and let the emails pile up in his inbox and the phone go to voicemail.

“Jon.” With no small measure of difficulty, Jon levered himself upright with brittle stick and string arms. He hurt all over. Sore and stiff and cold. It took conscious effort to pull air into his laboring lungs.

“Elias.” Voice like gravel, he clutched at his painful throat, wincing when tears stung his eyes after a short but intense fit of coughing.

“You look terrible, Jon.” It didn’t sound sincere or worried, more irritated. “Is this why I’ve had to come see you in person? Why you've ignored my correspondence?”

“Uh, y’yes?” Under the close scrutiny of his superior, Jon thought he might pass out, struggling to focus through the sweeping waves of delirious heat rushing through him from top to toes. “I, I’ve been under the, the w’weather?”

“Jon.” Sighing in frustration, he pinched the space between his eyes. “If I cannot trust you to care for yourself, how can I trust you to run my archives?”

“Apologies. It. I won’t let it get this bad again.”

“See that you don’t.” He turned, disappointment clear in the stiff line of his shoulders and the callous tone of his voice. “Take the rest of the day. Another if you require it. You’re useless to everyone as you are.” If Jon had been capable of it at the moment, he would have been shocked. As it was, he was filled to bursting with humiliation, shivering in his chair and trying to think of the steps it took to get home from here. His assistants crowded within the frame of the door, expressions displeased with him and he wanted for one moment not to feel watched. Not when he was so, so, so useless. Already his face was hot with embarrassment and shame, tears pooling in his eyes and god forbid he let them fall. He stood, hip knocking into the wooden edge hard enough to bruise and Jon had to catch himself on a filing cabinet when the room tilted abruptly on its axis, nearly taking him with it. A cacophony of noises and sounds and echoing commotion blocked up his ears. He ignored their faux concern, their questions, pushing them out before they had a chance to come in and locking the door behind them.

“Jon--” Tim. The rattling knob.

“Leave.” Staggering to his chair, he collapsed, curling tight around the blazing ache at the core of him.

“Jon, you’re, you’re not well.” He knew. And was useless because of it. He didn’t need to be reminded.

“Pease leave.” So, so sick, about to be sick, can’t move, can’t breathe, everything numb, numb, numb. Let him be alone so he can gather his things, deal with the ever present chanting in his mind.

Failure, failure, failure.

“Damn it, Tim. We, we took this too far.” Faint sounds of muffled arguing faded further and further into the distance until he was left with only Martin’s fidgeting silhouette in the frosted glass of the window. He couldn’t stay upright, nauseated and unsteady and when he fell forward, vision blacked, body heavy, an avalanche of paperwork flowed over the precipice with the rest of him.

“Hey, Jon, Jon.” Unfamiliar hands roamed where they oughtn't, tilted him this way and that and he moaned because that was a sure fire way to upset the tentative agreement he had made with his stomach. “Jon!” Insistent, persistent, incessant.

“Go…” thick, nigh incomprehensible.

“There you are, now.” Martin, his palm blessedly cool and sweeping back clinging, irritating curls from where they’d stuck to his clammy skin. “You’re burning up, Jon.” Pity. He didn’t want pity. He just wanted to be left alone and tried to say it, ended up coughing instead, hugging himself desperately to stop the fire poker stabbing into his gut. “Hush, let’s get you sorted. Get you home so you can rest proper.” Drifting, he sensed more than saw Martin step out, closing the door behind him.

“How is he?”

“Not well.”

“What does that mean, Martin?”

“Means I need to get him home and into bed.”

“How can we help?”

“You didn’t want to help him before.”

“That--you know--!”

Out of earshot, out of body, out of mind, out of, out of…

Touch, soft and careful, lifted that thin veil of sleep, pulled him up by protesting shoulders, and he couldn’t stop the cry forced between his teeth at being unfolded.

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin tugged him until he was leaned against his side and held a glass to his lips, tipping water by mouthfuls, chastising Jon not unkindly when he chased it. “Slow, slow now. Or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“S’...um. I.” Thoughts fluttered like moths, all too quick for him to catch, in and out of the dark, seemingly out of nowhere, disappearing into nowhere.

“It’s alright. Take these, good man.” But he wasn't. He was bad. At his job. At people. At, at everything. Pills, bitter and chalky on his tongue, washed down with more water. “Jacket, good, good, I know.” Every action’s difficulty had increased one hundred fold and Jon latched onto Martin’s voice like it was a lifeline. “Okay, I’ve called a cab.”

“Can’...you can’t…”

“You can buy me a coffee, Jon. Pay me back if you have to but the train isn’t the place for you right now.” So lightheaded, so very lightheaded, if Martin hadn’t been there he’d be making acquaintance with the tile, he was sure. “I should take you to A&E. I really don’t like how you look.”

“No, no. Jus’...sleep.” A noncommittal hum filled him with worry. He wanted to go home.

“Alright, Jon. Alright.” Though his surroundings were a blur, Jon thought he saw Tim and Sasha when Martin whisked him to the lift but he couldn’t be sure. It hurt to walk, to move and he buried his face in Martin’s broad shoulder for the duration of the ride, breathing shallow and slow to stave off the carsickness.

Something cold and wet settled over his forehead and he struggled to open his eyes, staring up at a familiar ceiling, still dressed in his work clothes, sans wingtips.

“Welcome back.”

“Wh’where’d I go?” Martin’s hands were moving sections of his hair, plaiting it he realized after a long moment.

“So it stays out of your face, you don’t seem to like it.”

“Mm…” He didn’t, and the effort it took to put it up hadn’t been worth it lately.

“Should I stop?”

“No. Nice.” He was feeling marginally better now that he was laying down and out of the archives and away from the overwhelming pressure and stress. The shame was there, its blinding brightness dulled by distance and time and the fingers combing out the tangles calmed his thoughts.

“Sorry, sorry, love, I know you were having a nice sleep.” More medicine, diluted tea with sugar. Jon fumbled with his belt, uncomfortable, couldn’t get his fingers to do what he wanted, and didn’t remember taking off his slacks or his jumper or layers of socks or his button down leaving him in his loose undershirt. His heavy quilt was pulled up, he was tucked in, warm, comfortable.

“Okay, just breathe.” Jolted awake and bent double over his throbbing stomach, Jon’s back heaved with the force of a barking fit. “Here, another dose.”

“Mah…”

“You’re alright. Let the medicine work.” The damp flannel was back, sweeping over his flushed skin, ridding it of its disagreeable stickiness. Down his throat, over shuddering collarbones, cheeks, brow, repeat, slow, even, methodical.

Over and over and over…

“Jon!” Dark, smothering dark, hands, striking like snakes in, out, everywhere, trying to hold him down, trying to keep him still, from getting up. “Jon, hey, hey, shh.” Panting, can’t. Coughing, not enough, choking. What, what... who… he. Work. He had work to finish? Have, so. Elias was, was angry, disappointed? Pinned, arms close, soft, warm, behind. Up and down. And. Sick...he was. “Shh, it’s alright, s’alright.”

“Mah…’in. W’why, ah.” How was he supposed to finish...he had to finish but there’s so much how. How. When he was...

“Hush, Jon. Hush. Don’t worry about any of that archiving nonsense right now. When you're well, when we go back I’ll help you sort through that mess.”

“Don’, don’need h’help.”

“It’s fine if you do.” Martin’s kind, soft tone was enough to make the sorrow spill over and lightly calloused fingers brushed them away. “It is, Jon. I, I know I’m not the best yet, but I want to help.”

“T’Tim and Sasha...even, it’s. Too much on you all.”

“It’s too much for you.” For one frantic, delusional moment Jon believed Elias had sent Martin here to dismiss him. That he wasn’t even worth letting go in person and he panicked, distraught.

“No! No! I can, I can do this! I ca--” Fire erupted, coursed through flayed open veins when he coughed, gasped, tasted iron against his teeth. Sobbed. Then Martin hugged him and it should have been awful because Jon didn’t do hugs but he returned it anyway. “I was asking too much.” Hoarse and choked and sad. No one should feel like he did, at the end of a rope knotted too much like a noose, and he’d gone ahead and done it to Tim and Sasha and overloaded them with more and more and more work and then he tried to add even more because he couldn’t handle his own damn job and, and--!

“Jon! You weren’t asking enough.”

“They, you, were so busy, I, I couldn’t--”

“Jon, love, I need you to listen to me.” When he made to interrupt, Martin settled him back into the pillows and took his hand in a loose hold Jon was free to escape. He didn’t understand. “Tim and Sasha. They were having a go at you.” That didn’t sound right. They were. They were friends. “Pretending to be slow, putting the pressure on their new boss.” The sharp shock of electric grief cracked through his breastbone as though it were a lightning rod and he wasn’t grounded.

“Y’you’re lying.” He had to be. And Jon wasn’t the best at interpreting these sorts of things on a good day but he had to be. He had to be because they, they were friends. They wanted to help, they said.

“They were upset with you, I suppose.” His fingers tightened around Martin’s hand and he returned it. “I don’t think they meant it to go this far. I don’t think they really understood what Elias was asking of you.”

“Why?” Broken, shaking so violently he nearly bit his tongue. “Why would they? What did, I didn’t mean to be chosen. I didn’t mean it Martin, I didn’t, I never. I.”

“I know.”

“Elias, he. He didn’t--” Pathetic. He barely knew Martin and the man was in his flat, in his room, consoling him because his coworkers couldn’t stand their new boss.

“I don’t want you to think about it right now.” Helpless, hopeless, Jon looked up at him. “I want you to sleep.” Martin cupped his jaw and brushed the tears away with two balanced sweeps of his thumbs and Jon clung to his wrists. “Try to sleep, things will be better in the morning. I promise, Jon. I promise.” It didn’t feel like it could ever be better. But sleep sounded good. Sleep and he could forget about it for a little while. Martin tucked stray curls back away from his face, into the messy plait, talked about nothing, poetry, the dog he’d let run into the archives forever ago. Jon let him, trying not to think about anything else. Following the currents of his voice down, down, down, where the weight of tide dragged him under.

“Your fever is still higher than I’d like.” Jon frowned. He wanted to be miserable alone but in the end he slept when he could, when his worsening stomach ache let up, and watched Martin tidy his cluttered flat through half lidded eyes. He snapped awake when the door closed thinking he’d finally had enough of his sour mood and left. But no. He’d gone to the Tesco down the street to purchase him some essentials and was coming back. Jon missed him leaving. He was irritated with Martin for taking his phone even though it was probably for the best. The emails kept coming, enough to bury him, and his vision was swimming so badly he could barely read them anyway.

Still, he couldn't help but think about the archives and the new statements that no-doubt waited for his return. They’d be further behind now, out one terrible archivist and one archivist’s assistant all because he couldn’t take care of himself properly.

“Are you sure you feel well enough?” Martin was helping him take slow, unsteady steps to the kitchen table where his laptop resided. “You’re so pale.”

”Can’afford to waste more time.” He could glance through some emails. He was well enough for that. Probably.

“That didn’t answer the question.” It ended up being a waste anyway. He was too dizzy to sit up let alone read and Martin did him the kindness of not saying “I told you so.” Currently, Jon was leaning his temple on the chilly glass of the dirty window and Martin was fixing some tea for him. He didn’t want it, worried that if he moved or even thought about food or drink he’d lose his tenuous battle with the nausea. He jumped when Martin touched his shoulder, closing his eyes when it just hurt. “You’re shaking.”

“Mm. C’cold.”

“Back to bed.” Jon shook his head. He couldn’t. “You need to rest.”

“Can’t…” He folded thin arms over his middle. He was being lifted to his feet, the room blinked in and out and his mouth flooded with salt.

“Jon?” There was fear in Martin’s voice but he couldn’t alleviate it, not when he was trying to keep still, keep from collapsing then and there. “Jon? Ambulance is on the way. It’s alright, it’ll be alright, hang on.” He didn’t mean to be sick but his lips wouldn’t form the shapes of his apologies.

Red.

Bright red

A gout of it coating his tongue in copper.

“Jon!”

“S’sor…” His legs gave way with another gush, there was pain but he couldn’t pinpoint it, falling, slow, drifting like leaves cradled in autumn wind. Clothes soaked and tacky with carmine buds blossoming, blooming, growing, fields of poppies spreading from him to Martin and pressure, pressure, pressure on his hands.

Frozen.

Wet warmth traced the contour of his jaw and the uneven pounding, pounding, pounding of his heart drowned out all else as it tried to escape the cage of his ribs.

Flashes of light, sound, lifted, his connection with Martin severed and he choked on rubies instead of his name.

Speaking. Wouldn’t answer, couldn't the cloying smell of iron lay thick all over this place. Didn’t want to be here.

A sticky toffee grip. Squeeze can’t feel it.

Jon Jon Jon the chirp of birds calling shouting screaming warning him of what comes next cold in his skin in his veins the dark takes all and gives nothing back.

Bright white blazing phosphorescent fire burning burning no one is coming to save him from the shadows hemming him in trapping him under swaying shifting indifferent lights that blind his eyes and pull cherry sweet claret from his insides with a fishhook.

Lashes lined with lead fought against the weight of muffled murmuring, the piping trill of electric monitors, but there’s only soft dusk dim and exquisite detachment. Nowhere, nothing hurts and his sum total is velvet wool and fleece and he sleeps.

The distinction between dream and wakefulness was little more than a gauzy veil but Jon thought he recognized Martin and Tim and Sasha and when he could he forced his clumsy apologies, inadequate though they may be, through jumbled words, slurred and stuttered and slow and he was sorry he’d gone and made such a mess of things and he’d fix it if he could, it they told him how, he’d do anything, just please don’t hate him.

Soft sounds, familiar sounds, kind sounds. A thick blanket of cloud and cool fog and…

Jon woke with a mouth full of cotton and a dull pain somewhere in the vicinity of his middle. When he lifted his arm the tug of an itchy catheter in the back of his hand drew his attention to the leads and the lines leading to bags of fluids refracting prisms built by bright beams streaming into the room between gaps in the shades.

“Hey.” The relief Jon felt in hearing Martin’s voice was too complicated to think about so he didn’t. Instead trying to dredge up a smile from somewhere as he sat next to him. “You’ve been awake a few times. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember.” He blinked.

“I--ah.” Wincing, Jon put a hand to his throat when speaking was akin to gargling glass, and he accepted the water Martin offered gratefully, as well as the help of his steady hand. “I, I don’t.”

“The fever has just started to go down. Lowest it’s been today I think.”

“You’ve…”

“After work. Just to check in. ‘Bout a week now.” The surprise must have shown on his face because Martin knit his brow. “It was touch and go there for, for a little while. But, you’re on the mend.”

“I d’didn’t...what did, what?”

“Well. Jon. An ulcer, first of all. From stress--exceedingly rare mind you. Which worsened when you began getting ill.” That, that made sense. “And, uh. I don’t know if you remember the day it happened.”

“Not really, no.” Snapshots of time sure, but nothing concrete and when Martin explained he’d lost what he thought was a litre of blood on his kitchen floor and another all over himself Jon had no rebuttal. “Was. I thought I saw?”

“Tim and Sash? Yeah. They visited a few times.” There was more there, just unspoken, and Jon didn’t push him for anything else.

Jon was trembling with fatigue after the doctor did their poking and prodding and sent him on a painful jaunt down the hall with Martin and his IV stand as his chaperones, leaning more and more of his weight on his arm. Another day saw him discharged and home for the weekend with Martin to fuss and fret and force him to follow instructions to the letter.

“Boss.” Tim’s chair nearly tipped over with how fast he was on his feet. “You, are you sure you should be?” Weakly he gestured to the office, concern evident in his haggard face. Sasha composed herself with a bit more decorum, actions careful and precise.

“Jon, maybe you should take more time away.” When she stepped toward him, he stepped back. He was capable of doing his job; please let him do it. “We understand if you--”

“I’ve recovered well enough. Thank you both. For y’your concern.” Ducking his head he retreated into his office, not sure what to expect from the state of it and surprised when he was faced with only statements to record organized by length and supplemental research. The heaps of papers he’d accumulated over his short tenure were all but gone and while it ameliorated the panic he’d lied about to Martin, it also proved the man was right.

Tim and Sasha.

Best not to dwell.

There was work to be done.

“Let me get that for you.” Sasha reached past Jon before he could even extend his arms toward the box. “Martin told us not to let you lift anything.” Traitor. Speaking of, a fresh cup of tea rested beside a new translation. Passable. After the tea, he had the strength to log into his email for the first time.

Jon,

I trust you are ready to begin recording statements. Please do so at once. Your assistants have proved themselves capable enough in your absence to not require such close supervision.

Do well on your promise. Do not let this happen again.

Regards,

Jon exhaled, the tension seeping out of his body replaced by profound weariness. When he blinked awake, covered in the throw from the break room, Martin magically appeared with another cuppa.

“Nice nap?” He suppressed a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as Martin suppressed a smile. “Pain?”

“Not bad.”

“So, not good?”

“I’m fine, Martin.”

“Glad to hear it!” Tim’s bright tone and appearance were surprising but more surprising was the container of soup in his hands. “Followed Martin’s instructions, boss. Lemme know what you think.” Jon wasn’t even sure what expression he threw towards the man holding out the fresh tea but he was certain there was very real fear there and by the time he’d recovered Martin patted his hand and left him to lunch.

To be fair, Tim was a good cook.

Jon took a deep breath and cleared his throat to gain the attention of all three of his assistants.

“As we are all. Aware. I was ill recent--”

“You nearly died!”

“Nothing of the sort.” He waved a hand dismissively.

“That’s not what your doctor said!”

“My doctor shouldn’t have divulged anything.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m alright, now. I’m fine.” He looked at each of them individually. “This was a, a perfect storm, nothing more.” Jon understood that they were upset and didn't want to be around him. They didn't have to, to like him. “We should have spoken before, I should have. I know you’re angry with me.” This time he held up a stern hand to halt them. “And I may have no right to ask, but I need help if I’m to have a chance at doing this job. I. I chose you because.” Nerve lost, he glanced at his wingtip shoes, counted the worn scuff marks. Be a boss, Jonathan. “We worked well together. Before. And. I wanted to apologize.” Deep breath, a decisive nod. “I hope we can develop a positive working relationship moving forward.”

“Jon, Jon, no. Don’t apologize. This. This is our fault. I was upset and Tim and I we, we didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“You couldn’t have known Elias was. Burying me.”

“We would have if we’d asked after you. If we’d given you the time of day. When the Big Boss came down to personally boot you out of the office you. You looked like hell. And then Martin said--” he had the sense to look sheepish when Jon glared at him.

“Is there no hope of keeping anyone’s confidence?”

“No, probably not. We were so worried.” Tim provided.

“And when we visited. All we did, Jon, you were so upset.” Everpresent, the shame colored his face.

“I. I don’t remember much.”

“Let us help.” Gingerly, Sasha touched his shoulder. “Properly this time.”

“A team!” Tim slung his arm over his other shoulder and gestured with a wide hand. Both of them were taking such pains to be careful with him and Jon wondered how much Martin had told them. “Like the old days, plus Marto here. Resident boss saver and tea maker.”

“Tim.” The ache in his chest lifted, lightened for the first time since he’d been handed this department.

“Come on, boss. Let us pamper you.”

“I will not!”

“It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice.” And Tim and Sasha embarrassed him further with a gentle hug.

“Martin’s right, Jon. You really don’t.”

90 notes · View notes

itsthemoofacewriting · 4 years ago

Text

I know you’re tired (why don’t we go back home)

That’s right, I’m not done with Whole Cake Island, nor Sanji’s vulnerability, so buckle in kiddos. This is a standalone and has nothing to do with my other story involving the WCI arc.

Summary: Sanji is quiet. Far too quiet, considering his kitchen is half burned down and Nami’s having none of it. Rating: T

Warning: This story mentions abuse and the aftereffects of that on Sanji- some very negative thoughts. So please know your limits and exit if you have to, I don’t want to upset anyone. But I will say the ending is happy, because I like to toe at the dangerous line of emotional but not too much.

The title is from the song ‘Tired’ by Astyn Turr.

Can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

Enjoy.

Sanji’s standing in his beloved kitchen, eyes calculating as he takes in the damage and he doesn’t need to get out his abacus to know this will cost an arm and a leg to repair. The worst of the damage is centered around the stove. The countertop is now black instead of the beautiful cream and gold finish it once had. There’s also god knows what stuck to the top of the stove. At this point it looks like it’s melded to the metal grates and he knows that’s going to take some elbow grease to get out.

Unsurprisingly, the fridge is as good as new. Nami had told him it had been the first thing Luffy had saved when the fire had broken out.

There’s no salvaging the cupboards surrounding the stove though. Fire’s licked away all the colour and has eaten away at the wood- he’s slightly surprised to see the remaining cupboard doors are even still on. He hasn’t worked up the courage to look in the cupboards yet, to see whether he has any cooking equipment or utensils left. He will look, just not yet. He wants to see how much of the black soot he can get rid of and whether he can get any of the black sludge off of his stove first.

Currently, he’s on his hands and knees, cleaning the floor around the stove and has been cleaning for the last few hours. The kitchen is nowhere near clean enough but it’s a whole lot better than the eyesore from before; most of the soot is gone and the black sludge is slowly lifting- it only loosened on his third attempt and at some point, he’ll have to ask what the hell it is.

That’s how Nami finds him. He heard the door open and the distinct sound of heels clicking about the hard wood floor, which then changed to tiles, so he knows she’s making her way towards him.

He spins, ready to put on a show and fall into his Nami-swaaan~ routine but the look she’s giving him stopped him on the spot and he’s preparing for the worst. It’s rare to see that look on her face, a mixture between angry and stern. Many of the crew would say she always looked like that, but he knows her well enough, watched her for long enough, to know the small differences.

“Why aren’t you angry about your kitchen?” She demanded, crossing her arms, eyebrow raised, and he realised it’s actually a look of don’t bullshit me.

So, he shrugged and started cleaning the space between him and Nami. It’d be rude to turn his back on her and he’d never dream of doing that, but at the same time he needed to keep himself busy, he couldn’t stand the scrutiny of that look.

And she knows it. She continued to stare even though he’s trying to look busy, to politely brush off her concern and not look at her. But she’s not giving in because the silence continued to stretch in the still kitchen, and the final straw is when she started to tap her foot. It matched the seconds ticking on the clock and he started to visualise the ticking of a bomb. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when it goes off.

Doesn’t have to either because he’s giving in on the tenth foot tap.

“Well, I can imagine it was a hard journey to get here,” the ‘without me’ is unsaid but it’s there and he shrugged but all she does is continue to stare, looking expectant, so he continued, “and I couldn’t be sure of who actually did it.”

That’s weak and they both know it. Nami’s huffing and her previously crossed arms now sit at her hips as she responded, “Look around-” She pointed at the blackened walls, he hadn’t started on them yet, “-This has Luffy written all over it. You think anyone else could achieve this?”

Sanji had nothing to say to that, so he just kept cleaning, even though he’s pretty sure the spot he’s cleaning isn’t dirt anymore and is actually a scorch mark.

The foot taping started again. “Luffy wasted food,” She said bluntly, and he knows what she’s doing, she’s trying to bait him. “Cooked everything in your best pot and then tipped the pot with the food in overboard.”

He knows she’s missing out on a few key details, like the fact that the atrocious stew he made was poisonous and that had he been with them, this wouldn’t have happened. His sister had told him when she’d returned and if it wasn’t for his sister, Luffy would be dead right now. Probably the one time he’s thankful for his family’s powers, not that they ever benefitted him.

They descend back into silence and it’s suffocating, makes him want to fidget, but he stopped himself. It’s then that he realised why it’s making him so uncomfortable and itchy. It’s stifling and it screams rejection and disapproval. It reminded him of when his father would look down his nose at him, judging him and it was that silence that used to greet him back from his cell when his voice was raw from yelling.

“Well?” Her voice cut through his thoughts before they can go any further, to a much darker place when thinking about his biological family, and he flinched at the tone.

“Sanji?” The tone is soft, a stark difference to the one from before.

Briefly, he wondered why it’d changed so drastically from before when he hasn’t responded. It’s because whilst he hasn’t said anything verbally, physically he’s said enough; from the silence, to the lack of eye contact, to the flinching and belatedly, he realised he’s curled his shoulders in. To make himself look small. Something he hasn’t done since he first joined Baratie.

He’s shown his hand and to someone who’s well versed in this language.

Their pasts were fairly similar, he’d always known that, trapped in situations of abuse and it used to make him nervous. He was always waiting for her to catch on. She was so perceptive, and he was sure she was onto him in Skypiea when he’d said he was from North Blue. He’d watched her eyes narrow and her mouth had opened to voice her confusion, but they’d been interrupted, and it was never brought up again. He slightly wondered if that was on purpose, she didn’t forget the little things.

He chanced a glance at her face after he’s straightened himself and regretted it almost immediately. She looked so worried, eyes searching for something and it made him feel naked. It made him want to disappear and it’s because he’s scared that she’s going to see right through him.

Shame.

That’s what he’s feeling, and he hated it. He doesn’t want her to see all the dirt on him, all the disgusting parts of him that made his family hate him. He doesn’t want it to happen again, he can’t. Not with her. He wants her to see him as the best version of himself, always.

But he can’t anymore. Not when she’s seen where he’s come from first-hand and heard all about it from his father.

He realised he’s already naked. Laid bare before them all, against his will and it’s easier to hide away in the kitchen then let them see him for what he truly is.

His hands have stopped their idle cleaning and he’s got so lost in his self-loathing that he’s forgotten to keep his face neutral and he’s curled back in on himself. He’s laid himself bare this time and there’s no escape.

She doesn’t look disgusted though, she doesn’t sneer down at him like his family did when he was young and tell him how pathetic he was or hit him. It looked like it’s suddenly dawning on her, maybe not the full picture just yet- but the lines are in place and the drawing only needs to be coloured in.

He sees the agitation bleed out of her. Her previously tense shoulders relax; her face softened and her eyes… he doesn’t know if can continue to look directly into them just yet. They melt and there’s so much sitting in that look and it’s all for him.

Understanding. Warmth. Empathy. Affection.

For little pathetic Sanji.

He looked down again. His wall’s about to crumble and he desperately needed to leave but he has nowhere else to go. This is his safe space.

Heels click against the tiles to close the distance between them but they’re less threatening now, not so sharp and don’t send panic down his spine.

The atmosphere in the kitchen has lifted, it’s warm and he’s suddenly reminded of his mother, how he used to feel when he was around her when she was alive.

Even more so when Nami draws him in. Her hand gently pulled the dirty rag away from his blackened hands and squeezed and he thought that was going to be it. But then her arms are wrapping around his shoulders and he’s being pulled into her embrace. It’s a bit awkward, he’s still taller than her even when she’s wearing heels, so he has to slouch a bit, but he doesn’t pull away. She brings him down until his face is resting in the crease of her neck.

It’s personal and far too intimate and warm.

Like she’s protecting him.

And it’s the straw that broke the camels back.

His eyes sting because he honestly can’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like this.

That’s a lie. He can but he doesn’t let himself think about it too often because he never quite got over her death. The woman that made his childhood bearable with gentle touches and adoring looks as he showed off his latest creation; only for it to all be taken away so suddenly before he was forced into darkness.

The tears are pouring now and he’s hugging Nami back just as tightly as she is. He’d be mortified normally; that she was seeing him like this, and he was ruining her pretty dress with something he should be over by now, but he can feel matching tears running down his cheeks that aren’t his. He can feel her body shaking along with his because she’s sharing his grief with him, so he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Nami doesn’t try to sooth him or give him reassuring words, she’s just there with him in the moment. They stay like that, their hold never slackening on the other as sobs filled the quiet kitchen. Quiet ship actually, if either of them bothered to pay attention to anything other than the person in front of them.

Neither of them moved away from the embrace, but when Sanji’s arms slacken slightly, Nami took that as a sign to start running her hands up and down his back. The move brought a fresh wave of tears from his eyes but they’re silent now, just a residue of what’s left over.

They’re in his hair now and he wondered how appropriate it really was when he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, but she didn’t voice her disapproval. If anything, it encouraged her actions all the more and he could feel the rigidness wash from his body at the gesture.

With one last squeeze, he’s tentatively pulling away from her embrace. It’s time to face the music. He wasn’t expecting her to look so determined and he’s thrown for a second because he doesn’t know what to make of that look. She cupped his face and her thumbs soothe across his cheeks to wipe away the tracks of tears that remain.

“I don’t have the full picture, but I know enough. I don’t think any less of you, I want you to know that I wouldn’t- that any of us wouldn’t. If anything, I think you’re even more amazing than you already were.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That almost brings a fresh wave of tears to his eyes because she’s so quickly and concisely got to the root of the problem. They’re words he’s never heard directly said to him and he’s slightly glad because he couldn’t imagine hearing them before now and coping with it.

Her hands are steady on his face and she doesn’t let him look down at his feet like he wanted to. As much as he wanted these words from her, the small voice in the back of his head told him otherwise.

“Judge knows nothing. For him to say all those words and believe them just proves it,” She told him fiercely, daring him to disagree. “You’re the strongest person I know, physically, mentally and emotionally. None of them are weaknesses. It’s makes you human and nothing’s worth keeping more than that.”

Nami’s words were fierce, but her expression is soft. Because the words are for Judge and the voice in the back of his head, but the softness is for him. For that dirty side of him that she now sees and apparently likes.

There’s nothing he can say. Mainly because he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack but also what could he say to that? Instead, he’s pulling her into another hug. One where he’s wrapping his arms her and trying to convey how much she means to him.

It must come across because she’s squeezing him back and he felt her breathe in deeply. What really confirmed it is the confidence in which she said, “I missed you.”

He felt like he could melt. From how adorable she’s being right now and the relief; he missed her too.

“I missed you too.”

She pulled away from him so she can see his face but stayed in his embrace, she looked serious again.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he uttered back softly, and his eyes drifted around her face, taking all of her in. It’s rare he got to see her up close like this and he’s savouring the moment.

And then she’s smiling at him, like he’s handed her a whole chest full of gold. Whilst Nami may seem hard and unforgiving at times, she’s also one of the softest and most understanding people he’s ever met and she’s showing that right now.

It’s a combination of everything that does it for him. The atmosphere is intimate, despite the half-burned kitchen surrounding them, they’re still holding onto each other and Nami’s eyes have gone doe-eyed, almost like she’s realised too. But she didn’t pull away, didn’t let go. Instead he watched as her gaze quickly fell to his lips before darting back up to his eyes and he copied the gesture.

They’re like magnets, slowly drawing in closer with little regard to anything else other than the person in front of them. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but when their lips finally touch it’s like everything has fallen into place and all the wrongs in his life are suddenly right. He tilted his head to the side to find a better angle and slot himself closer to her. She hummed in agreement, like she could read his thoughts, but the action sent tingles through his lips and his new aim is to get her to do that again.

But there’s hands on his shoulders before he can fulfil that goal, they’re pushing him back and he doesn’t resist.

“Maybe now isn’t the best time to be doing this,” Nami whispered and he can feel her breath on his lips. Her hands don’t move from his shoulders, but they do relax and stroke at the fabric of his shirt.

“Why’s that?”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage, look at what we’ve just been doing,” she said, edging around the topic and he smiled because she’s trying to be delicate with him.

“If it’s you, you can take advantage whenever you want.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She snorted and pinched his side, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

She gave him a bland look then, unimpressed with his joking.

“Really I am. I kissed you and I’ve wanted to for a really long time…” but then he hesitated, wondering if he’s read her wrong and maybe this was her attempting to let him down gently. “I mean, unless you don’t…?”

But then she’s firmly pressing her lips against his and, his moment of self-doubt faded into the background. He doesn’t get the chance to savour their second (second!) kiss because she’s pulling back to give him a coy smirk.

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

He smiled at her then and his hands moved to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along it as he waited another moment for all of this to soak in.

“Can I kiss you?” He should have asked before, but he was too wrapped up in the moment, he slightly regretted that as he watched her blush prettily before him. They’ve already kissed (twice!) but somehow this embarrassed her? She’s too cute for her own good.

All she does is nod back and he brought her in closer, his lips brushing against hers, teasing her, but he doesn’t keep her waiting for much longer as he pressed his lips fully to hers. His hands move away from her jaw and into her hair, one playing with the strands whilst another stationed itself at the nape of her neck. It’s a good move on his part because she’s humming against his lips again and he felt like he could float away at the feeling.

He doesn’t though, instead he worked on keeping his cool because there’s no way he’s messing this up- he’s worked too hard to get to this point. It’s almost all thrown out of the window when Nami brushed her tongue against his lips and the sound that came from the back of his throat it definitely not something his brain preapproved, but it doesn’t stop him from opening his mouth to welcome her in.

It’s then that his brain finally registered how long they’ve been in the kitchen, in silence, alone, uninterrupted and as much as he’s focusing on her, on how soft her lips are and how good she felt, he also knew how unusual that is.

Reluctantly, he parted from the kiss but not without leaving a lingering one against her lips. When he opened his eyes, he’s met with an expression he’s never seen before on her and it makes it so much harder not to press back against her. She looked dazed and her eyes are lidded and she’s so gorgeous (Okay, so the last one isn’t new, sue him).

“Why is it so quiet?” He asked and pressed another kiss to her lips because he’s weak. Weak in the best way possible.

She blinked at him, apparently not expecting him to say that. Soon enough, her lips are curling upward, and she responded, “Luffy’s in hiding because of the state of the kitchen.”

“So he should be, what the hell was that idiot thinking?” There’s heat behind his words again but they don’t match the soft way Sanji nudged his nose against Nami’s.

“Go give him hell.” She tilted her head towards the door to encourage him.

He smiled back boyishly, his face so much lighter than before, like a burden had been lifted. He squeezed her hand in response.

“But don’t think this is over. If you ever need to talk or cry, know that you can come to me.” Nami’s face was serious as she looked at him. “Maybe even when I’m drawing maps.” Her face cracking to wink at him.

He nodded at her, leaving her with a parting kiss on the cheek but at the last second, he hesitated and looked at her longingly. Was this really more important than her?

Luckily, Nami’s well versed in Sanji.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she breathed out, giving him a teasingly smoky look that he wanted to burn into his brain for later. That look is directed at him, him!

That’s all he needed to hear before he’s marching out of the kitchen, footsteps heavy, kicking the door open to an empty lawn deck and shouting for Luffy to show himself.

From inside the kitchen, Nami smiled. Her work was done, for now.

----------------------------------------------

Feels like my super expensive psychology degree is finally doing something; not making me any money but helping me write fanfic- score!

I actually wasn’t going to have them kiss at first, I was only going to allude to a relationship because I didn’t want it to undermine Nami supporting Sanji, but I’m a sucker for them. Hopefully I managed to pull it off.

Please excuse any errors.

Thanks for reading.

#sanami #sannami #sana #namixsanji #opfanfic #opwriting #one piece #nami #sanji

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murasaki-murasame · 4 years ago

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Since Higurashi Gou’s on break this week, I figure this would be a good excuse to make one big post going over all of my current theories, and also how I feel about the other popular theories in the fandom.

[This will have both Higurashi and Umineko spoilers in it]

On a meta level, my over-arching theory for Gou is that it’s basically a series of forgeries written by Featherine. Basically I think that some time after Matsuribayashi, Rika came into contact with Featherine, shared information about everything to do with Hinamizawa, and she decided to write her own stories based on that info.

Going down this route, I think the Rika we see in Gou [at least on the gameboard level] is basically a distinct fictional construct who more or less branches off from around Tsumihoroboshi or so. Basically I think this version of Rika doesn’t actually know the truth about Takano, or that her friends are starting to remember past timelines, and I also wouldn’t be surprised if whole elements of her backstory have been tweaked to fit the story that Featherine wants to write. I also think that the happy ending timeline she referenced in ep2, and her quoting stuff Keiichi said in the past in Tataridamashi, might instead be about some kind of original arc that’s just meant to trick us into assuming she’s talking about the last few arcs of the VN.

Mostly I just think that with how things have gone thus far, it really doesn’t come across like Rika actually knows about Takano being evil. This could just be a case of clunky writing where they don’t want to spoil it for new fans, so Rika’s being made to act weird and out of character in order to keep it a secret, but stuff like her rant to Keiichi in Watadamashi make me think that she straight up hasn’t been doing anything about Takano in these arcs, and her whole attitude in Tataridamashi of ‘we can change fate by saving Satoko’ while not saying or doing anything about Takano seems really weird if we assume that she remembers everything from the VN. The whole deal with Minagoroshi was that saving Satoko wasn’t actually enough to achieve a happy ending, since Takano ended up killing everyone anyway. So it’d be really weird for Rika to fall into that same mindset again.

And on the note of Takano, like most people I think she’s probably not the villain this time around, one way or another. For one thing it’d just be kinda underwhelming for old fans if they do that again, but I think they just don’t have time to actually do the whole Takano thing in Gou unless we get an entire second season after this. Which could happen, but I’m basing all of my theories on the assumption that Gou will just be 24 episodes, since that’s all that’s been confirmed.

There’s also the fact that the first half of Gou has provided far less evidence to allow new fans to even start piecing together what Takano’s deal would be. We haven’t seen Tomitake’s corpse get found with his throat clawed out, so it’d be pretty difficult for new fans to guess that Takano kills him in each arc. Technically they aren’t even shown to die in any arc in Gou yet, since they just go missing and their bodies are never found, so new fans wouldn’t even know if either or both of them die in any of the arcs. By extension, Watadamashi also didn’t have the whole plot point of ‘the police found Takano’s corpse in the mountains and figured out that it had died before the festival even ended’, which in the VN was a pretty massive hint that she was faking her own death. And since Tataridamashi avoided having Keiichi kill Teppei, while also ending before the festival can even get going, Takano and Tomitake don’t even do anything in that arc at all except show up to support the protests, even though Tatarigoroshi also provided it’s own massive hints toward Takano being suspicious, and her being responsible for Tomitake’s death.

Tatarigoroshi also ended with our first proper look at the GHD, but there was no reference to that happening in Tataridamashi, or any of the other arcs. If anything, it seems pretty intentional that every arc seems to end with a flash-forward to at least a few days after each arc ends, with no reference to the GHD happening. It’s possible everyone was just keeping it a secret from Keiichi at the end of each arc, but each arc has a different person telling him about what happened while he was unconscious, so it seems unlikely that they’re all coincidentally lying to him about the same thing. And in general I think that if the GHD happened in any arc, we would have gotten some obvious clues about it.

I know everyone disagrees about if Gou is actually meant to be accessible, let alone solvable, for new fans, but I’m on the side of thinking that it is, which is why I think the lack of any kind of evidence for the GHD happening [or Takano doing anything more suspicious than going missing in the first two arcs] says a lot about the direction Gou is taking with it’s mystery.

The question then is just whether Takano’s just being prevented from carrying out her plan in each arc, or if things have fundamentally changed with her. Personally, I’d prefer it if they committed to having her be genuinely innocent this time around. If she’s still evil but she’s just been getting killed off-screen or whatever, then presumably they’d still have to address her entire deal in order to explain why she needs to be taken out in each arc, which would defeat the whole point of not having her be the villain in Gou, and it’d feel super alienating for new fans. So I prefer the idea that she’s totally innocent. Which wouldn’t really work if Gou is a striaghtforward sequel to the VN, but it could work if Gou is an in-universe forgery. It could be built upon someone’s second-hand understanding of Hinamizawa and it’s history who doesn’t know about Takano being evil, or maybe the person writing it knows about that, but is intentionally changing it in order to set up a new mystery of their own for Rika to solve.

And one way or another, I do think that the whole meta purpose of Gou is to pose some sort of challenge or mystery for Rika to solve. It seems like some kind of third party is dragging her into a new loop with a new mystery she needs to solve, which could have a lot of different explanations, but it could be that Featherine is literally just presenting these new stories to Rika to see if she can solve them.

Anyway, when it comes to the murder mysteries themselves in each arc of Gou, my general theory is still that Keiichi’s been responsible for a lot of it, and one of the big conceits of Gou is that his whole perspective on things has been incomplete and subjective from the start.

In Onidamashi, I agree with the common theory that the events of Tsumihoroboshi were basically happening in the background, with Rena murdering people and falling into paranoia while nobody else realizes what’s going on. I think at the dump site she was genuinely considering killing Keiichi due to suspecting that he found out about her hiding the corpses there, and at the festival I think she ended up killing Takano and Tomitake because she assumed that Keiichi was somehow working with them and had told them about the murders she did.

In their fight scene in ep4, I think Rena was genuinely planning to murder him, and he only started full-on hallucinating about halfway into the fight, when he knocks her out on the table. I’ve seen a lot of people questioning her motives, but I think it’s pretty straight-forward. My theory that she killed Takano and Tomitake seems like it contradicts the idea that she’d still think later on that there needs to be more sacrifices for the curse, but considering how deep Rena’s paranoia is, it’s possible that even after killing them, she just continued to feel paranoid about everything, which made her think that those two weren’t enough to satisfy the curse for that year, and so she needed to kill more people. In general I think she was mostly just trying to protect her father out of fear that he was being targeted by Oyashiro-sama as one of the curse victims of the year, so she was trying to see if killing other people would let her father be spared.

I think that Rena probably got knocked unconscious when she hit the table during the fight, and Keiichi hallucinated her waking up and stabbing him, while in reality he was probably repeatedly stabbing her unconscious body.

Most importantly, I think that after that, instead of Keiichi passing out from blood loss [since I don’t think he actually got stabbed that much in reality], the Rena incident reignited his paranoia, and he jumped to the conclusion that Rika knew about Rena’s plans, and that she intentionally got him to lower his guard around her so that he’d get killed. So I think Keiichi took the knife Rena tried to use on him and then ran to Rika’s house and killed her, with Satoko probably being an unintended casualty. Which would also make the whole story Mion gave of the police suspecting that a burglar broke into their house surprisingly accurate.

I also think that Keiichi tried to claw his throat out after that, but he got found by the police and taken to the hospital before he died from it. Which is why I think he has a neck brace on when he wakes up later, and also why that one nurse asked him about his neck being itchy. Along the same lines of how I think Takano’s a complete red herring in Gou, I think there might not be anything going on with the clinic this time around either. That nurse might have just been asking a normal question about his condition, if they did indeed find him clawing his throat out.

So basically I think the whole arc was a mix of Rena and then Keiichi killing people, and that Takano and Tomitake were basically just innocent victims.

Watadamashi is the arc that I’m most iffy about, but basically my core theory is that Keiichi actually killed Takano and Tomitake off-screen during the festival after what happened at the Saiguden. It always stuck out to me that he seemed even more paranoid about things in this arc than he did in Watanagashi, and yet nothing really seems to come of it. But the way he freaked out at the Saiguden definitely makes me think he could have been capable of snapping and killing those two after everyone parted ways, and the show just kept that info from us.

I’m at least fairly confident about the idea that the whole phone conversation he had with Shion was her making up a fake cover story about what happened to Takano and Tomitake, and getting Keiichi to agree to it. I also think it was probably Mion on the phone posing as Shion. Either way, I think it was along the lines of how everyone in Tatarigoroshi agreed to a fake cover story to hide the fact that he killed Teppei.

After the festival, I think Mion ended up lashing out at the village elders and killing them due to them talking about how Shion and Keiichi broke into the Saiguden and needed to be punished for it. They may have also found out about Keiichi killing Takano and Tomitake, or they at least suspected him of it, so Mion ended up killing them to try and keep him safe. I’m not entirely sure if she killed Shion here, but it’s possible she did, at least if Shion agreed that Keiichi should get punished.

After that, I think a huge part of Keiichi’s paranoia was due to his fear that people would find out about everything he did, and so I think that he got set off by Rika venting at him about what he did at the festival, and her talking about how she was surprised that Takano and Tomitake’s corpses hadn’t been found yet. I think that what actually happened between that episode and the next one is that, instead of joining Satoko for dodgeball, he instead followed Rika and killed her where nobody could see them, and then he took her body to the septic tank. I think this is the whole reason why Satoko was so suspicious of him afterward.

When you think about it, with how condensed the whole flow of events there was, she’d have no real reason to suspect him if he had spent the whole time playing dodgeball with her, and there were probably other kids playing dodgeball as well who would have been able to say that Keiichi was with them the whole time. But the only person who tries to vouch for Keiich is just Mion.

Along the lines of her covering for Keiichi at the festival, I think she was just lying about seeing Rika talking to a construction worker to try and draw suspicion away from Keiichi. I guess it might have really happened, but either way I think she was just trying to cover for him. Which makes me think that maybe she witnessed what he did, and was maybe even the one who moved the corpse to the septic tank after Keiichi killed her. Which would also explain why Mion coincidentally distracted Keiichi right before he tried to go into the septic tank room.

I think she was telling the truth about suspecting that Rika was behind everything, even if she knew about Rika being dead by that point. I think it was more about her thinking that Rika is working with all of the village leaders to perpetuate the curse killings each year, so even if Rika’s dead, there’d still be people following her orders. If we assume that she really did see Rika talk to a construction worker, maybe that made her think that she was giving them orders, and then at the end of the arc when she sees them on the security footage, she thinks of them as her minions.

Then I think the rest is fairly straightforward, with Mion assuming that there’s still some nebulous organization following Rika’s orders who are a threat to Keiichi even after Rika’s death, so she arranges to get him locked up in the basement while she goes off to try and murder them all.

I think it was the construction workers who Mion saw on the security footage [like Keiichi did], but I’m not entirely sure what the deal is with Satoko being at the estate and winding up dead. My best guess is that she snuck into the estate to try and question Mion because she was suspicious about her covering for Keiichi, or maybe just because she thought Mion could help her figure things out, but then things went wrong. Maybe Mion ended up assuming that Satoko was in on the whole thing and killed her, but I’m not sure.

What happens with Keiichi is a lot more iffy. It’s possible that it just went the way it was shown, with him passing out in the safe room and then getting discovered by the police, but with how the other two arcs ended, I doubt it was that straight-forward. It’s possible that the whole scenario of him smashing his head into the door until he passed out was more like a narrative illusion or fantasy, and that Keiichi actually managed to get out of the safe room and head back to the estate, where maybe he was responsible for Satoko and/or Mion’s deaths. I’ve at least seen some people on the Higurashi subreddit point out that in a few shots you can see door handles on the inside of the door in the safe room, which seem to vanish when Keiichi’s trying to bust it open, which could imply that the whole idea of him being unable to open the door was a lie.

I’m not sure if he’d have any motive to kill Mion even if he went full L5, but it’s entirely possible he got suspicious of Satoko and wound up killing her, if he went back to the estate. Though one thing that I think is noteworthy is that, even though I think Shion was probably dead by that point, he actually would have had a motive to kill her if he at least had gone L5. He blamed her for luring him into the Saiguden, so he could have wound up murdering her as revenge for that. But I dunno if that’s actually what happened.

One idea I’ve been toying with is that maybe Keiichi actually killed Mion in the safe room, and the whole strange scenario of him smashing his head against the door and leaving a weirdly giant blood splatter behind was an illusion covering up something like him wrestling her gun off of her and shooting her with it. Then maybe he dumped her body in the well, and then went to the estate where he saw Shion, and wound up killing her. At least if we assume that maybe Mion and Shion were working together in this arc instead of one of them already being dead. Ooishi did say that it was Shion who was found in the well, but maybe it actually was Shion who took Keiich into the basement. At the very least, there’s that scene where Mion leaves him alone in her house for a while and then comes back in a different outfit, which could have represented the two of them switching places off-screen.

In general I’m kinda iffy on this arc in particular, lol. It feels a lot more ambiguous and open-ended than the other two. Or at least more so than Onidamashi.

Also on the note of Watadamashi, the biggest question mark to me in all of Gou at the moment is the whole scene with the statue in the Saiguden, and the empty slot we see in it’s neck. It’s just a really baffling scene since it feels like it’s the only scene in the entire show thus far where it comes up in any way, but it’s one of the most blatantly important pieces of evidence we’ve gotten, even if I dunno what it’s meant to imply. It even happens in the manga version, so it’s definitely an important plot point.

What I can gather from it is that someone had already broken the head off the statue, presumably to steal the sword inserted inside it, and then they stuck the pieces of the head back onto the statue to make it look intact. Although I suppose we can’t just assume that the head being broken and the sword being stolen happened back to back. It’s possible that someone broke the statue, and then at some point later on, maybe even years later, broke back into the Saiguden to steal the sword.

Part of why the statue’s so bizarre is that it seems to be fundamentally different to the statue in the VN. Or at least it’s state is different this time. Instead of how the statue’s hand was broken off in the VN, the hand is intact while the head had been broken off and put back into place. I’ve seen theories that the statue in Gou is a replica of the original, but I think that’s unlikely, both because it just sounds difficult and inconvenient to get rid of an entire statue and replace it with something else, but also because the statue we see in Gou still has the slot inside it’s neck, and it’s the one that had it’s head broken open. If the statue in Gou is just a replica, there’d be no reason to go as far as to replicate the sword slot that nobody can even see from the outside, and if the point of breaking the head was to let someone steal the sword, then there’d be no reason for the ‘replica’s’ head to be broken. So I think it might actually be one of the big hints toward Gou being a fundamentally different world altogether to the VN, where even the history of everything has been adjusted in subtle ways. Satoko originally broke the statue’s hand in the VN before the curse incidents even started, which is way earlier than the part of the timeline that Rika and Hanyuu can go back to by the end of the VN.

I think this is one of the bigger pieces of evidence people use for Satoko being a looper, since maybe she’d have the ability to go that far back in time, but I still doubt that whole theory, so I’m more inclined to think that this is Featherine straight up changing what happened with the statue as part of the new mystery she’s setting up.

One way or another it definitely comes across like the entire thing with Satoko breaking the statue’s hand has been more or less retconned out of existence in Gou. On top of the statue’s hand not being broken, Satoko also never mentions anything about believing it to be the source of her hardships like she does in Tatarigoroshi. Which is another thing where the absence of a certain plot point or clue from the VN feels very noteworthy, especially if you look at it from the perspective of new fans.

Either way, I don’t have much of an idea for who could have stolen the sword, let alone WHY they did it. There hasn’t even been any hint at all toward the sword being involved in any of the murders thus far, and I definitely think they would have pointed it out if it was. So what exactly is the whole point of it? It could just be a ritualistic thing to set up the idea of Oyashiro’s sacred statue being desecrated, but we only find out about it in one arc, and only because the group breaks into the Saiguden and then happens to bump into the statue and knock it’s head off. So if the culprit wanted it to be some public display to stir up talk of the curse or whatever, they kept it pretty hidden, lol.

There’s only a few people who should even know about the sword, but there’s been no real hints toward Rika being responsible for it, and Hanyuu seems totally distanced from the gameboard this time around. Maybe Satoko knows about it, but I’m not sure.

I also have to wonder when exactly the sword got stolen in the first place. It might have actually been way before each arc even starts.

In general it’s just a weird bit of the mystery and I don’t think anyone has any concrete idea of what the fuck’s going on with it, lol.

Anyway, for Tataridamashi, I think the whole arc was basically designed to make Satoko suspicious without her actually being responsible for anything. Across all three arcs I think she’s been set up as a bit of a red herring, but it’s pretty heavy in this arc.

Basically I think that the events of Tatarigoroshi/Minagoroshi really were just happening the same way as in the VN, even if a lot of it was off-screen this time around. And with my theory of this being Featherine’s own spin on events, it’s possible that her ‘version’ of Teppei was just abusing Satoko in a way that didn’t leave visible bruises like in the VN, to basically goad everyone into assuming that she wasn’t actually being abused in the first place. I don’t think Satoko would have any logical reason to fake the abuse, especially stuff like her panic attack which was completely identical to how it went in the VN as far as I remember. And mostly I just don’t think Ryukishi would be comfortable writing a whole plot point of a little girl intentionally faking abuse for some kind of malicious or manipulative reason, especially if it involved twisting an existing story about genuine, realistic abuse. So I just feel fundamentally put off by that whole theory, lol.

Either way, one important thing that’s central to my theory here is the idea that Keiichi was going through a lot more stress and paranoia in this arc than we were shown. Even though they seemed to avoid the Tatarigoroshi route and go down the Minagoroshi route instead with him, I think he still had a lot of paranoia and anger building up inside him about the entire situation with Satoko and Teppei. Same with how Rena and Shion seemed like they were always about two seconds away from snapping and running off to murder Teppei. i also think that an important part of this is how Rika kept talking in ominous and weirdly mature terms about fate and whatnot, and she kept quoting something that Keiichi apparently told her but he has no memory of. I think this ended up contributing a lot more to his stress than he let on, but we did still see how he caught onto what she was talking about and was uncomfortable with it.

At the festival, I think Satoko’s intentions with Keiichi were totally innocent, and that she was taking him back to her house so she could give him Satoshi’s baseball bat. I think that she also set up a harmless trap in her house where Keiichi would pull on the cord to turn on the lights, and some stuff would fall on his head. She probably just set it up to try and lighten the mood and bring things back to normal, and also as a parallel to how earlier in the arc she set up a similar trap in Keiichi’s house. Even in Onidamashi there was a scene where she set up a trap in the school with stuff falling from the ceiling during one of their games.

So basically I think it was a variation of how Onikakushi ended, where this time around it’s Satoko who’s pulling a harmless prank on Keiichi, who proceeds to completely misinterpret it as her trying to kill him.

I’ve seen people point out that it seems really sudden for him to immediately go L5 that fast at the end of the arc, but like I said, I think he’d been dealing with stress and paranoia the entire arc, and it all just burst out at the end. I think he 100% hallucinated Teppei being there because he didn’t want to imagine Satoko doing it, and what actually happened was he ended up beating her to death with the bat instead.

Like with the fight scene in Onidamashi, the way that the lighting effects and gratuitous blood splatter happen in this scene make it seem like an over-exaggerated hallucination, especially since in this scene you can also see smaller and more realistic blood sprays overlaid on top of the super exaggerated blood all over the room.

After that, I think that since Keiichi was already hallucinating Teppei being the one attacking him, it lead to him assuming it meant he was alive, and thus that the entire situation with the village elders and the police working to arrest him and save Satoko was actually a complete ruse, and that they never wanted to save her at all. So, similar to how I think Onidamashi ended, I think he then took the bat, ran back to the festival, and attacked Rika, Mion, and Shion, due to believing that they were involved in some kind of conspiracy to protect Teppei. And then I think Ooishi pulled out his gun and shot Keiichi in the head to stop him.

So that’s basically why I think only those three specifically died at the festival [ignoring Satoko who probably died at the house], and the apparent weirdness with Ooishi pulling out his gun at the festival. I think that’s just meant to mislead us, and that Rena was repressing her memory of what really happened due to being traumatized by it.

I also think that’s why it seems to take Keiichi long enough to wake up in the hospital for it to be autumn, and why he has severe headaches after waking up. It’s possible that instead of it being due to having his head bashed in by Teppei, it was because Ooishi shot him in the head, and he managed to survive it with lasting injuries, and probably memory loss.

Also, aside from all this, I think that literally nothing happened with Takano and Tomitake in this arc, even after the festival. We didn’t see how it all played out, but we didn’t hear anything about either of them going missing, and they didn’t imply anything about the GHD happening even though a lot of time had passed, so I think they probably just survived the festival without anything happening to them, and the GHD never happened. Which seems like it’d imply that Takano’s straight up innocent in Gou, and not just that she’s been killed by someone before the festival ends each time.

So yeah that’s how I think each arc went. There’s a lot of room for interpretation, but I think one of the most important clues we’ve gotten is how every arc ends in basically the same way, with Keiichi getting knocked unconscious and then waking up at the hospital days if not weeks later and being told about what happened while he was unconscious. This is a notable enough pattern that it has to be central to the mystery, which is one of the reasons why I think that the answer is more or less that Keiichi actually WAS involved in all of these off-screen incidents, or at least most of them, and he just doesn’t remember it, and we weren’t shown it.

Of course, this all would imply that there isn’t actually a central ‘villain’ orchestrating everything who needs to be dealt with, and that literally everything is just the result of everyone’s personal problems leading to tragedy. Which might disappoint some people, but I think it could still make for a perfectly satisfying resolution, and honestly if we only have 11 episodes left to work with, it’d be way easier to pull off this sort of an ending than it would be to go through the entire Takano thing, or to set up an entirely new villain and then deal with them.

I also think it might be a sort of meta commentary on how there’s always been criticism about Higurashi’s ending veering away from focusing on the main cast’s personal problems, and getting into full on political conspiracy stuff for it’s final act. So maybe this is Ryukishi’s way of basically rewriting the story so that it stays more ‘focused’ on it’s central cast and themes right to the end.

Also I just think it’d be fitting if the whole trick of Gou is that everyone’s overthinking it and looking for a deeper conspiracy that doesn’t actually exist. Which I think would honestly tie in really well with Higurashi’s central themes of paranoia and distrust, and be a fun way to mess with old fans who try and view Gou through the lens of how the VN plays out.

And even though it might seem like a surprisingly ‘simple’ answer to the mystery, I think it’s noteworthy that Rika spends all of Tataridamashi being 100% convinced that Keiichi’s going to challenge fate and save Satoko and achieve a happy ending, and since Gou feels like it’s designed to mess with Rika’s approach to fixing things, it feels like she’s being punished for having blind faith in Keiichi. So it might still take her a while to actually start suspecting him.

Anyway, that all aside, I know that the whole Satoko looper theory is probably the most popular one in the fandom at the moment, but like I said, I don’t really buy it. It feels like the obvious red herring solution that we’re being lead to believe, but I don’t think there’s any actual concrete evidence for it, especially when it comes to what her motive in any of this could be. I feel like a lot of the theory sorta ends up feeling like ‘I think Mystery Person X did the murder by using Mystery Tool Y’, where basically anyone could have done it instead of Satoko. I’m not entirely opposed to the theory as a whole though, especially with how what seems to be teenage Satoko shows up in the OP. There’s probably something going on with her, but I doubt that she’s been responsible for any murders or anything. If anything, I think it being *teenage* Satoko that shows up in the OP [presumably] might imply that whatever new importance she has is to do with stuff that hasn’t even happened yet in the story.

Considering that teenage Rika and the whole mystery of how and why she got dragged into this new loop when she did exists, I think that either the next arc or the final one might actually continue the timeline several years into the future when she and Satoko are teenagers, but I dunno how that’d play out.

There’s been lots of speculation that Lambda might tie into things here with Satoko, which I can’t help but like the idea of since I’m an Umineko fan, but I at least think that could happen without Satoko being the ‘mastermind’ or whatever.

I think they’d have to be very careful about how they portray Lambda, if she shows up in Gou, since even though Rika’s connection to Bernkastel and even Hanyuu’s connection to Featherine can be fairly easily explained to new fans, the connection between Satoko and Lambda has always been a bit more weird and ambiguous. But if the story of Gou is a fictional story in-universe, it’s possible that Lambda’s role here can contradict her role outside of Gou, for the sake of introducing her in a more understandable way.

Basically I think they might portray Lambda [if she shows up] as effectively being Satoko’s witch form, like Bernkastel is to Rika, with maybe her being responsible for the new loops, whether or not Satoko herself has been responsible for any murders.

Satoko’s motives in doing any of this is a bit iffy, but it’d be neat if they lean into the idea of how Satoshi’s fate was left kinda open-ended and unresolved after Matsuribayashi. Maybe in Gou she ends up wanting to turn back time in order to save him from disappearing to begin with, or something like that. I at least don’t think she’d have any reason to kill anyone, unless she’s being forced into it, in which case it just means there’d be a ‘real mastermind’ behind the scenes, which I doubt we have time for.

I at least think that her deaths in each arc can be easily explained as unfortunate accidents, and that a lot of the moments of her being suspicious could just be red herrings with innocent explanations. Like how maybe she was suspicious of Keiichi in Watadamashi not because she’s actually the mastermind and was trying to place blame on him, but because he didn’t actually join her for dodgeball and instead just followed Rika right before she ended up dead. And her not having any apparent bruises in Tataridamashi might be due to Teppei not using that sort of physical violence on her this time around. She also might have genuinely had her big character development moment from Minagoroshi off-screen, and was telling the truth about revealing her abuse to the CWS and letting them save her.

There’s also the whole theory of Ooishi being behind everything, which I can maybe buy for Tataridamashi and Watadamashi, but I can’t really see it with Onidamashi.

One of my favourite ‘out there’ theories I’ve seen is that Satoshi is basically the culprit this time around, but that’s just because I really want him to be more important this time around than he was in the VN. I don’t actually think there’s any solid evidence for him being responsible for anything in Gou, and even though I’ve seen some really detailed and well planned theories to do with it, it’s another one of those things where you could basically replace Satoshi with any random character you want to explain how everything happened. But I do respect how much thought some people have put into this whole theory, and part of me’s rooting for it even though I don’t thin kit’s true, just because I want to see more of Satoshi in Gou, lol.

Anyway, in terms of how the second half of Gou will play out, I’m really not sure. The fact that the next arc is called Nekodamashi really throws off some of my predictions, since I was assuming the next arc would basically be Gou’s version of Meakashi. And I still do hope that they cover Shion’s backstory from that arc, but we’ll see.

The weird thing is that it sounds like Nekodamashi might be based on the one-episode original OVA from the 2006 anime, but with that being one episode long and this being four episodes based on the BD listings, I think any inspiration it takes from that arc would be very loose, and Nekodamashi will be almost entirely original.

From what I’ve heard, the Nekogoroshi episode mainly existed to hint at the existence of the Yamainu and the stockpile of gas they had stored to trigger the GHD, which is kinda interesting, since I think that the GHD is being effectively written out of the story this time around.

It’s possible the name is just a coincidence, though. Like how there was an arc called Onidamashi in some sort of short story collection released ages ago, that has nothing to do with the Onidamashi arc in Gou.

At the very least, we have some preview images showing Rika in the fragment world, so I guess we’ll see more of her there, and maybe the focus will shift towards her trying to actually piece things together and solve the mystery.

#murasaki rambles #higurashi #higurashi gou #this is REALLY long but mainly just me going over stuff I've said before lol #I just wanted to make one big post compiling it all together #TL;DR: brown's pretty sus :/#I think I saw him venting at the Watanagashi festival >_>

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pessimistcameleon · 4 years ago

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To all the people that I knew.

I don't know where to start exactly, so I'll write instead an image that I got in my head today: I am literally torn to shreds. My muscle tissues are shreddy, there are missing parts that are covered by confettis and coriandolis, and as I walk they fall to the ground, I lean closer I see them laying on the cobble stones, just like on Carnival in my childhood.

Maybe I am exaggerating, but even if I am a ghost now (maybe I was always that), I feel an extreme aching in my physical body. Recently I started to hug myself and I feel my ribcage under my fingers and I kind of love them, but I am terrified at the same time, is an unknown sensation to me. I don't trust my own touch, and human touch just feels alien, if someone touches me I am alarmed and helpless, I don't know how to vocalize my fear of being touched. I allow only the hot showers to hug me instead, even if afterwards my skin turns red and itchy, because my skin "is so delicate".

A few days ago I looked into the mirror and what I saw was a stranger, a young woman that was unrecognizable who claimed to be me. I hated her. She cried and was pathetic, just like me. I wasn't able to empathize with her, because she was hiding away with her body the features that I've always known, I wasn't able to see the child. I became alarmed about my own inner child, did it even exist? Did I imagined it?

Since a while as I wake up everyday the only thing that befriends me and decides to stick with me as the day goes is anxiety. If I am lucky sometimes it goes to sleep and I become numb to my surroundings. I can assure you that it's not only the increased coffee quantity that I am consuming because of being constantly exhausted both physically and mentally. Things like going back to the shelter where I live now or just activities that include social interaction (which are essential otherwise I wouldn't be able to go forward with my day aka my survival) just trigger me, I detach from reality and I go to swim into dreadness.

Speaking about dreadness, I searched after grounding techniques but when any intense emotion or any form of dissociation kicks in I remind myself about staying grounded, but instead I'd let myself float away, because I am a masochist after all.

To be honest I am in a loop. I find myself constantly thinking about the past, because I am reminded about it by my surroundings but also because the past feels more secure and tangingle than my hollow present and non-existent future. I acknowledge the fact that the past has also painful traces in it, I already struggled during those times with mental health issues (I was especially minimizing my own concerns, as a result of my emotional responses I was considered over-dramatic), but I still had a sense of purpose, I was interested in many things and I was very hopeful about the person that I want to become. But the memories and any element connected to each one of them act as a stabbing knife, as a result I grieve myself even more. The events of my life seem like they belong to another person and not me.

Nowadays I dissociated myself from the person I was: I have no dreams and aspirations anymore, I isolated myself from everyone because is too much for both of me and the other person, and the situation I am in alienates me from every individual who has a stable background, has goals and human connections. I am unable to define myself on an individual level, I've come to the conclusion that I always identified myself with my own emotions and based my own self-knowledge on external information claiming that I am highly self-aware, which considered from my present perspective is funny, because beside the things that I've mentioned above seems like I have 0 personality traits, like I am the embodiment of a fluid presence with no defined characteristics.

I faded into nothingness and I am still pretending, in the presence of those who help me, to have the will to achieve my future goals (which as I said, now they don't exist, they just disintegrated) since "I am young and I can't waste my potential".

If I achieve something that is relevant to my survival all I feel is emptiness and suspicion. Very often I feel threatened by every act of kindness resulting into a hidden and more complex form of sabotage.

Not to mention my random attachment that I develop towards certain individuals that feel like an anchor right at the moment, and ironically I still find myself searching for clues that they'll give up on me soon. My so said strategy is to avoid attachment and antagonizing them in my mind.

I know that the reaction after this reading must be: pls, go and seek a therapist. I asssure you, I am already doing that.

I guess I am alive, but I am not present. So take this as an explanation for my recent absence and behavior maybe.

I don't know what was my goal with this post, but to the people who will see this: a part of me still misses you, but I am afraid that is already late for me to be human again.

#mentalhealth #bdp #actuallybdp #dissociation #depersonalization #derealization #anxiety #paranoia #mentalhealthstruggles #bdpproblems

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unfortunatesculs · 4 years ago

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——CHARACTER STUDY.

LAYER 001 : THE OUTSIDE.

NAME : albedo

EYE COLOUR : crimson irises

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR : swept bangs, messy, down to lower neck / silver/white color

HEIGHT : 5′7″.

CLOTHING STYLE : since he’s not someone who cares too much for fashion, albedo tends to stick to what he’s used to: a black shirt, red jacket with the 10 logo printed on it, gray skinny jeans, and converse ; if he were to change, he’d opt for sleeves of any kind since they’ve become his most usual fashion style (whether that’s a long sleeve shirt or jacket of any variety)

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE : he takes great care of his hair. He finds it a nuisance when the scalp becomes itchy, so he’s become invested in hair products to keep it clean.

LAYER 002 : THE INSIDE.

FEARS : claustrophobia, crowds, failure, becoming a laughing stock, the plumbers

GUILTY PLEASURE : chili fries, smoothies (unless it’s peanut butter)

BIGGEST PET PEEVE : itchiness, food stolen from his plate

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : keeping himself busy to distract from the fact he’s no longer welcome almost anywhere, reclaiming his name, inventing something to protect the universe of his own design

LAYER 003 : THOUGHTS.

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : how to elaborate a hypothesis into a scientific study

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : revenge sometimes, but he mostly thinks about freedom and finding somewhere to gain a steady life once more.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : when he can fall asleep since he’s practically always running on fumes, he goes to bed with the thoughts of whatever he’s been studying still trapped in his mind.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : his intelligence (without it, he’s nothing to his species)

LAYER 004 : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : single, if he gains such attractions

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : respected (love is great and all but having to feel condescended towards is something he’d rather not experience from someone he trusts with his life ; he got enough of that growing up...and respect is a form of love in some places)

BEAUTY OR BRAINS : brains!!!

DOGS OR CATS : cats! (to him, dogs are equivalent to humans and also reminds him of what Ben would be as an animal)

LAYER 005 : DO THEY…

LIE : he lies out of necessity toward a mission or when he senses danger ; however, he’s not above it to keep himself safe.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : he has to.

BELIEVE IN LOVE : albedo isn’t really sure about it since he’s trapped in a human form, he tends to get random impulses like any person but he hates the sensation and shoves it aside at any given moment.

WANT SOMEONE : he wants no one.

LAYER 006 : HAVE THEY EVER…

BEEN ON STAGE : yes. do we not recall ben 10 live?

DONE DRUGS : not unless it was experimental for the sake of discovery ; however, he’s never done anything on earth like that since it’s never been offered and he doesn’t feel the need for it.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : yes. he either humbled himself in some varieties to appear more subservient to the higherups or don’t become an apprentice. Of course, once he became an apprentice and established, he bit back on that idea. in terms of human interaction, yes, because he requires them to want him for their money. to pretend he’s ben is a way to gain monetary gains for himself. so many people have achieved fraudulent autographs.

LAYER 007 : FAVOURITES.

FAVOURITE COLOUR : red (always has been)

FAVOURITE ANIMAL : ???

FAVOURITE BOOK : anything related to gaining intelligence

FAVOURITE GAME : chess (at least that’s his favorite earth game)

LAYER 008 : AGE.

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : june 21st

HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : verse dependent (he has many versions of himself but, according to his information stating he’s an adult, he’d be 19 in human years...but his body is still that of a 16 year old so he’d turn 17 in physical form)

LAYER 010 : FINISH THE SENTENCE.

I LOVE : my solitude, my inventions, my notes, my calculations, my ideas.

I FEEL : unappreciated, abandoned, misjudged,

I HIDE : my failures, my insecurities, my plans, myself

I MISS : my home, my house, my old ways of accomplishing tasks

I WISH : to find some way off this backwater planet, but, for now to have a home that isn’t a prison cell, a bed to sleep on, and, perhaps, a lab to work in.

tagged by: @manaborn (thank you!! <3) tagging: @dominusornatum @candyredmuses @adoranoia

#ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ꜱʜɪɴɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅ ( g a m e s )#ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʙᴏᴅʏ ɪꜱ ᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ( a l b e d o )

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anxiouslyfred · 5 years ago

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Love After Exile - Cooking Emotions

I have decided not to start using Janus’s name in this story. He will remain just known as Deceit so I don’t have to change the way the rest of the story was written

Summary: Virgil loved Remus and Deceit long before they fell out. Now he’s dating Logan after beginning to recognise similar feelings. Deceit has an idea over how to start repairing things with Virgil so he makes an attempt.

Formatting: There’s a shifting POV, anytime you see Bold starts of a paragraph then there’s been a perspective shift.

Pairings: Analogical from the start, eventual Analoceitmus

Warnings for this part: cooking, knives being used to chop vegetables, emotional scene

/\/\/\/\/\ Part One /\ Part Two /\/\ Part Three /\/\Part Four /\/\ Part Five /\/\ Part Six /\/\

It was clear that Deceit wanted to discuss something but Logan delayed that to ensure Virgil was feeling better again. Whatever he'd spoken about with Remus had left Virgil in somewhat of a guilt spiral so he had to calm that down before leaving for a while.

“You do realise you could have just text instead of hovering in the living room?” He queried, closing the door to Anxiety's room as he spoke.

Deceit nodded. “Of course but I find they never include the correct levels or urgency or courtesy in them. Waiting patiently where you can see I'm present seems much more reasonable and allows me to check on Virgil as I do so.” The words relaxed some of the trepidation Logan had been feeling. Since the rejection Deceit hadn't been seen in the common area the known sides shared and one explanation Logan had been able to think of was that the invitation to date had come from trying to support Remus's wants. That had definitely been backed when Virgil had mentioned just how badly Remus had taken the scene as well.

“Is this something involving him then?” He checked regardless of his suspicions.

“Partially. I was hoping to confirm what he referred to as he was leaving but there were a few other questions I would like some more information on and who better to ask than Logic for a lesson or two.” Deceit was anything but clear in his explanation.

Thinking for a moment, Logan began walking towards his room, waving a hand so the other would follow. “Very well, What are you wanting to learn about? I have a wide variety of books and information but possibly not on the psychology that seems to be your main interest.”

“Well recently I've been trying to understand the love languages a bit more, hoping it will offer some understanding of Remus as I'm sure you've realised we're very different people.” Deceit began, easily focusing on his own relationship rather than the one he wished to form.

Logan immediately brought a book from beside his bed over at the words. “I believe I can empathise with you on the importance of understanding one another there. Thankfully in my own relationship our primary love languages coincide, although there was originally some misunderstandings over how they are expressed. This book should be able to explain what I cannot, but is there any specific query you'd like to discuss?” He expected there to be a trick in the conversation, or an attempt to focus it back on Virgil and himself but hoped to waylay it with the side comment.

“How would I recognise what language is the one I respond to best? I've been able to recognise Remus enjoys and responds to physical touch primarily as a love language and it appears that he expresses it through gift giving as well, but frankly when I've read the descriptions I'm struggling to confirm which ones might apply to myself.” Deceit's gaze had definitely sharpened at the mention of Logan's relationship with Virgil, cataloguing the comment, but his words raised an intrigue in Logan. “And before you suggest it, we both know how unreliable online quizzes can be.”

“I was actually going to suggest asking Remus. Perhaps going through a few experiments with him to find out what you find most fulfilling if done as part of your relationship.” His voice was cutting, silencing any more counters to possible suggestions that wouldn't be made. “It's preferable to having an argument after trying to do the same things for each other and each feeling unneeded. At least that way Remus will be included in what you want to know and he probably has already noticed the main one you use.”

Deceit's eyes gleamed and his mind was spinning with thoughts, not at the suggestions but at the tiny pieces of information he'd gleaned from Logan. The pair shared their primary love language and had an argument before Logan researched love languages because of it.

“Well I'm fairly sure neither of us have Acts of Service as a love language so coming to an argument over trying to do the same things is unlikely. Pray tell is that what you were referring to?” He pried, remembering the conversation was meant to be information gathering on his prospective loves, and not asking questions he already knew the answers to.

Logan pushed the book he'd carried on holding forwards. “Be that as it may, the other subject you mentioned when requesting to converse is not one I feel at liberty to share. Perhaps you could bring the subject up with Virgil instead?”

Of course the subject turning to focus on Logic would have him retreating, even if they were stood in his room. Deceit didn't mind though, already working on the next steps they could make, even as he nodded and took the offered book. “Many thanks for the information, Logan. I hope we'll be able to receive dear Virgil's forgiveness soon.”

“That's a new book! You seeing the nerd behind my back?” Remus asked as he bounced into Deceit's room, finding him reading still. “Thought he wouldn't date us unless Virgil's okay with it?”

“Not dating, just information gathering so I can come up with a plan to fix some of the damage we've done to our relationship with Virgil.” Deceit sighed, rubbing his eyes, suggesting he'd been reading for too long if Remus was any judge. That was an itchy eyes action that made him want to remove them from his head if he ever experienced it.

Remus tilted his head then, confused by the amount of planning Deceit was trying to do. Acting on impulses seemed to be working perfectly so far. “You mean we need to be doing more than just trying to spend more time with him and talking through some of our emotions with him? It helped a lot when I had the breakdown of him being My People.”

“Yeah, I'm thinking that might work pretty well, but learning about the other love languages he's likely to use can't hurt, might even help me work out a way to let myself be emotionally vulnerable without you know, all my normal automatic misdirections.” He mused, finally marking the page and setting the book to one side.

“Vivi knows you. He's not going to want either of us to change how we are, even if we do it trying to reach out.” Remus comforted him, automatically wrapping their bodies together. He would have done more, but had learnt already that Deceit didn't always take kindly to some actions when there were a lot of thoughts in his head.

With those words Remus decided they were having a nap, muffling any further protests or musings from Deceit with thick blankets and lots of hugs.

It was a tentative hope that Deceit now held, although he knew Remus believed he saw it as enthusiastically as he did. Working with the love languages both that Deceit found himself using and that he'd learnt Virgil held, he would put time and effort into the relationship before anyone brought up dating again.

Of course Logan would be included too but on this first attempt Deceit was approaching Virgil alone. Words of affection came naturally but Deceit wanted to start with an idea of what to say, to explain about what happened before.

After talking it over and over with Remus, helping him to understand how their previous rash actions appeared to impact Virgil as well as wondering if the things they used to do together might help, it was time to actually try something.

"Want to help me make dinner?" the offer made Virgil pause, door only half open when Deceit asked the question.

It had been the activity Deceit thought he'd most willingly do again and they always spoke while cooking. That had been enough reason to try and Remus had supported the idea hopeful they might all share it later.

"Sure. What are you wanting to make?" Finally Deceit could let out the breath he'd held just hoping this might work.

Virgil knew something was being attempted, Deceit had a way of standing when he was trying to achieve a goal but he'd missed working with him doing something simple. He followed easily knowing either of them could make the dish alone but preferred to cook with people.

He took the task of chopping vegetables, even before Deceit answered his question. It was fairly clear that while he had already started getting ingredients out of the cupboards Deceit hadn't actually settled over a specific dish to make. “You know, we actually need a decision over what we're cooking so I don't dice these too small. Do you want to answer my question yet?”

They'd come down too the kitchen as soon as Virgil agreed to cook and while he was thinking through what motivation there could be behind the invitation, it almost seemed like Dee was deciding that at the same time.

“Spaghetti Bolognaise.” He nodded, taking in that Deceit had chosen a dish that would leave him chopping vegetables and turned away from where Dee would be preparing the mince and sauce while the pasta simmered. That positioning guaranteed there would be emotions talked through and about.

Honestly Virgil was glad to realise that. He'd been wondering whether Deceit would just avoid him forever after the scene in the imagination. It was what he'd do when rejected in such a way, at least.

“Do you know how often I lie by omission?” Dee asking the question made him hum a little, focusing on chopping the tomatoes carefully as much as listening. It wasn't one that needed a reply anyway since he carried on speaking a moment later. “You were only nearly matching me before we kicked you out and I couldn't fathom any motive to do so. My roles makes me look for underhand motivations and where safety necessitates a lie but between us you never needed to worry about your safety, not in a way that would be impacted by anything you could reveal or say at least.”

Virgil snorted, shaking his head. “You forget to include emotions almost as easily as Logan does sometimes. There's feelings other than ambition and fear that motivate most of us.”

Deceit paused his speech while Virgil turned to add the tomatoes to the sauce and fetch the mushrooms to be diced next. Virgil still glimpsed the hesitant look, more watching his movements than the mince although it was still cooking evenly so far.

“You'd think being close with Remus and yourself I'd be better at factoring in how our actions make others feel more often, but I never meant to or wanted to create a place where you couldn't tell us even a part of what you felt. I thought the times I listened to your rambles about conspiracies and monsters meant you felt free to share things with me, but those are easy subjects to broach, nothing like emotions.” There was musing in Deceit's voice as he began speaking again, and a sorrow that Virgil understood, including realising that the shields were down for now, no pretences were being used this afternoon.

“Just a bit of a difference in subject there Dee.” He couldn't help snarking, shaking his head at the knife he was using.

“That's everything, Virge! I deal in lies, in distractions to protect and conserve Thomas as who he is or wants to be so he can appear that way while looking after himself and taking the time to become it. I spend all the time working out verifiable reactions and trying to prevent the unpleasant ones that of course I sometimes overlook the emotional ones when all the actions we have say things are fine. You're the one who knows emotions far better even when we have to share self preservation responsibilities and you left me floundering when all I could get was a sense of being lied to where there was no reason or motive I could understand for you to do so.” The rant had Virgil turning, bewildered and concerned over the hurt in Deceit's voice but unsure how to help.

Instead he stood still, watching as Dee sighed, shoulders slumping as he replaced the hat he must have knocked off with a gesture. “I just wanted to understand and help with whatever you felt the need to lie about for all that time. There were so many causes of what it could be when I tried to think of things changing or happening that you wouldn't tell us until it felt like the most reasonable was that you were planning to leave, so I tried to give you a chance to tell us or not and get what I thought you wanted. You'd already spent so much time helping Thomas around those guys that it was all I could understand being omitted. I lashed out, losing you without you saying a word or trying to do it secretly hurt so much to think of until that was what I caused anyway.”

Virgil moved then, standing behind him as the mince was shifted in a pan a little more. It was difficult to hear how everything he'd gone through when being kicked out was from Deceit's point of view, but finally made sense of how sought out he was even when he thought Dee hated him for getting accepted.

It felt like Deceit had just bared his heart in the speech he'd just made. It wasn't quite what he intended to do and the silence from Virgil was biting at him now. Still he stepped to one side letting Virgil add the last vegetables diced and mixing the sauce, vegetables and mince all together while he drained the spaghetti, just waiting for a response.

“You always focus on Thomas living in society when arguing with the others. I think we all forget that we live as parts of Thomas with our roles impacting how we see the world and react to emotions.” Virgil sighed, and Dee froze taking a moment to realise that Virgil wasn't ready right then to carry on the emotional talk immediately. “I don't know if you're looking for forgiveness or just trying to explain the bullshit you and Remus pulled but if you need it you're forgiven or whatever.”

There was a sensation of a weight lifting at the words accompanied by a dread that everything he'd just said had been misunderstood. “No, Well yes and thank you but no, I was just... I wanted to say I was an idiot who didn't deal with that well at all, and hoped you could understand a little of what I thought was happening.”

“Story understood then, I guess. Now can we break this sappy moment and go feed the starving beast before one of us has to do a supply run for more soap and shampoo?” Virgil's shoulders were beginning to slouch in more than usual and Deceit knew he couldn't take much more high emotion talk either so he nodded, letting the talk drop and splitting the food between four plates.

“Do you want to invite Logan to eat with us all down here tonight?” He suggested, smiling a little as he saw the confusion about the number in Virgil's face.

Perhaps he hadn't focused on using their love languages as much as he had intended when planning the evening but this seemed to have had a better ending than he'd expected anyway. Especially as Virgil darted off up the stairs with a yelled thanks and agreement to invite Logan down.

/\/\/\

@book-of-charlie asked to be tagged

/\/\/\ Part Eight /\/\/\ Part Nine /\/\/\/\

#dukeceit #Janus Sanders #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #remus #logan sanders #Analogical

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