#everyone else I've talked to is just generally exhausted and tired of all the weird scheduling and poor regulations

[practically-an-x-man]

this place is a rapidly sinking ship fr

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

your answer made me tear up too, i don't think anyone has cared enough to ask how i've been in so long. i feel like the bad days are permanent, they seem to appear so often i just can't bear it anymore. i try to hold out hope but maybe i'm just kidding myself. i've been so sad for so long, i don't even remember how to be happy. and that makes me so sad. that the thought of passing away seems so much more of a relief than to continue living. i know for a fact i failed my exams which means i'll either have to drop out or redo my exams. which also means i won't get to do placement. and if my family knows of this, i don't think i can go through that again. i can't. the pain was way too much last time, i suppressed those memories. i'm not stong enough to go through that again. i know death is the easy way out. and i'm a coward for wanting to take it but i'm so desperate. i don't want to feel the pain anymore. the numbness, the anger, the guilt, the sadness, i can't.

i'm sorry, you feel so much more comforting than my own big sisters. i don't think they even deserve that title truthfully. but thank you for letting me rant, you don't even have to post this. i don't mind. i truly hope your day today was much lighter than mine. i hope you experienced some form of happiness today. i hope you're well. love you more than words could ever say, thank you for letting me spill my words on here. please don't feel pressured to post this. i'm sorry for how weird this ask is. i'm sorry for unloading it all on to you 💕

Don't worry, you can always rant to me. Sometimes we just need to let it out, to get it off our chests because too often we don't have anyone trustworthy to talk to openly and many wouldn't understand it either. I wish I could help you through this, I'm having similar struggles too. I actually blew up my professional life a week ago because I panicked. They wanted to give me the residency I asked for after fighting with them for months and when they gave it to me I ended up not accepting (for reasons listed bellow but also because they bind you contractually for life). I just spent the last year not even living but surviving, working nights so often I didn't feel human at all and I barely saw my family (my younger niece barely knows who i am), I don't even have friends anymore because everyone kind of just gave up on me. They didn't understand how tired I was from work, I just didn't want to do anything after work. I went from a packed covid unit to urgent care back to infectious diseases and it's been so exhausting both mentally and physically and my chronic illnesses have all gone havoc in this time and I've come to realize that even though the pay is better when you work nights and on calls, my health and general well being have no price. So when my contract is up this March I'm going to be unemployed for a bit until I find a job as a GP and that's scary as hell and no one quite understands why I left a higher paying job in a hospital 20 mins away from me by foot that I lowkey dreamed about and wished for my entire life. Guess they were right when they said be careful what you wish for...I got my wish and it cost me everything else and I was miserable. If I had the option I'd leave healthcare altogether, but my background is basically a nursing degree and then a doctor's degree so I'm stuck with it...unless I marry a richy rich dude 🤣 (can I get Charles Leclerc pls) but yeah, I understand what you're going through. Life is so fucking hard all the time and most people just have to stay up float and that's it, but people like you and me are constantly swimming against the current with chains pulling us under. (There's a song by The Pretty reckless called Under the water, I recommend you listen to it, kind of like a soundtrack to this whole thing). I refuse to believe it won't get easier one day (despite my year starting with a firework going off in my face followed by a terrible case of chicken pox that made me miss a weekend trip to Austria, making my skin awful, and now a flare up in my condition), IT HAS TO GET EASIER. Until then, please reach out to me whenever you need it. It's not a burden. Hell it's like group therapy, we can commiserate together over shitshows of the day. Can even be fun? Either way, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere yet. I'll keep fighting and I really hope you will too so that one of these days we can talk about the good things we get to see and live. I'm hoping everything happens for a reason and one day that reason will be clear. 💕

[shadowgamerhalo]

Okie dokie gonna make a post on this. Might as well mention this cause I'm thinking about it.

I have a speech impediment. I don't exactly know why I have it. I don't have any problems with my vocal cords, mouth, or tongue. I have in my native tongue as much as I have it in learning other languages. I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't have damage or anything. I've had it since I was a kid, through my teen years, and it's still here in my adult years, I don't think it'll really change.

The kind I have generally effects th sounds making them sound like s, my s sounds tend to be long and often sounds like hisses, often I mispronounce words like specific becomes pacific, certain syllables like in sigyn I cannot say without stuttering or butchering the word, and it's a toss up on if I can actually pronouce my r correctly it depends on the word, like rural is hard as fuck to say with the r, ratchet isn't hard to say with my r. This worsens with brain fog, and it gets worse when I'm tired. And when it hits a certain point of tired all my words get smoshed together that hardly anyone can understand me. I will know what I said, nobody else will. It just comes out incoherent.

Often times am told to practice to get better at saying things, and also made fun of when inevitably I say something and it sounds off or like something that I didn't mean to say, either swearing, weird wording, or just the way I say a certain word in the sentence.

Some people note that when I mention having a speech impediment that it's barely noticeable. I've once actually told someone to their face the reason why is because I'm focused on sounding 'normal', if I wasn't so very afraid of being made fun of, it would be noticeable.

And I'm tired of it.

I just want to speak and be understood. Want to say the words the way I actually say them and not be made fun of for it. Do you know how exhausting it is to be talking about a serious thing and then it's undercut because apparently a word you said sounded 'funny' and thus they're giggling about it?

Like imagine I was talking about how my mother abused me, and then someone has the gall to go 'the way you say mother is so funny' like bitch, I was talking about abuse don't mention how I pronounce mother differently than you. It's not an exact example that I can remember, but it's pretty damn close to the convos I have had with people.

I've legit cried people finding my way of talking cute, hilarious, or weird. I just want people to stop, my way of talking isn't funny, it's damn tiring to try to sound like everyone else, quit talking over me and let me speak!

Please I want to just want to like my natural voice for once, without being reminded what I can't have with it. I want to not feel guilty that I don't have what others consider a 'valid reason' for why I sound like this.

So that's my emotional screaming into the void for y'all, talking is hard as shit, probably why I ended up a writer over a speaker. Even then writing itself had challenges before I got autocorrect, but really that's a whole other ball game I'm not going to get into right now. Poured enough emotions into this one already.

[theentireratchetandclankfandom]

Survive the Night...(Ratchet/Alister Version)

"And I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."

(You've found the Ratchet/Alister version! Or perhaps you haven't seen the gen version of this fic and you have no idea what I'm talking about. Either way, keep on reading and please enjoy! Also I'm so sorry if the editing is weird, this new post editor is kinda confusing.)

Hello hello, I have returned to the RaC tag with more fics for your soul and no one's gonna stop me.

This one is a sick fic that I wrote an au prompt for six (6!) years ago and I've always just wanted to see it become a fanfic. So I did it! And I made two versions of it! A gen one (here!) and a shippy, Ratchet/Alister version (this one!) You're welcome to read one or the other or both! Or you can read it on AO3 here!

Reblogs are appreciated and helps get this fic out there for everyone to enjoy!

(-[-]-  is a page break)

(~~ is the start and finish of a dream sequence)

.

.

“Come on Ratchet, how many times has Alister shown you already? It shouldn’t be this hard to find Lunaris by yourself...” 

Ratchet shifted the star map in his lap once again and sighed in frustration. He was never one for stargazing, he left that behind when he was finally able to leave Veldin. For Ratchet, stargazing was looking to the night sky and dreaming about finally getting off his home planet after eighteen long years and speeding across the Solana Galaxy in his own ship, finally free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Not looking at one spot for the past half hour, unblinking, trying desperately to find a constellation Alister Azimuth could point out in his sleep. Which said Lombax was sorely lacking. But here he was, doing just that, hoping to learn a fraction of the celestial mapping the general knew. 

Maybe the stars were just located somewhere else on Lumos. This wasn’t Torren IV after all. Bodies of stars looked different on each planet, their location moving as they moved. Where one constellation could be located ninety degrees left of Torren IV’s moon, on Lumos...well Ratchet didn’t exactly know. Or maybe he was just exhausted and all the tiny little balls of dust and gas just looked like balls of dust and gas and nothing more. It was slightly frustrating. 

But Ratchet couldn’t deny that he was hooked learning about the different constellations in Lombax lore. And Azimuth was all too happy to prattle on to his audience of one of the stories behind each one of them and always put a special emphasis on his favourite, Lunaris. He never left anything out for her story, every detail was important, even the smallest one.  

And Ratchet was all too happy to listen to the same tale every night. Watching Azimuth’s animated movements, the brightest smile on his face that could rival the very stars he talked about, and the way his red eyes shown brighter. 

He just seemed more...alive. Happier. Younger. Breathtaking. And Ratchet wanted to drink in every minute of it. 

Except this night.  

This night, Azimuth was off helping the Vullards with a particularly nasty infestation of Tyhrranoids in one of their factories; only at the behest of Ratchet. And he made sure to let everyone know he was not doing this out of his own good will. 

No Azimuth meant no star mapping tonight. Which meant Ratchet was on his own. It was no problem, Ratchet wanted Azimuth to help with clearing out the infestation. It would tire the older Lombax out and maybe he could finally get some sleep instead of dealing with yet another bought of insomnia. 

Can’t go to sleep without him though. He wouldn’t be able to make his way into Aphelion without Ratchet. And... 

Ratchet blushed. Losing himself in the stars thinking of the rare nights Azimuth sought out affection from Ratchet. Chaste kisses and fingers dancing through pale chest fur... 

He shook his head, trying to clear away the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for that. 

“Just...a little longer. Let’s try and find Sigma instead.” 

-[-]- 

When Ratchet had landed on Torren IV and made his way through Volgrom Pass, the Vullards felt that the “Dangerous Rebel” of the Molonoth Fields was reigned in and pacified, and so felt it safe to approach the older Lombax with various requests and grievances. At first, Azimuth would frighten off anyone who tried to reach Volgrom Pass to ask anything of him before they could even get the chance to be shot down. And every time Ratchet would ask why the other Lombax didn’t stop to lend an ear. “I don’t owe anyone anything apart from you. I keep Nefarious’ troops away from this planet and that’s enough.” Azimuth would always reply.  

It just never sat right with Ratchet. 

The Vullards had let him stay on their planet after he was exiled and take up a sizable portion of land. It was only right to pay them back in any small way.  

The younger Lombax spent an entire month trying to coax Azimuth into not scaring away those who came to ask for his help. The general had a stubborn streak as wide as mile, but Ratchet had an overabundance of patience (thanks to Qwark.)  

He figured looking a little of his father helped too.  

He rode out the quarrels, aggressive training, and days long silent treatments to Azimuth finally giving in and agreeing to help the Vullards on the condition that Ratchet learned how to read and map out the stars. 

“Every Lombax is taught from a young age, and if you’re making me work for these Vullards, I’m going to make you learn every night to earn your supper.” And that was fine with Ratchet (anything to stop feeling awkward about mooching off the Vullards.) 

And so, every night Ratchet studied. The nights where Azimuth wasn’t busy helping the Vullards, he gleaned every bit of information he could about star mapping and Lombax lore from the other. It was hard work, but the things he learned about Lombax history and Azimuth himself were absolutely worth it.  

Just seeing the man light up. It was so attractive.  

And getting Azimuth to earn his keep was worth the strenuous and extra aggressive training Ratchet was put through during the daylight hours. It ensured the older Lombax was knocked out after a mapping lesson. Too many nights of insomnia made the man cranky, and a cranky Azimuth was not a joy to be around. 

Some days were worth a little bit of a cranky Azimuth. Because when night fell, it was one of those rare nights he wanted attention. 

From Ratchet or from Kaden? The younger Lombax didn’t have an answer to that.  

And he didn’t know if he particularly wanted one. 

-[-]- 

Ratchet gripped the wall behind him and rubbed his aching sternum, victim of a particularly hard jab from the other’s Praetorian wrench. Today was one of the days Azimuth seemed particularly upset. At what? Ratchet couldn’t tell. He couldn’t read the other man’s face at all today, and he was usually an open book (to Ratchet anyway.) He got up anyway, ready to face whatever aggression Azimuth wanted to get out. Imagine his surprise when the other Lombax heaved a heavy sigh, dropping his offensive stance.  

Ratchet took that as his signal to approach Azimuth. He looked hard at the other as he drove his Praetorian wrench into the ground. Now that they weren’t sparing, Ratchet noticed the general’s face looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes looked more pronounced, if that was even possible. 

“Azimuth, you okay?” Ratchet was sure the other had been getting sleep these past couple of days. He saw Azimuth fall asleep long before he did most nights. 

Azimuth looked up at the younger Lombax as he ungracefully sat himself on the ground. “Just a little tired my boy. Come, take a break and sit.” He patted the grass next to him. Ratchet walked over, taking a chance to quickly caress the other’s face, knowing the other wasn’t a fan of physical affection outside of Aphelion. But he felt like Azimuth needed this. He smiled when the Lombax automatically leaned into the touch before batting Ratchet’s hand away. 

“I apologize for hitting so hard,” Azimuth sighed, wrapping an arm around Ratchet’s shoulder as soon as the other sat down. “It’s unfortunately a bit too easy to forget myself during these sparring sessions.” 

This was a surprise, having the older Lombax initiate affection first. The younger Lombax hummed, feeling the other sag against him, and using the opportunity to peek up at Azimuth’s face.  

He had his eyes closed; cheek pressed up against Ratchet’s temple and Ratchet could see the weariness in the other’s face, the shadows under his eyes. The general was decidedly not getting any sleep. Ratchet pulled away from the Lombax peacefully snoozing away on top of him, ignoring the frustrated grunt, and dug in the satchel they brought for some water. 

“Here,” Ratchet forced the water bottle into the other’s hand. Azimuth gladly took it, chugging it like it was made of raritanium. “So...what kept you up this time?” He felt Azimuth slowly take his arm from around Ratchet’s shoulder and Ratchet fixed him with a pointed look.  

“Ah it's just the usual bought of restlessness.” Ratchet crossed his arms. “How could you even tell?” 

“You’re never this...I don’t know what to call it, but I can’t even touch you unless we’re in Aphelion. You only get like this when you’re running on an hour, at most, of sleep. What’s the deal Azimuth? I thought helping out the Vullards was wearing you out?” 

“And they are! Gods are they wearing me out...” Azimuth growled. He let out a weary sigh, frustratingly running a hand through the fur on top of his head. “But a restless mind barely knows any sleep...” 

Ratchet stared off into the deep blue sky of Lumos as Azimuth continued to drink; the general did have a mind that ran a mile a minute, but he wasn’t aware it was interfering with his sleep so badly. Was it always like this, before Ratchet found him? He was sure he saw the other Lombax sleeping so peacefully the first few days after their encounter.  

Maybe the stress of what he wanted and what Ratchet was asking of him was taking its toll. 

He looked back at Azimuth. He had sat back, face towards the sun and eyes closed. The soft rise and fall of his shoulders..was he sleeping? Ratchet inched closer to him; Azimuth was definitely sleeping. Finally.  

Did Kaden have this much trouble getting Azimuth to relax? What else could he do for the Lombax that his father couldn’t? Or didn’t do already? 

He sighed. Getting the other Lombax to just rest was harder than saving the galaxy at this point. It was heartbreaking.  

But this moment was a great opportunity to grab lunch at Galaxy Burger. And Azimuth would appreciate a greasy lunch once in a blue moon...right? Well, Ratchet thought he did. And that Betelgeuse Slushie was calling his name. 

“Get some rest Alister, I’ll be back before you even know it.” 

He scrambled up and grabbed the empty water bottle, making his way to the planet’s landing pad and Aphelion. A quick trip to the Phylax Sector and he’d be back before he was missed. 

~~ 

 “You STILL haven’t fixed it Al?! The competition is in two hours!” 

“Well, this would certainly go a lot faster if SOMEONE would lend a hand!” 

“But you’re better with those tiny little wires than I am! That’s why I left it to you!” 

Alister gave his friend a withering look as the other lay there with a self-satisfied grin. They were currently in the Solana galaxy, trying to prepare for the hoverboard races. During one particularly intense training run, Kaden’s board suddenly malfunctioned, throwing the Lombax off a steep incline and into the murky waters of Rilgar. Everyone was thankful the Lurker Sharks swimming along the track were fished out the week before or Alister would’ve had to go back to Fastoon with a damn good explanation as to why his partner was bleeding all over his ship and missing his left leg. 

Kaden was currently still wet and laughing about the entire thing, while Alister was stuck fixing his board. Lombax technology was unique, so not a lot of people knew the ins and outs of fixing it, so the Lombaxes were on their own trying to get it up and running again. He just wished Kaden was as good at fixing these little things as he was. This would go so much faster and they’d have more time to get in more practice. 

“Hey, Al?” 

“What NOW Kaden? Every time you try and start a conversation, we waste time. Do you want this board fixed or not?” 

“Sorry sorry! It’s just...don’t you think it's time to wake up?” Kaden asked, starting to rap his fingers on the ground. 

The question took Alister by surprise. What in the world was that supposed to mean? 

“Kaden what-are you high? I told you that you can’t get into the Praetorian Guard taking those damn poyoball pills. And WHY are you tapping the ground like that its IRRITATING!” Alister growled. Was his friend just determined to piss him off before this race? He had no problem leaving him to flounder in this race if that was the way he was choosing to behave just an hour before they had to work together. 

“But Alister...don’t you think it's time to wake up?” Kaden asked again, still tapping the ground. Alister felt a shiver run down his spine as the other Lombax stared at him, but also not? It looked like Kaden was staring straight into his soul. This was getting weird. 

“Azimuth. Wake up.” 

Still tapping. 

“Wha-Kaden what..? Wake up?” 

Stop tapping. 

“Wake up! It’s time to wake up!”  

Stop. Tapping. 

“Wake up!” 

Alister growled and snatched Kaden off the floor by his shirt. His ears twitched at tapping that STILL continued. This was creepy and irritating. 

“Kaden, I have had ENOUGH. KNOCK IT OFF!” He yelled. That infernal tapping! “Why are you trying to drive me up a damn wall?! I thought you loved me?!” 

Kaden just smiled, still tapping the floor. “Cause I miss you! It’s time to wake up!” 

‘Cause I miss you.’  

Wait- 

~~ 

Blue skies. The humidity...it was just a dream. 

He took in a shaky breath, felt the grass underneath him, the breeze. Was it a dream? 

A shadow loomed over him. Everything in him tensed. Was that...? 

“Alister, you’re awake! Do you know how hard it is to wake you up? Your communicator has been going off since I got back.” 

‘Got back..’ Azimuth mouthed. He felt something tapping against his side..”K-Ratchet?” What was that tapping? His communicator. That was the infernal tapping that was echoing in his dream. It was vibrating with a message. 

“In the flesh! I got us some lunch; I don’t know if you like Galaxy Burger...” Ratchet left Azimuth’s small field of view, shuffling around in what he assumed were bags of food. His tensed muscles slowly relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. It was a dream, or maybe it was a nightmare. 

He sat up, wresting his communicator from his side and silencing it without looking. Whatever it was could wait. His mouth felt drier than the grass he was sat upon. Where was that- 

“Water?” Ratchet. The real Ratchet. Not a phantom in a dream. Offering him what he clearly needed right now. Azimuth took it gratefully, giving the other a searching glance. 

“Didn’t tell me you could read minds.” Azimuth joked. 

Ratchet laughed. It was so light and airy. So unlike Kaden’s deep one. It was nice. 

“You just looked like you needed it.” Ratchet answered around a mouth full of fries. “Was it a nightmare?” 

Azimuth forgot Ratchet was aware that nightmares plagued him sometimes; one of the causes of his insomnia, robbing him of sleep and disturbing what should be a peaceful night. But.. 

“Just an old memory. Nothing to worry yourself over.” 

Ratchet didn’t need to know it was a memory twisted into a nightmare. The younger Lombax already worried so much about him, adding more to his plate just seemed cruel. 

Azimuth dug into Ratchet’s fries, laughing as he tried to swat the elder away and to his own food. 

“So, who was trying to contact you?”  

Azimuth huffed, angrily tearing into his burger and instantly regretting it. The thing was a greasy disaster. He wouldn’t be surprised if this gave him heartburn in an hour. The general was hoping Ratchet would forget about that. 

“No one, just spam calls.” 

Ratchet shot Azimuth a look, while the elder made it a point to stare into the blackest soda he’d ever seen. 

“Really?” Ratchet drawled, chuckling as a shiver ran up Azimuth’s spine as he tried to drink the sugary sweet drink. “I could’ve sworn you told me people thought you were dead, so you don’t get those kinds of calls.” 

“Ugh,” Azimuth sneered at Ratchet’s grin, he could never hide anything from that boy. But he admired that about him. Quick-witted and just as sharp as his wrench.  

And that damnable bright smile. Kaden’s couldn’t even compare.  

He pulled his communicator back out, checked the message that was left and rolled his eyes. “It was just the Vullards with yet ANOTHER request. They can deal with it themselves.” 

The other Lombax rounded his shoulders and Ratchet could tell he was done with the conversation. But Ratchet wasn’t. Azimuth declined many requests for help over the month, and Ratchet had let it slide, enjoying the small reprise with the elder Lombax.  

He felt bad for ignoring the responsibilities the two of them had. But the opportunity to get to know another Lombax, learn from him, everything he yearned for...the pull was too great. But while they waited for leads and for armies to get off their backs, they grew too complacent in each other’s company and too comfortable in each other’s arms. 

He knew he couldn’t stay in the little world they built forever. Especially Alister.  

“I think you should go.” 

Azimuth froze mid-bite of his burger and frowned. “No.” 

“Why not? We’ve been stuck here for weeks and I can tell you’re getting anxious.” And in danger of going stir-crazy. “Maybe it would do you some good to get off planet and talk to people who aren’t me!” ‘And the ghosts haunting your dreams whenever you manage to get some sleep.’ Some things were better left unsaid. 

“No, I do not! I don’t need other people!” Azimuth scoffed. “I have you, and you are enough!” He got up, tossing his burger to the side.  

“We are DONE with this conversation, Ratchet. I don’t want to hear-” 

“NO, WE’RE NOT.” Ratchet scrambled up too, quickly placing himself in front of the other Lombax. He glared up at Azimuth, throwing the elder off and making him step back. 

“It is not enough Azimuth! Before me you had no one and you even told me that wasn’t okay and unhealthy-” 

“But that was-” 

“But nothing! Alister, you need to go. Now.” 

Ratchet didn’t realize what he said until it was too late, but he stood his ground. Azimuth NEEDED this, no matter how much he fought back against it. Ratchet barely registered the other Lombax suddenly growling and baring his fangs. He yelped when Azimuth grabbed him by his collar and pulled him closer. This...was the closet Ratchet had ever been to the older Lombax while they were both awake. For the second time today. 

His eyes. They were still so exhausted. 

It looked like the bags under his eyes had bags. Frown lines and old battle scars marred his rugged face but the shadows that always seemed to linger under his eyes looked a lot lighter this close up. He was still handsome, despite all of his flaws. He shouldn’t be so attracted to this man, especially with his temper. But yet... 

“How dare you? I-” 

Well, there was no time like the present to get even closer. “Please...” Ratchet took a chance, reaching out and gently grabbing Azimuth’s face. The most intimate physical contact they’d ever had outside of Aphelion for the third time today. A record. “...Alister...” He didn’t miss the Lombax’s eyes widening at the use of his first name. 

Ratchet wasn’t sure Azimuth was aware of how close they were earlier in the day. The man struggled with physical contact on any level other than a friendly spar. Seeing him flinch as if he was struck, it was abnormal. 

Ratchet held Azimuth’s gaze. It was a sea of emotion behind his eyes and it looked a little duller. “Just do it for me, okay?” Ratchet wondered if those blood red eyes saw Ratchet or Kaden.  

Was it okay, manipulating the other like this, just because Ratchet knew Azimuth would do anything for Kaden?  

He felt his hand being squeezed back and his feet touch the earth again. Ratchet stumbled a bit, feeling himself being tugged forward. More physical contact? Ratchet saw the other hesitate, Azimuth’s sleep deprived mind going into overdrive.  

Taking advantage of that should be fine. Just this once. Ratchet reached up and caressed the other’s face. He smiled hearing a raspy purr coming from Azimuth. Just this once, he’d use his proximity to a person he didn’t know to get what he wanted. 

It felt strange. He’d have to find some way to make that up to him.  

“F-fine. I’ll help them. Only because you asked...Ratchet.” Azimuth blushed at the beaming smile the younger Lombax threw his way. He suddenly let go of Ratchet’s hand and backed out of his grasp, swiftly grabbing his wrench and starting up his hover boots. 

“But this means we’re up extra early tomorrow morning for training!” 

“Yes sir!” 

Azimuth nodded, pleased with the response he received and boosted off towards his ship. The smile slipped away from Ratchet’s face once the Lombax was gone. 

It felt...surreal, using his uncanny resemblance to his father to manipulate Azimuth. It worked, but Ratchet didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure if Azimuth was doing this for him or Kaden, despite what the other said earlier.  

He sighed, going back to his now cold food. 

There was no need to dwell on such vexing thoughts. 

It was heartbreaking. 

[liibrii]

Built for eternity  

deity!Atsumu x gn!reader || crack/fluff || wc: 1.6k || 🦊

Synopsis: Once Atsumu was a great deity, equally loved and feared but after taking a very long nap he wakes up to a world that has forgotten him. Everyone but your group that’s digging up his old shrine. He's sure you'll be his new followers so why on Earth are you destroying his house?!

warnings: barely proofread, general stupidity, cursing, suggestive moments, archaeological mumbo jumbo, Atsumu is a god of something but it's vague and not really important, also gods exist and everybody is chill with that, reader is a very tired archaeologist and done with everybody’s shit

a/n: after 3 days of rain and 6 straight hours of shovelling dirt I had an epiphany. idk, it made me laugh so I decided to scribble it down. and yes, don’t mess with a profile unless you want archaeologists to hate you forever as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Once Atsumu was a great deity with shrines and temples at every corner. Nowadays the only ones remembering him are obscure books only used for collecting dust. But that is about to change. Atsumu is sure of that. 

Group of loyal followers has gathered where his shrine once stood, a small one, one he never really cared about but these days he'll take every crumb of adoration he can. And the crumbs are a plenty as the group digs up the shrine, excited about the pottery shards and walls coming to light. 

They call themselves archaeo-something, architects probably since they will rebuild his power. Yes, excellent, it pleases him to see you all rejoice, taking pictures of everything, you will be his new followers and more will follow, he'll be a great deity again, equally loved and feared-

“Aright, take the wall out!“

Huh?

Why are ya destroyin’ his shrine?! No, no, no, stop breakin’ apart the walls! That was the inner altar, what are ya pigs doin’?!

Thunder rumbles and a downpour falls for days, and still those little crawly humans continue to destroy his shrine, his precious walls, and take away the last remains of old offerings. Oh he's going to have a word with all of you freakin' stumblin’ humans, ya better know yer damn places. But he'll start with the one in charge.

The excavation site is empty when he decides to approach you. You're shovelling away dirt, though you should've started with your shoes and clothes. You turn when you hear someone approach and your eyes widen, as they should, thinks Atsumu, at least someone 'round here should show him the respect he deserves, he's a god after-

“Hey! You're standing on my feature! Get off, shoo, shoo! And watch out for the profile! I just cleaned the damn thing. Excavation site is closed to the public Mister so I'll have to ask you to leave.“

Exca- what? Leave? It’s his shrine! Humans shouldn’t react to his presence the way you did, that's just, it's not what humans do! 

“But I live here.“

“You-? Oh. You're still standing on my feature, get off already,“ you pull him off the patch of dark soil that to him looks the same as the patch where he's standing now.

“Why are ya destroyin' my shrine?“

You wipe away the sweat on your forehead, or maybe it's rain, with raindrops still falling he can't really tell. “We're not destroying anything, we're digging it up. Documenting it. It'll get destroyed once the apartment complex is build here. Come on, stay away from the profile!“

You return to scrapping the patch of dirt and Atsumu feels some very confusing mixture of rage that you, a lowly little human being, are talking to him like he's a nuisance, and being very pleased because when you lean down to scrap the soil he has an incredible view of your behind, and whew, that's a very nice ass. He shouldn't look, staring is rude, but what else is he supposed to look at, there's just soil, and holes dug into the ground, a weird green box atop a yellow tripod, a shovel, and some stones, one beside your left leg, such good looking legs indeed, there's a mud stain all over your ass-

No! You're tearing down the last remains of his shrine! “Human. I order ya to stop doin' what yer doin' and answer my questions!“

You glance over your shoulder. “Sure. I'll keep on working and you ask me what you want to know.“

Why are you so calm?! He's a deity, a god, you should be on your knees begging for your life to be spared, not scrapping the ground, oh holy bean sprouts and apples, why does your ass look so good? “Do ya know who I am?“

“The one of many names. The Twofaced god.“ You straighten up just to change gardening hoe for a shovel.

“Why aren't ya scared then?“

“I've met your kind before,“ you shovel the dirt onto a big pile a few steps away. “Though they usually don't go around destroying my surfaces. A clumsy god is a first. Oh, what's this? Pottery, nice,“ you mumble as you turn a small object covered with soil in your hand.

“Hey. Show me some respect or-“

“Or what? You’ll make it rain again? Joke's on you I've been soaked through and through for the last three days. Hand me the trowel?“

“Yer extremely impolite.“

To his utter surprise you burst into laughter. “Listen your holiness it's Friday afternoon, I’m tired, my clothes are completely wet, I'm cold, I have gravel in my shoes, my shoulders are killing me, and I'm more than ready to go home. But before that I have a feature to document. The one that you so kindly stepped in. Now, please show me your godly powers and hand me the trowel. The mini shovel. Red handle. No, left. Left. That's the one, thank you, what did I tell you, watch the profile man!“

Good grief, have humans always been so demanding?

“Will my shrine be rebuild?“

“If your shrine is an apartment complex, sure. Give it a few weeks and it will be good as new. Literally.“ When you see his face your expression softens a little. “No. It won’t be. We'll look at the remains to figure out when it was abandoned, what happened, that sort of thing.“

“But yer an architect. Architects build things.“ He heard people of your group call themselves that. They talked about how the walls had been built though he quickly stoped listening. “This shrine was built for eternity!“

“Archaeologist.“

“What?

“You meant I’m an archaeologist. Not architect. I don't plan buildings, I dig them up once their eternity passes.“

“It's eternity! It doesn't pass! Go dig somewhere else!“

You sigh. You look almost as exhausted as he did before taking his a few thousand years long nap. “Great, you're one of those people. Always complaining, why is it taking so long, why do you have to dig on my building site? Well mister it ain't my fault you decided to build atop of my neolithic settlement. Hey, grab the hoe.“

“The what?“

“The thing by your feet. No, that's a trowel. The one with the long handle. No, that’s a pickaxe, yes that's the one. See there? Your footprints. Clean them. Come on, don't just stand around and look pretty, get to hoeing.“

“Right here? Out in the open?“ He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Yer an intriguin'-“

“Clean them away.“

Atsumu does as you say all while grinning. You're getting flustered. Humans and their brave facades, we'll see how long you manage to hold your own up.

“There.“ It only took four scraps to get rid of the footprints but Atsumu proclaims it so proudly he might as well just have dug up the entire excavation site on his own. “That was as easy-“ As he steps away ground under his foot crumbles and he hears your shocked shriek.

“My profile!“

Oh dear. The word he’d use to describe the look on your face when you see the collapsed pile of dirt beside the hole in the cross section would be heartbroken. Devastated. On verge of tears. Irritated. Angry. Enraged? 

“What did I tell you?! I gave you one job, one job you clumsy wanna be deity! Oh fuck, come on, I’m to tired for this.“

“’m sorry,“ Atsumu mumbles. His ears are on fire.

“Yeah you better be. Shit, fuck, what am I supposed to do?“ You look at him the same way someone in a hurry looks at a doorknob when their jacket gets caught on it. “You. Here.“

“What's-“

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what a shovel is. You destroyed my profile. I'm very tired. I'm very angry. I don't care if you're a god or a plastic straw, right now you will help me fix it. Shovel straight down. I want a right angle.“ 

With his strength evening out the cross section proves to be no problem at all. He glances over at you, do you see what a good job he’s doing, maybe he messed up before but now he’s doing great, as you pay him no attention and write something on a small blackboard. A bunch of numbers and words. He recognises there's a date. What could the others mean? You lean down to reach for, oh that mud stain on your trousers is actually a hand print. You must've wiped your hand on your ass- 

The shovel slips. Luckily you're too preoccupied with your camera to take notice of it.

“Are you done?“ you ask without looking up and he stutters out an 'almost' since he's almost sure it isn’t just the shovel that’s slipping. “Looks good.“ You say more to yourself than him. 

He thinks you're pretty cute when you're not chewing him out for stepping onto that one patch of dirt. The way you lift the camera up and take photos of that patch of dirt is pretty cute too. 

“Help me pack up,“ you say once you’re done. He doesn’t need to be told twice, already gathering your tools. “All things considered you weren’t so bad. Maybe you should consider becoming the god of archaeologists.“ Your smile is incredibly cute too. “Fancy a drink?“

[mysticpetals]

Farewell, sunshine

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Jake × f!mc (Syianne)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.9k (oof)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: All Jake ever wanted was to find his sister and protect the person who had helped him more than anyone. Only, he slowly began to realise that bringing Syianne into this had caused more harm than good.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mentions of blood, physical attack, violence, hospitals, medical coma, panic attack.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: Anonymous asked: 5. “Wake up! Please wake up.” MC and Jake finally get to meet for the first time, but everything is heavily dipped in angst. 😂 Also I adore your writing and keep up the good work!

Anonymous asked: Can you give us the most angsty jealous filled over protective short with Jake x MC i want all the ANGST to be seeping out of my screen

@mnrangera asked: Here's a nice angsty scenario for you: MC is in Duskwood continuing their investigation but is caught out in town after dark. They are on the phone with Jake when they are attacked by the Man Without a Face like Jessie was.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: I know this has been LOOOOONG overdue and I apologise for the wait. Thank you to all my followers for being patient, especially those who sent the requests in. I hope the long wait is worth it and you enjoy it. Also, please read the warnings before proceeding, I don't want any of you to be triggered by something I wrote. There may be inaccuracies in how I progressed medical conditions and general working of the hospitals so I apologise for that. Please do not repost or translate this fic anywhere else!! I'm literally begging you, please don't ruin my hard work like this. I would love if I could get some sort of feedback, whether it be reblogs or comments or just anon asks. I've tried to improve my writing and I hope it shows a little in this. This is my Christmas and New Year present all wrapped in one! I hope you all have a great 2021 <3

It was a cold, winter evening with the sky painted in a plethora of warm colors and Jake felt like finally things were going his way.

He, along with Syianne, had been working tirelessly for the past few weeks to find out what happened to Hannah. They had faced a lot of challenges along the way, with cryptic diary entries and threats directed towards them and their loved ones, but still, they'd prevailed and spent every ounce of free time, getting more information about Hannah's perpetrator.

They finally had the facts about what happened the day she was kidnapped and only the identity of the criminal was hidden. Syianne had suggested that she should go to Duskwood to try and find the last puzzle piece, to which Jake had been a little apprehensive. She argued that the rest of the group had already been through enough, with getting stalked and receiving threats and insisted that she should be the one to carry out her search in secret.

She never once asked for him to come along because she knew how dangerous it would be for him and she didn't want him to get caught. Jake was instantly warmed by the thought that someone cared so much about him, to think of his well being first.

So that night, as she called him to update him on her findings and plan after she went to Duskwood, he found himself speaking his thoughts impulsively.

"What if I came too?"

There was silence on the other end and Jake thought he might have overstepped or made it weird but she answered before he could stammer an apology.

"I'd like that. But only if you're comfortable and safe."

She told him to ruminate on it for a while and bid him goodnight. Jake thought about whether it was a logical thing to do. If Syianne planned to go undercover, he couldn't very well let her go into the lion's den alone. So he made up his mind and texted Syianne to let her know.

Jake [10:46 pm]

I'll come to Duskwood too.

Is it okay if we don't meet straight away?

I...I don't think I'm ready yet.

Syianne [10:47 pm]

I was lowkey hoping you'd say that ahaha

And of course! Take as much time as you need :)

That night, he slept with a smile on his face, excitement churning in his stomach.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Syianne was looking forward to her trip to Duskwood.

She knew it was a potentially dangerous situation and she was only going there to investigate but knowing that Jake might be there too, sent a spark of thrill through her body. They had been speaking non-stop for the past few weeks and she really liked talking to him. His answers to questions about him or his life were adorably confusing and Syianne realized that she really wanted to get to know him, be his friend or possibly something more, if their flirty banter was anything to go by.

Her bag contained all the essentials she could need, along with a sketchbook and pencils to use in case of boredom. She couldn't leave Matrix with any of her friends as they were either busy or allergic to cats so her only option was to take her along.

She had never booked a flight so fast. Knowing she would have to take a car from the airport to the rest of the way to Duskwood did nothing to damper her excitement. She couldn't wait to meet everyone once they found Hannah, some more so than the others.

The trip was nothing eventful, just a lot of travelling and it made Syianne a little tired but the idea of meeting her friends and finally putting a stop to all this madness, made her keep going. She wouldn't admit it if you asked her but she was looking forward to possibly seeing Jake as well. She knew he might not be comfortable enough to meet her yet and she completely respected that, but the thought still lingered.

She checked in to the only hotel Duskwood had, not meeting the receptionist's - Lilly's - eyes and was eternally grateful that she had only leaked her number and not her photo in that video. It would have been much more difficult to move about Duskwood, if that were the case.

The room they had was pretty basic, but not too bad for a few nights. Matrix prowled around the room, getting herself comfortable in the new environment while Syianne slowly unpacked the few clothes and necessities she brought.

In the corner of her mind, there was the thought that Jake might be staying at this hotel too and that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. But she was a woman of her word and would wait until Jake was ready and would not try to look for him.

She had a mission here and she wanted to be damn sure that that's what she would be focusing on and save Hannah.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake was supposed to be in Duskwood about two nights ago.

He had encountered some issues with removing his tracks from the internet, as well as trying to find a safe way to drive to Duskwood without exposing himself. Working as a hacker did have some benefits and finally he managed to find a guy who made him three fake number plates that he would interchange every once in a while, so his whereabouts couldn't be traced.

He had let Syianne know of the unexpected delay but to his surprise, she was enjoying herself in Duskwood. She had told him that Jessy gave her a virtual tour of the town once and she was excited to explore all those places in person. She talked to him at night, describing the beauty of the small town and Jake felt himself growing wistful, wondering what they could do together if he had been there. But then again, hadn't he said that he wouldn't show himself right now? He was cautious - just as he had been all his life - but something about Syianne just made him want to let his guard down, to just be selfish for once.

He had no time to think further on it because finally, all the preparations and precautionary measures were done and he could drive to Duskwood. He couldn't leave Glitch at home because he had attachment issues and couldn't go without Jake for a long period of time. So he ushered him into his carrier and told him he could claw all the wood he wanted when they reached their destination and Glitch meowed in agreement. He had always been a smart cat, after all.

Changing the number plates every hour was exhausting, especially when he didn't do much manual work but he endured it, if it meant he was one step closer to finding his sister.

When he finally reached Duskwood, he was in awe of how normal it looked, how silent; how someone who didn't know that a girl had been kidnapped would think of this place as the perfect getaway. But he knew better, didn't he? This town held dark secrets, secrets that people weren't willing to acknowledge and he was going to expose them for what they were, no matter what it took.

Signing into the Duskwood hotel was as awkward as he imagined it to be, his half sister having no idea who he was and looking at his dark, baggy clothes suspiciously. He wasn't blaming her, he would have probably done the same if a strange man came out of nowhere to stay in Duskwood of all places. Lilly gave him a tight smile as he picked up his bag and key and made way to his room.

Syianne had texted him earlier that day that she would be checking out the lake in the evening, where Jessy was attacked. Jake was against it from the start but he should have known how stubborn she could be and eventually, he had to agree but only on the condition that she stays on video call with him the whole time. Syianne was evidently bewildered by his request, judging by the way she kept writing and erasing her reply but after a while, she managed to ask if he would be comfortable with that. Jake's heart warmed at her considerate words, never really having anyone who would care about his emotions, he was always surprised when Syianne said something like that. He replied that he would just turn off his camera or point it at the lamp or something but he had to be sure about her safety.

And that's why, he was sitting with his phone in front of him in the evening, camera turned off as he watched her fondly, pointing out the strange birds she saw.

"Ah, I wish you were here! The lake is so pretty this time and the light from sunset is reflecting off the water and it makes an amazing view," she said, voice breathy with the exertion of walking for a while and a tone of awe towards the scene in front of her.

"That's sufficient sightseeing, don't you think?" Her voice suddenly took a serious note and Jake straightened up in his chair. He was afraid but couldn't say anything. He had already agreed to let her go with a condition and he feared if he asked her to not investigate, she would probably end the call and keep looking for clues by herself. At least on the phone, he could look at her surroundings and made sure no one sneaked up on her.

"If you say so," he said half-heartedly, glancing at the surroundings behind her as she narrowed her eyes at his dismissive tone.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Syianne looking around the lake and Jake looking over her shoulder virtually. She had scouted the edge and went a little deeper into the forest, looking for a car, a boat, a mask - anything, really - but the search had proved to be futile so far. Everything was as peaceful as ever, no signs of any disturbance and it made Jake a little antsy. Nothing was ever this perfect.

"Well, since we can't find anything here, I think you should come back. It's getting late," Jake said, looking at the already darkened sky. It was an ominous red color and Jake was getting more and more worried as people left the lakeside.

Syianne frowned but didn't argue and that made him sigh in relief.

"Yeah, you're right. No use trying to find something that isn't there," she said and started walking again.

"Wait, you walked here? Didn't you bring your car?" Jake asked and she shook her head.

"Nope, I wanted to enjoy Duskwood and being in a car wouldn't have helped," she smiled at the camera and Jake let out an almost inaudible sigh. Why couldn't she care about her safety a little more? She was going to give him grey hair before he reached his thirties, that was for sure.

As he began to reply to her, he caught movement from the left side of the screen and instantly grabbed his phone, expanding the background.

There was a silhouette of a hand.

"Syianne, run!" He shouted, as the figure's arm came into view and she looked back in surprise before starting to sprint, the camera shaking from her movements.

Jake scrambled to get his car keys, not bothering with what he was wearing and ran towards the hotel parking, getting into his car and connecting the GPS to his phone, all the while listening to Syianne's panting breaths as she ran away from the man without a face.

Getting her location was no problem for him and he just hoped he would arrive there on time.

"Jake, I'm scared. I'm hiding behind a big building and I think he went on ahead," she whispered, voice shaky and trembling and Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he glanced over at his phone to watch her looking around herself in a panic.

Five more minutes and he would reach her location. Jake had never been more thankful that Duskwood was a small town and the hotel wasn't so far away from the lake.

"I'm coming, Syianne. Just a little while more and we'll go back together."

"Okay, I think I'm safe for now," she said. There was a sound of slow careful footsteps as Syianne came out from behind the building.

The abrupt sound of a gasp almost made him lose control of the steering wheel and he increased his speed as he heard what sounded like a scuffle. Syianne had probably dropped her phone because it only showed the dark sky and sounds of her struggling against her attacker.

"No! Let–"

Jake let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening as he heard Syianne's scream. He drove straight for a bit and turned the next corner and saw the man trying once again to restrain her. His eyes saw red and he honked and honked like it was nobody's business, speeding towards them.

The man without a face seemed to have realised that someone was coming to help as he pushed Syianne roughly into the wall and ran away towards the forest. As much as Jake wanted to go after him, Syianne was his first priority and he quickly got out of the car, dashing towards her crumpled form, lying on the ground.

He fumbled with his phone, calling the local police and asking for an ambulance, his body shaking all the while, as he knelt down next to Syianne.

He felt tears welling in her eyes as he looked at her battered form and realised that she was bleeding.

"Syianne?" He spoke in a scared voice.

"Syianne!" He said more forcefully, repeatedly patting her face in hope she'll look at him but her eyes were still glassy and unfocused as if she couldn't comprehend anything.

"I'm...so sorry. I…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to breathe and Jake cried, seeing her in so much pain, when he couldn't do anything except wait for the ambulance to arrive.

After a moment, Syianne's eyes fluttered closed and Jake's panic rose to new heights.

"No, no, no! Wake up! Please wake up!" He shouted and begged but she didn't respond to his calls.

His hand was soaked in her blood from where he was applying pressure on the wound at her side. The blood hadn't stopped flowing and Jake was worried that she was losing too much, too soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He muttered to himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, with only one thought in his head – to save her.

He heard sirens in the distance and was relieved to know that help was coming. He pushed up the fallen hood of his jacket up on his head and looked at Syianne for any signs of consciousness. Her breaths were shallow and eyes still closed.

Soon enough, paramedics rushed to the scene and immediately started tending to Syianne's wounds. Jake felt as if he was just a spectator, not being able to do anything but watch. Someone came up to him and started asking him questions, about how he found her, who he was to her and if he knew anything about the attack. He answered all the questions as carefully as he could, giving a fake name, because he still wasn't sure if the police department was in league with the kidnapper or not.

As soon as he was done with the questioning, a paramedic approached him, letting him know that they were taking Syianne to the hospital and he would have to come there for a bit of paperwork. Jake hesitated and said he'd drive there in his own car and the paramedic nodded in response and left.

He got in his car and put his head in his hands, shaking at the unfortunate turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Syianne was just going to check out the lake and then surprise her friends the next day by telling them she'd be here for a few days and enjoy Duskwood together.

Jake was even thinking of meeting her in person and telling her that she had changed his life for the better. But his cowardice, his meticulous nature to not let anyone know who he was or where he was might have cost Syianne her life tonight. Even thinking about it had tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to bite back the sobs that were threatening to break once again.

He felt guilty, so so guilty and couldn't bring himself to start the car. He was pretty sure that if – no when – Syianne woke up, she would want nothing to do with the man who put her life in danger. With that thought rooted in his mind, he opened his phone and with trembling hands, sent Jessy a text about Syianne's accident. He received a reply almost immediately.

Jessy [8:46 pm]

What?

How did she come here?

You know what? If she's not okay, I'm going to hunt you down and make you pay.

Jake had no trouble believing she was telling the truth. All he wanted to do was help and now everything was falling apart. Taking a deep but shaky breath, he started the car but instead of going to the hospital, he turned towards the hotel.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jessy had no trouble believing that the hacker was telling the truth. His texts were frantic and he practically begged her to go to the hospital to see Syianne. She had no idea how she got here, but hearing that she got attacked, just like she was, was enough to make her worry and drive to the hospital, after letting Cleo know. She figured that the rest of them deserved to know too.

She rushed to the front desk, breathless and worried, and one of the nurses told Jessy that the doctors were with Syianne and she'd have to wait until they were done to know how she was.

After some time of relentless pacing, Cleo arrived and Jessy filled her in on everything that the hacker told her, which wasn't much, but it gave them a good idea of what had happened. Cleo said that she hadn't told anyone else yet and that they should do so as soon as the doctors had an update on Syianne's condition.

About an hour later, a nurse came upto Jessy and Cleo, asking if they knew Syianne and upon their confirmation, led them to the room she was kept in. They weren't allowed to enter yet as the doctors were still in the room, but Jessy gasped when she saw Syianne's scratched up face, with bandages covering her head.

"Oh my gosh." Cleo breathed and Jessy felt a rush of sorrow as she averted her eyes.

The doctors after completing their examination, told them that Syianne was stabbed in the side but luckily it didn't puncture anything important and they closed up the wound to allow it to heal. What was more concerning, was the fact that she was hit on the back of her head.

"She most likely suffered from a concussion, in which case, it is of the utmost importance that the patient doesn't fall asleep," the doctor said and Jessy and Cleo looked at each other uneasily.

"But Syianne fell asleep…" Jessy began and the doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's right. She was unconscious when she was brought here. The superficial wounds are taken care of, we just don't know when she'll wake up."

Both of them were too stunned to say anything and a call for the doctor from one of the nurses broke them out of their stupor.

"So, she's in a coma?" Cleo asked.

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"Essentially, yes. But we can't know for sure without further observation. If the injury isn't severe she'll wake up soon, we just have to monitor her constantly and look for any changes." He then walked off when his pager went off, most likely to see another patient.

"Don't worry, Jessy. She'll wake up soon," Cleo said, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they looked into Syianne's room, seeing her sleeping peacefully, as if nothing was wrong and she was just taking a nap.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

As soon as she got home from the hospital, Jessy sent out a row of furious texts to the hacker, clouded by her anger and hopelessness. In her head, it was all his fault that Syianne was twittering between life and death. He was the one who asked her to come to Duskwood without letting any of them know, which caused her to be in such a terrible condition.

Everything was crumbling.

They were a tight knit group, always there for each other but when did it turn into a nightmare, Jessy didn't know. Emotion overtook her and she suddenly collapsed against the wall, keeping a hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs, and cried.

She cried for Hannah, who she had no idea whether she was alive or not. She cried for Syianne, who had become such a great friend to her. Most importantly, she cried for her relationship with everyone, that was slowly but surely, withering away.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake had been pacing in his hotel room ever since getting back, waiting on a word from Jessy. Glitch watched him with big eyes, as he stubbed his on the bedside and cursed. Sighing in defeat, Jake realised that it won't do any good to worry himself to death, but that didn't mean that his mind didn't drift off to the earlier scene.

Syianne lying on the ground. Blood pooled around her.

He shook his head in frustration, trying to get that image out of his head but to no success. Glitch, sensing that something was wrong, strolled towards him, rubbing and purring against his legs. Jake softened at seeing his efforts to calm him and he picked Glitch up, moving to lay down on the bed. He petted him, smiling at the way the cat burrowed himself further against Jake, curling his tail around his wrist.

After a few peaceful moments of cuddling, Jake's phone lit up with a text, which had him scrambling to grab it from the bedside. Glitch meowed in protest but Jake was too wound up to notice.

Jessy [10:25 pm]

She's in a coma

They don't know when she'll wake up

Jake felt all breath leave him as he read Jessy's text. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what he could do. Jessy didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jessy [10:26 pm]

Don't contact any of us ever again

I don't want to find Hannah this way…which leads to everyone else getting hurt

Please leave Syianne out of this

Saying her mind, Jessy went offline again. Jake took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself. Syianne might never make up.

No, he told himself.

He couldn't think like that. He knew she'd wake up, it might take a little time but she will. Because if she didn't, Jake wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He got another text from Lilly, saying she was sorry that it happened but he couldn't bring himself to write back. His mind was empty, body numb to everything around him and he was cursing himself for being so careless.

If he hadn't been so selfish, if only he didn't put all of this on her, if he had just reached on time, if, if, if.

That's all he thought of, as tears continuously trailed down his cheeks, an arm covering his eyes, the only thing on his mind being Syianne, just as it had been ever since he started talking to her.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

The next day, Jake found himself holding a large flower bouquet and walking to Duskwood hospital's reception. He was trembling, scared out of his mind but he just had to see Syianne. So, he had braved his anxiety and was now standing in front of the receptionist, who looked at the abnormally large bouquet in his hands and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

"I'm here to see Syianne King, she was admitted here yesterday."

The receptionist's gaze sharpened as she looked him over and he partially hid behind the flowers.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she spoke slowly and Jake bit his lip in frustration.

"I'm her fiance," he said and before the surprised receptionist could say anything, he continued, "I drove here as soon as I got the call but they wouldn't tell me what happened. Only that Syianne had been in an accident and I needed to get here as soon as I could and I—" he cut himself off, shuffling nervously and wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.

The receptionist softened, seeing his genuine sorrow and care for his fiance and warmed her voice.

"Of course, I'm sorry for what happened. She's in room 309, third floor. The elevator is down the hall," she pointed and Jake thanked her profusely before walking ahead.

Him being Syianne's fiance might have been fake but everything he had felt was the truth and he felt overwhelmed now that he was here. Should he see her? Did he even deserve to see her after he put her in danger? Thoughts like this plagued his mind all the way to Syianne's room and they only stopped when he saw '309' written in bold letters on a grey coloured door.

His breath stuttered in his chest. He was second guessing his presence in the hospital, thinking whether he shouldn't have come. He stood in front of the door for about ten minutes, contemplating but when the nurses started giving him suspicious looks, he swallowed thickly and with shaky hands, opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the utter despair and helplessness he felt, as he saw Syianne's motionless form on the bed, breathing as if she was just sleeping and would wake up any minute. But he knew that wasn't the truth.

She was here and it was his fault.

For the longest time, he just sat on a chair beside her bed and just looked at her. His eyes traced every injury, every bruise that was visible and he felt sick, blaming himself for letting it happen. She was still sleeping and suddenly, it just got too much.

There was too much light, too much beeping, the walls were too white, the flowers in his hands digging into his skin and he got up hastily, dropping the bouquet and backed into the furthest corner of the room.

His breath was coming in short bursts, it hurt to breath, to think, to stay upright—!

His legs gave from under him and he slid down, back against the wall, shaking hands coming up to wipe the wetness on his face.

He didn't even realise he had been crying.

His vision was a blur of dark shapes and in a distinct corner of his head that was still sane, he thought of what Syianne would have done had she been awake. He was sure she would kneel down in front of him and take his hands, running her thumbs against the back of his hands to calm him.

'Breathe slowly, Jake. Deep breaths with me, come on,' he heard her in his head and tried to slow down, breathing harshly at first but after a few minutes, his vision cleared and his breathing stabled to an acceptable rate.

His whole body shook with the sheer suddenness of the panic attack and he slowly tried to get up, holding onto the wall as a support as his gaze, once again, landed on the bed and it's occupant.

All at once, his head cleared and he knew what to do.

Snatching a sheet of paper from the notepad lying near her chart, Jake penned his thoughts, all his anguish, and his apologies on it. Not once did his hand shake as he wrote the note and not once did his mind waver from the decision he had made. At last, when he had said everything he wanted to, he put the pen down and glanced at Syianne's peaceful face.

His throat closed up but he swallowed once to make sure he didn't cry. No, Jake had no time for tears. It was his fault that this happened in the first place, so it was his responsibility that he would make it right.

He didn't know when she would wake but whenever it might be, Jake had everything he wanted to say, already written for her.

He bent down towards her and placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, knowing that it would be the only time he would ever get to do it.

She did not open her eyes and Jake stepped back with a miniscule tilt of his lips.

Yes, he would make everything right.

[cauldronofmorning]

Okay so.... I've encountered your tags about "the talking scene between trapper and hawk in dr pierce and dr hyde the stuttering the grabbing the not blinking how another of hawk's coping methods has bitten the dust#trapper being soft parental but annoyed and how he needs to check out while hawkeye needs to save the entire world"... if you have time, Go off! I would love that 2000 word essay and your opinions.

It’s a bit of a mess and would probably get a C- if I handed it in, but! Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde and how it shows the difference between Hawkeye’s and Trapper’s coping methods.

Context! Alan Alda wrote the episode, mental health is important to him (not to psychoanalyze an actor, but he had depression before the show and his mom was schizophrenic) and there’s a quote on how Hawkeye didn’t actually change much in the eleven years, just had his coping methods beaten down.

So throughout season one, Hawkeye and Trapper have mostly been ignoring the trauma of a war. Hawkeye naturally ended a movie with a speech about propaganda (Yankee Doodle Doctor) and Tommy tells them (Sometimes You Hear The Bullet) about a kid who should have been the blonde hero in a war movie actually dying and not hearing a bullet, forcing them to actually quietly think about it. But for the most part, they can distract themselves with booze, pranks and women, and Hawkeye can still draw a straight line between his tenuous sanity pre-war and the place he’s in.

There’s also two important episodes in season two before Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, that make the war more personal for both of them. The first is Radar’s Report, where a scared prisoner contaminates Trapper’s patient by knocking the blood over. Trapper’s sulkier throughout the episode, obsessed with how it could have been okay if it weren’t for that incident, and less indulging of Hawkeye’s girl of the week problem. His patient doesn’t make it, and he makes a beeline to the POW’s tent, maybe would have killed him if Hawkeye hadn’t bought him back to reality. “That’s not what we’re about.”

The second is For The Good Of The Outfit. This one has a village bombed by American military and Hawkeye/Trapper run afoul of previously decent sounding generals trying to shut them up from talking about it, including passive aggressive threats to send them to the front, and specifically to Hawkeye, intercepting letters to his dad. It’s okay by the end of the episode, but he’s still livid when he finds this out.

In comes Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde. The episode starts with Hawkeye already slightly dissociated from a long shift, thinking it hasn’t ended, and Trapper having to gently take him by the arm and guiding him out of the OR, telling him he was taking the chest cases “like he was their only hope”. Hawkeye wanting to save everyone keeps popping up throughout the episode; here, when he’s stumbling into Henry and his ego filtered through deprivation making him think he’s the only one who can do chest cases, the scene I’m getting to, and the end where Trapper and Henry sum him up.

As much as Trapper is “let’s get drunk to deal, okay?” kind of comfort in comparison to BJ who can actually talk about emotions, if not necessarily knowing the best way to deal with them (Hawkeye has a type and it’s repressed blondes), he’s soft with Hawkeye – gentle touches, firmly telling him to go to sleep, indulging that chopper noise is just thunder – until he figures the best way to get his friend to rest is to sedate him behind his back.

The thing with Trapper is that while he might be a bad husband, cheating on his wife with no shame (but he keeps bringing up that Hawkeye is more perverted so that might make it easier for him to deal with, see the couple of times he glares at Hawk for flirting with Henry/a male patient, Divided We Stand, The Trial Of Henry Blake, Check Up, Life With Father, Adam’s Ribs), he’s a good father who ran into a minefield for Kim and tried to go AWOL for Cathy and Becky. That’s not to say he always treats Hawkeye like a child, that would be weird considering how much flirting they do, but when the other man is manic or badly affected, Trapper’s first instinct is to be parental.

After Hawkeye in his doubletalky way admits to Radar he’s compulsive and psychotic (sidenote:  his symptoms of strong emotions, not being able to think clearly and too many spirals to name actually bear that diagnosis out, instead of just using the word when one thinks another is behaving badly), he wanders around the camp like a ghost, making notes about corpsmen with guns and nurses checking patients in post-op.

As Hawkeye often does, whenever he finds something out, or thinks he has in this instance, he has to tell his live-in boyfriend of the season immediately, and if he can’t sleep then neither can anyone else. He sits on Trapper’s bed, extremely close and not blinking, and jostles him awake. Already Trapper’s slightly panicky, as no matter what he says about being the mellow one, any time there’s shouting or loud noise in the swamp, he always wakes up with a start. Even when he sees it’s Hawkeye it takes him a few seconds to process and get back into his role.

Hawkeye’s very sad and very quiet. For the past seven minutes, even though he’s dissociated, exhausted and not doing well, he’s still trying to do his normal thing of turning his anger sideways and being snarky or being a clown bottom for the gaggle of nurses. Going back to one of Trapper’s good qualities is that he’s a decent parent, Hawkeye can regress emotionally into being like a ten year old (incidentally, the age when he had the most trauma pre-Korea, with Billy, his mom dying, guilt over not wanting dad to remarry and at some point losing his virginity), both for funny like in Picture This and for sadness.

So he’s finally noticed that he’s in a war zone and he’s too tired to make jokes about it or distract himself from it. Trapper already sounds frustrated but still listens, telling him to go bed before he drives himself crazy. There’s been a few takes that Trapper would get sick of later Hawkeye, and given how much they really can’t talk to each other that often, even just a mention of Hawkeye’s will when he has to go to the front makes Trapper shut down and Hawkeye cover with a joke, that’s probably true. They’re both messes, but for now Trapper can give Hawkeye someone to lean on.

“If I thought I could stop it just by going to sleep, don’t you think I would try?” Hawkeye does a twitch of the head, still unblinking, and that’s just really asking Trapper to understand and take him seriously. Also the wording, he’s not saying he can stop thinking about it just by going to sleep, or stop feeling anything just by closing his eyes, although both of those are implied. He makes it very clear later on (Letters, Preventive Medicine, Blood Brothers) that he feels like he’s as bad as the war – god and martyr complex combined – and if he can’t fight against/blame everything on that then it’s time for some self loathing.

Trapper does actually pay attention and gives him some advice. Definitely not great advice, but advice nonetheless, to close his eyes when things get unbearable, and to keep checking out when it keeps happening. This can’t work for Hawkeye, who’s had a guilt complex ever since he was a child, but it’s how Trapper copes. The next episode when Kim’s mother turns up for the boy, after a time of being actually open, he goes right to dismissive snark. Plus in season three’s Mad Dogs and Servicemen, another one on how differently Trapper and Hawkeye deal with things, he shrugs that he pretends he’s not there all day along.

Hawkeye’s stuttering a bit at this point. Words are important to him, it’s why you should probably leave him a note even if you’re a man who 1) wants to forget about Korea as soon as he arrives in Boston but won’t 2) wants desperately to believe he’s straight but isn’t 3) cares through physical touch and can’t think of what to say for seventy two hours. Wordplay is important to him too, and he admits to Sidney in the finale that his brain thinks too fast. Obviously exhaustion is going to put his brain and mouth out of sync, and considering how he sounds like he’s going to cry in the mess tent when he can’t even get words out to Frank Burns, it makes him all that more helpless.

“Somebody, and it wasn’t you or me, started this war.” It’s the “whoever the them, we were always us” of it all. It’ll be more important in the third season, and what happens in Welcome To Korea, but Hawkeye has taken it for granted that he and Trapper will stay co-dependent no matter what happens or who they come up against or how their time is running out. Much how he probably didn’t tell Trapper about the abandonment trauma he’s suffered before, Trapper always reassures him to come back soon, or no charge for leaning on him, or it isn’t a Christmas goodbye, and doesn’t want to share real feelings.

Beyond that scene, with Hawkeye dragging himself off to be a hero, assume that everyone who tries to take care of him really just wants to sleep with him, and cry while singing, Trapper tries to sedate him while he’s not looking. He’s tried being parental, he’s tried the repression advice, it’s time to be passive aggressive for Hawkeye’s own good. Or what he thinks is Hawkeye’s own good. It’s not especially great on Trapper’s part, but a similar thing happens reversed in Mail Call, where a drunk Trapper tries to go AWOL and as soon as he’s distracted laughing at Frank, Hawkeye locks his bag away so Trapper won’t be tempted again. Both of them are repressed messes who can’t really talk to each other.

When that sedation attempt ends up in Frank falling over, Trapper goes to Henry to be the worried macho boyfriend. Like with the only comedic dancing allowed and not the time in Officers Only when a genuine offer gets turned down, being protective over Hawkeye where he can hear can only happen when it’s for fun/likely no real danger.

At the end, Trapper and Henry sit by Hawkeye’s bed when he’s finally asleep and talk about him. Kindly, but they know he’s unstable with a hero complex. Like Mulcahy said in season eleven, the camp has a lot of experience with not dealing with reality, and even Trapper says in Iron Guts Kelly that one man’s reality is another man’s fantasy. Nobody has the capability to talk about this yet, and Sidney and Hawkeye only really become friends in O.R. Hawkeye will wake up and he and Trapper will pretend this never happened.

When Adam’s Ribs comes around, and Hawkeye has a manic episode over needing to eat something that isn’t liver or fish, Trapper and Henry are again the ones looking after him, comparing him to their kids and Trapper in the background both snarking over Hawkeye’s slippage in sanity and looking out for him. It’s not as quite high stakes as Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, but they’re still worried about him.

To end this out, Trapper and Hawkeye and mental health is a fun thing to look at. Neither of them are particularly emotionally intelligent yet, Hawkeye just kind of a self absorbed mess and Trapper finding it easier to be a reassuring rock and keep his own struggling to himself, and they keep things from each other while also taking past each other, but they comfort each other with jokes and distractions that only they can understand. The repressed clowns are trying, even if it does all end with a borrowed kiss and only just barely missing each other.

[cynicalrecoverysociety]

Journal Post

I'm trying to get back into my normal this week. Starting today. I've been in a bit of a slump for like at least 6 weeks now and my uncle dying/partner's birthday gave me an opportunity to really let myself go. I'm not mad at myself or disappointed, but I think it's time to be honest at least. It's okay when tragedy knocks you down but this was more than that. I had been struggling with my mental health a bit and while I figured out some stuff I really stopped talking care of my body and spirit. And I know for a fact that taking care of myself in the other ways helps my mental health. But I was just so exhausted by the battle in my head I completely gave up on everything else.

Again, I don't regret this decision. It was what I needed at the time. But it is time to analyze the situation and make a plan to get back the habits that kept me in a better place. I'm . . . not really looking forward to it but this past week of true decadence has really taught me that that doesn't solve any problems. I am glad I took time off work but all the soda and candy and whatnot I used all week did nothing but give me a tummy ache. It wasn't even that good. I ate out constantly, drank fun drinks, but turns out that once you start deconstructing your emotional eating it is no longer effective at controlling your emotions. Weird. Unfortunate sometimes. But probably for the best.

Anyway. My body feels like garbage and my mind feels off somehow. There aren't words associated with anything I'm feeling really. Just a general kind of funk. Like I'm easily angered by covidiots and similar, reality is in general depressing. I really can't tell how much of this I can work through and how much I have to sit with forever because of how society fundamentally works and I have no ability to change it or opt out. And deciphering how much depression and anxiety I am required to have because of the amount I have to participate in society is a depressing concept in itself. Is it healthy to embrace that we live in a boring dystopia and learn to adapt? Or is it healthy to be positive about the trajectory of society and hope for the best? Does is even make a difference if all I can do in either situation is vote? I can't tell anymore. Optimism and a positive mental attitude are important, but so is accepting the reality of things out of your control. Perhaps it's a balance. Perhaps we do currently live in a capitalist hellscape that is destroying everyone and everything from the inside out and also maintain that it doesn't always have to be like this. I'm quite tired of trying to figure everything out.

I am tired. Bone tired. I know that if I give up this fight now I will not be walking away, just giving it to future me. A future me that will not be any better equipped to handle it. Rest is not making me less tired. Giving up did not make me less tired. I think the only way out is through. But I'm just tired.

I don't feel okay. I might not for a while. But at the very least I have to get some of my habits back and see if it helps. If all the "you are worthy of rest" philosophy isn't working maybe the "work hard even if you cry a lot" one will work.

Okay. Goals. I want to go whole hog. But let's just start small this week.

Fasting, 6 days a week. Start using Zero again at least for now to track.

No eating out. I was doing great at this, ordered in a lot since the death, but getting this back on track isn't that hard

Go to work every day. If I'm legit sick that's fine but try not to take any more mental health days because they actually just make me really anxious and guilty 99% of the time. Better to feel like shit on the clock anyway.

Track water and get at least 3 bottles a day. If I get the gumption to track meals a well all the better.

I'm stopping there. I really want to add more like doing yoga or something but I'm adding those to next week. As a bonus point, if I can manage to go for a walk and do some spiritual stuff, that's great. If I can just manage this, I'm doing better than I was. It's a start.

[reydelcastill0]

Words: 6554

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: SKULLY! JESSICA AU || Jessica Locke wakes up in an unfamiliar place, a hotel room she has never seen before. She doesn't know how to get home, so she stays in that hotel room. Unfortunately, the longer she stays, the more disconnected she feels from herself. Jessica grows increasingly anxious and an unknown skeleton mask somehow makes her feel better.

The walls were bleak and unfamiliar. Nothing was notable about them, in that case. The walls were shrouded in the darkness that the closed blinds created. No light poured in and it gave the room a solemn sort of feel— an underlying uncomfortableness.

The bed wasn’t soft, nor hard, but not one that is particularly preferred. That middle ground that isn’t “Just right!” as Goldilocks would have said, but “Good enough...,” as anyone down on their luck would proclaim. The sheets were thick. The type of thick that makes good blankets in winter, but not-so-great ones in summer. 

The atmosphere was overall a drab one, and whether the thumping noise that echoed in the room made everything less drab or even more drab was unclear. It added, but maybe it actually subtracted? Glances around the room didn’t help Jessica know more about the room she was in. It just made her situation seem worse. 

She had a duffle bag of stuff that were probably hastily packed, but she wouldn’t know. She couldn’t remember. It was then that she realized how much worse the situation was. Where was she? Why was she here? She looks like she was running from something— maybe someone—, but why? Why is she here in a room she’s never seen before?

It’s obviously a hotel room, but it makes her anxious nonetheless. A tension in the air that suffocates, but not fully, instead leaving her feeling breathless. Certainly not the good kind of breathless. Not the kind where you danced till you found yourself euphoric and out of breath. The sort of breathless where it’s like you’re screaming your lungs out into a pillow because how else would you vent your troubles?

The contents of her bag were as follows: clothes and money. She very quickly counted her money. It was too much money for a short vacation— for a getaway from home (without Amy, though? Because she knows she wasn’t tired of Amy)—, but too little for anything long-term (so she obviously hadn’t planned on, say, moving somewhere else). It adds further anxiety to her mind because why would she need this amount? And she doesn’t see Amy anywhere near her. What (or who) was she trying to get away from?

IT WATCHES BUT,

There weren’t enough clothes to last her forever. Enough, yes, to swap daily, if she washed every few days that is. Not her full wardrobe, she notices, and certainly picked without abandon. She hadn’t picked any particular combinations, so this was not a wardrobe suited for some local event. So surely she didn’t get drunk and end up in some hotel. Her head hurt, but not like the pain a blackout drunk would feel. Like if something had been ripped from her, something important, but not vital.

Ending it with her bag, she stands up firmly— almost like she was confronting a problem—, but deflates when she doesn’t even know half of the problem. She’s somewhere she doesn’t know and can’t recall the previous days. Last she remembers, she and her roommate Amy were chatting in their living room about family or something. But she feels like that is far too distant a memory. 

She sighs and walks groggily around the room and checks all the doors. One of the doors leads to another door that is locked, so she decides to continue before going to it. The other door leads to a bathroom and the last is a doorway to some midway space between it and the door leading to the hallway.

The hallway is bright— much more than her room was— and empty of people. She ignores that fact because not all hotels are bustling, and not everyone walks through the halls as comfortably as they would in their own homes. The emptiness of the hallway, however, gnaws at her emotions like the unfamiliarity of her situation does. She enters her room again and searches for her phone. It lays upon the nightstand and she grabs it.

The… The time must be wrong? It’s a date she can’t recall ever being close to. Her last memory was with Amy, and that was months back (according to how the dates would match up). How much time has she lost?

WOULD CONFIDENCE DEFER ITS PRESENCE???

She clutches her head, exhaustion overtaking her in a rather mental sense of things. She was tired beyond what she could fathom and there was a paranoia falling upon her. Her mind racing with “Where am I?”s and “What do I do?”s. She goes to her contacts, ready to contact someone, Amy maybe. They were thick as thieves, after all.

But Amy did not answer, and that settled paranoia into her skin similarly to how the overwhelming heat of the sun melts ice. She would have called her family had this newfound flood of emotion not made her worry as to what calling would lead to. 

So she stayed in her room, panicked over feeling lost— over the feeling of having lost something. Memories? She’s lost those for sure, if the date on her phone is anything to go by and so, by result, she has lost time. But it is not the matter of lost time or the prospect of losing memories that has her worried. It is the worry that she has lost herself in it.

Eventually she caught sight of a card by the T.V. and upon closer inspection, realized it was her room key. Useful, knowing full well that getting locked out of the one place that could ground her right now would prove to be the worst thing to happen. She grabs it and leaves her room in search of the front desk. She could ask about her stay and hope to know more about her situation. 

Passing by a man in the hall, she sets out for it with a confident and determined stride. Eventually, she manages to speak to the lady at the front desk. She had hoped it would be more helpful than it was, but was it futile from the beginning?

WOULD IT INSTEAD PLAGUE ONE’S SOUL TILL THEY ARE LEFT FEELING LOST???

The lady told her that it was a night for one booking, but that Jessica had also come in with a man whom she chose to get a conjoined room with. With a smile, she thanked the lady and went back to her room, more anxious than before.  

Why had she arrived with a man she can’t remember? If he was a threat to her, he would be more open about interacting with her? Their shared rooms would have been open to each other, right? Maybe he would have even knocked to check on her. That locked door must’ve led to his room then? Right? Right?

She thought about it more, worried he might not be safe, but after extending her stay at the hotel, he seems to not know her, too. So she lets a few days pass before she grasps at the first thing to talk to him about. His chest-mounted camera.

She knows that’s what it is. It’s only obvious with how close she is to the man, but she needs to talk to him, so she only asks him what it is. And he was awkward about his answers, telling her it’s for a documentary on hotels. She may not be the type of person to make documentaries, but documentaries in a hotel that isn’t some five star one? A review on the hotel would have been more believable. But she settles on introducing herself so she could learn his name.

When he tells her his, she can’t help the sense of familiarity washing over her. Comforting at first, but the familiarity eats at her like the unfamiliarity does. The name “Jay Merrick” rings a loud bell, but it’s distant and distorted. He fumbles after she tells him that it sounds familiar, confused as to how she might even know him. A voice inside her head tells her that he seemed scared of that.

But like he said, “It’s a pretty common name.” If she’s grasping at straws with this, she’d rather do so more than she would like to be in the dark.

THE FAMILIAR HAS BECOME A THREAT BECAUSE OF IT AND

Days pass and Jay barely speaks to her. Maybe a passing “Hi,” but it’s because she speaks to him first. He seems anxious, too, more than her, like if he is avoiding something. She needs to figure something out and she expects he has the answers.

But first she needs to settle a personal problem. It may be the environment or the situation she has found herself in, but she barely sleeps. She spends time at night tossing and turning, unable to close her eyes long enough to fall into a slumber. Something deep within her seems to prevent her from sleeping. It's as if she knows something that she also doesn’t. An instinct her body is keeping track of, but one that her mind fails to.

Over the coming days, she still tries to talk to Jay because now it’s increasingly eerie that he, aside from hotel staff, is the only person she has ever seen there. She has seen other people, thankfully, such as those when she works (the job she had to take up just so she could stay in the hotel much longer), but in the hotel? Not a single person that hasn’t already been there. And on a roadside hotel, too? People would most likely stop by at least a few times.

She goes to his door to knock, but he mustn't be there because any normal person would have answered. So she grabs her phone and holds it to her ear as she waits outside her door, hoping he gets there before she has to leave for work. 

The moment she notices him, she pretends to be on the phone with someone and uses that as a moment to see how to strike a conversation. He has groceries which is weird, because 1) if he was filming a documentary (still absurd), he would not be in the hotel for a month with food, and 2) it has been around one month and he has made no move to leave. She asks him about it, because maybe he’s just some hotel hermit.

“What are you doing here? You’ve been here for a while…” She asks him, to which he tells her his house is being renovated.

His house is being renovated?!? He doesn’t even bother continuing his bullshit hotel documentary story and that leaves her stewing with a bit of unfondness as she leaves for work. He’s lying to her for what reason?

Is he hiding something from her? Something deep inside says no, but she wants to believe otherwise. She has been in an unfamiliar place for around a whole month and the least Jay could do is lie consistently.

IT EXPECTS YOU TO FALL TO FAMILIARITY,

That night, Jessica feels asleep, but even in her dreams she feels awake and uneasy. Her thoughts are a blur, but something in her soul feels like it is lagging behind a moving body. She feels dazed and without a clear head. She feels slow, but fast. She feels lost and found at the same time. She feels like a contradiction, but has no mind to figure out why.

But she hears the knocks on her door and it brings her back to reality. She’s groggy and half-awake, but it’s reality nonetheless. The knocking wasn’t the front door, but rather the door connecting to Jay’s room. She walks towards it and forgets to take note of the fact that she was already standing. But before she can open the door, she coughs, her throat having suddenly felt raspy (as has suddenly been happening during her stay at the hotel). 

When she does open the door, Jay tells her about loud noises coming from her room. The loudest noises she heard had to have been Jay’s knocks and when she tells him she just woke, he seems confused. He must’ve thought she was the one making the noise? It leaves her feeling sleepless once again, and she doesn’t go back to sleep that night, worried that she’s lost herself to her dreams— lost herself in her dreams.

BUT THE FAMILIAR WILL KILL YOU,

━

The forest is quiet, but not quiet in the sense that everything is calm. No, it was quiet as if there was no life. The leaves did not rustle, birds did not chirp, and bugs did not buzz. It was as if time was frozen— in fact, there may have been no time at all such a weird place— and it was distressing. 

The trees were tall and it did not look like there was a sky— except there was a void. It was dark, but it may not have been night. Surely, there must not exist a day in this world. It was clear that this world lacked any sort of time. The forest in it’s timeless horror was, unfortunately, not as clear. It was blurry— hazy like an unfocused image. There was no sound, but there was a static. The static was almost a feeling, a sense, but not a noise nor a physical thing. The static was akin to hearing, to smelling, to seeing, to existing.

It is an uneasiness. It is an entity. It is terrifying.

It is all so terrifying to the lost child in the woods, learning all this for the first time (but she has learned it all already). She does not know how she got there, but she was there in the woods, alone (but not really). She does not know why she is there, but she was already running, towards something (but actually away from everything).

She is running, no thoughts in her mind, but there are feelings in her being. She feels like she is watched. A young child lost in the woods, but she is unaware as to when she got lost. She is running, but she has no mind to know what from, yet she still runs. Had she any mind, she would have assumed she was running from a monster.

Because do children not all run a monster? Do children not all run from the faceless man in a suit? Do they not? Because young Jessica does and, had she any mind, she would have thought it her life’s purpose— to run from It forever, knowing Its eyes (eyes It does not have) are trained on her every move.

Every tumble she falls, every jump she makes, every step she takes, every breath that leaves her because she feels like no air enters her lungs— It is aware of these (little had they not been the very fiber of her present being) things.

Jessica feels like she is in pain,— screaming her voice raw, yet no sound leaves her mouth, not even a whimper— but her body is numb. It feels like a static— she feels like a static. She feels like she is every uncomfortable feeling at once, but she knows that in these woods, she is nothing at all. She can’t even be sure that she is actually existing, but she will not focus on the inkling of such a though, not when she is running, no— 

She is running, as quickly as she can, but she makes little progress. The forest extends with her very stride, but she is in so many different places at once she can not process any of it. Her legs feel tired, yet they do not lag. She is like a puppet, following the motions, but she does not control them.

Jessica is a young child, lost in the woods, and her only purpose is to run from It. It is a monster that all of humanity must fear, but It is an elusive being. She is unable to see It. She is unable to know It— only know that It watches. She wants to cry, and she would have had she been able to. She would have cried and, if she could have controlled any bit of herself, she would have gladly died. If it meant It was not watching her, she would have gladly died.

━

SO SEEK THE FAMILIAR FOR IT SHALL SAVE YOU.

Jessica wakes up, finding that she was in a sitting position, a mask held loosely in her hands as if she was supposed to know why she has it. The dream she just had was long (unusually so for a dream, because dreams are like short clips of a video— snippets of the whole) and it makes her realize that it is not the first time she has had the dream (always the same, with no change), and she doubts this time will be the last.

She checks her phone, but not before letting her eyes scan the room, checking for something. Jessica has no idea what to check for, but it feels like her body is still moving on its own. Preparing for danger, but hoping for safety. Her phone reads a date days pass what she last remembers. It reminds her that her stay at the hotel is not normal. That this is a recurrence and that is not normal. It reminds her that suddenly, she feels as though she is not normal. Like she is someone else now and it terrifies her.

But the mask in her hand doesn’t. The mask she is holding— the mask that she has never seen before— does not terrify her. The mask, rather, makes her feel well, for once. Her stay at the hotel has not been well and she has not slept well nor has she felt well, but for once— with the mask in her hand— she feels well. Her head does not ache, for once, and her throat does not feel raspy, for once.

She realizes then that she feels normal. No threat hangs in the air and she feels normal. Her paranoia is gone for a bit and she feels normal. She feels normal. The rest of the day feels normal. The rest of the day is normal and Jessica is normal. But she only sees one issue with that. She doesn’t feel like Jessica (not the young dream Jessica who only runs, nor the physical Jessica that wants to be done with these newfound problems). 

Her body is moving, she feels it moving and can see the actions from her own eyes (a contrast to how she “moved” in her dreams), but she feels like she isn’t in control. It’s as though she were watching a movie, sitting in the theatre and taking in all that’s shown. But she is not the camera that recorded the scene, she is only the watcher, and it is so much better than being the puppet.

She is a watcher and it is a newfound sense of normal.

And the next day, Jay takes that normalcy away from her. He took it away from her the moment he knocked on her door, reminding her that he is also not normal. When she opens the door— noting how she suddenly felt more in control of her body— Jay fumbles over his words at first. She suspects that maybe it was on impulse that he knocked, especially how he begins to awkwardly ask about local parks. She’s confused at first: why does he want to know about parks?

But then he tells her it’s ‘cause his job is being relocated so he’s decided to look for a new place. He says that he wants to move next to a nice park and Jessica tells him that she’s probably been to Rosswood park as a kid (but she can’t say with pure certainty that she has, yet she feels like her visit there was recent. Though she can’t shake an underlying feeling of seething rage. She’s mad— at him, the situation, the hotel—, so very mad.

When she calls him out, Jay feigns innocence. He pretends not to remember telling her about the documentary or about his apartment and it makes her so very mad. But she keeps that rage in because she needs to cling to something. He rips normalcy away from her so the least he could do is cut it out with lies, but she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. She’ll humor the possibility that he is also forgetting his days here.

But then he brushes her off, making her seem crazy. Making her feel crazy and all he had to do was slip into his room, away from her like she was crazy. But she can’t possibly be crazy, right?

Retreating back into her room, an anxiety chewing away at her soul like bugs on a carcass, she feels like every weight that wasn’t on her shoulder yesterday is on her now. It feels suffocating, and if she knew what it meant to have one, she would have assumed she was about to have a panic attack. Instead, she settles on knowing she has a coughing fit (but it does not ease her mind in any way).

She stumbles throughout her hotel room, tripping over her duffle bag, and falling onto the floor. She doesn’t know what to do. Jessica’s throat is scratchy, her coughs coming out in hacks and her breaths leave her body painfully (pain that while, yes, she has grown used to them, do not hurt less with each fit). She lays on the floor, coughing, coughing till she can’t no more and suddenly, she feels like she is in her dreams again.

She feels like she is watched, her body feels like static, and this terrifies her more than anything. Because this is not a dream. This feeling is more real than anything she’s ever experienced. Her livelihood is fake in comparison to this nauseating feeling of being watched. She does not see what watches her, but she somehow knows where it is. There are no trees to cover it this time, and she hasn’t the ability to get up and run.

She tries to crawl away from the presence that sends her body into all states of fear— the presence that freezes her; the presence that makes her body prepare to fight despite how badly it tries to flee. Beside her bed, a corner she tries to cower in, is her mask. She does not feel her body moving towards it, but she is in control. She knows that this time she is, and she feels that grabbing at the mask surrenders the control she has. But she doesn’t want the control, so if she must surrender it, she will do so willingly.

Her hand manages to grab the mask, her coughs garnering more intensity as she does, and she reaches to put it on her head. The mask— the white mask with a skeleton-grin— provided her a sense of comfort yesterday, she could only hope it helps again.

She will not cope well knowing that the mask could not save her (not like she hoped it would), because she dreams again. She dreams of running from It, and she’ll run till she can get rid of It. But she can’t get rid of It. Not right now. Not while she is so vulnerable. Not while her body is currently hers. But she only wants the mask to save her, so she allows another to take her body from her, if only a bit, it only to get away from It— 

There is a woman who wakes up on the floor . She wears a mask, but it is as much her face as the one beneath it. She manages to leave the room— to escape It— but she knows It will not be pleased with this outcome, and now she has to inform The Mask and The Hood of an upcoming change, whatever it may be. There is a woman who runs in every sense of the word, but right now, she is The Skull, and she runs from It so that Jessica doesn’t need to.

IT IS HOME— THE UNFAMILIAR— AND IT IS SAFE.

The next time Jessica finds herself in full control of her own body— no sleepwalking or the like— it is January 12th. The preceding weeks were accompanied by blips in memory, a fleeting conscious moment, and then more blips in her memory. The entire time, she has felt asleep, but her body has not rested well. Her body has not rested well, her head aches, and her chest is scratchy. But it is on the 12th that she finds herself able to stare at her phone and process the information before her.

Her mask— the mask, because she resolves in the moment it is not hers— is on the bed beside her. She glares at it, unhappy it is here, because something tells her it didn’t save her as she hoped, but just pushed the moment of suffering to a later date. She grabs the mask a moment, but throws it across the room the moment she begins to feel at ease. 

The mask doesn’t help find normalcy as she first hoped and that makes Jessica feel bitter. She feels bitter— bitter towards the mask, towards the hotel, towards Jay— so very bitter. She sits on her bed, head in her hands, thinking bitter thoughts. Why would she think a mask can help her escape the monster that terrorizes her (she’s learned there is a monster, but she could never learn how it looked)? Why was she so dumb to just stay in the hotel? Is it because of Jay…?

She then gets a bit mad, lifting her head up to look at his door. She made the final decision to stay in this hotel because of Jay. She knows— somewhere deep inside of her, she knows— that she is here because of Jay. All because of Jay! He’s the problem, the fault in all this. He’s the liar and she has to accept that.

She has to, but right now, she chooses not to. She stands up— a confident fire within her soul ready to expel all her anxieties— and heads to the door. She inhales as she grabs and twists the door knob, and exhales when she knocks on Jay’s door. She intends to give him an earful, call him out on all his bullshit, and maybe they wouldn’t even acknowledge each other after all was said and done.

When he opens the door, Jessica’s mind fixates on the camera and then remembers that the two of them are just coping differently. She eases a bit, confused about why he’s recording her. But then she gets a bit mad again, calling out his lies and then she explains to him her experience in this hotel because he has to be going through the same thing? They can’t live in adjoined rooms and not suffer in the same ways? Right?

And then he tells her he’ll explain it all, but that they need to leave. They need to leave? This whole situation is just crazy and it’s so bad that now they need to leave? She complies, but she feels woozy at the notion of them needing to leave. She makes an attempt at packing her stuff, but most of it already was. It has been every moment since she first woke up in the hotel room.

Something told her she would need to be ready, but right now, she feels too overwhelmed. Too overwhelmed by the severity of the situation to care about how everything is already packed. And she is most certainly too overwhelmed to care about the piece of paper with numbers scrawled on it that certainly wasn’t there before— and too overwhelmed to care that a man in a mask is in her hotel room.

She wanted to make a noise, call out to Jay, say something, but she knows this man isn’t isn’t the monster that she fears with every fiber of her being— the monster who chases her in her dreams. But she can’t seem to think much— not about how his mask resembles the one she tossed away from herself—, not while she’s passing out in the middle of her hotel room. Not while she needs to accept that some things are beyond her control.

IT IS SAFE BECAUSE THE FAMILIAR IS DANGEROUS.

━

Disoriented, Jessica wakes up on what feels to be a dirt floor and her back against a tree. She leans forward, her palms pressing against the dirt floor— floor that reminds her of her dreams, but are not paired with the crippling fear— and she groans. Her mind is racing with thoughts. Did she and Jay go somewhere? Did she sleepwalk again? Who was the person in the mask? Is she safe? Is she safe?

Her mind is racing with thoughts, but all she lets out is a confused “What happened?” She gets no response, she isn’t even up off the floor yet, but a hand touches her back. The touch isn’t invasive or intrusive, rather, the touch on her back seems to intend to be comforting, but she’s only more confused.

She raises her head, ignoring the hooded person beside her because if they were a threat, they would have already hurt her (she reasons this with herself, but can’t be sure). What does seem like a threat, though, is the flashlight peering through the trees, searching for something (someone, she assumes in the end). She asks who it is, but the hooded person covers her mouth and she can’t help the gasp and whimpers escape her.

They may not be a threat— the hooded one—, but she reserves the right to get scared. The way they tell her to shush like the situation is just one she shouldn’t make a noise in, it’s nerve wracking because what are they hiding from? She knows he probably means well, but the disorientation of being in an unfamiliar place has made her anxious in the past and it definitely still makes her anxious right now.

The hooded person tries to help her up, but Jessica is stubborn and confident. She tells them, “It’s fine, I got it,” as she roughly shrugs her arm away. When she is properly standing, she sees that the hooded person notices how close the light of the flashlight is and grabs her, making a move to run away. She has no choice but to comply, yet she can’t even be sure if this person is safe. 

Jessica and the hooded person don’t make it far, though, as the one with the flashlight yells at them to stop. They do, but the light is almost blinding in the pitch black, so Jessica has trouble seeing what the flashlight man is holding. Before her eyes can adjust to the dark, the hooden person grabs her hand and makes another attempt at running.

However, behind them she hears a gunshot. She screams— she screams hoping that she didn’t get hurt. The hooded person lets go of her hand and continues to run off and Jessica only follows a bit before she crouches, curling in on herself, and moves off to the side so that she doesn’t get shot . Jessica would only be able to get so far before the man with the gun shoots her, so she can only accept that she’ll die here or somewhere else. Thankfully, the man went pass her, shooting at the hooded man a couple times.

The shots scare her, but when the man calls out her name and mentions Amy (specifically that he and Amy were dating), she feels inclined to trust the man. He says he’ll help her get out of the forest, which is more than the hooded person had done (he only shushed her), so of course she has to trust him, right?

The only thing is, is that she doesn’t know why she’s in the forest in the first place. Why? She sees the hooded person’s camera and makes a move to pick it up. She reasons that the camera has to show her why and how she got to the forest. Wasn’t she just in a hotel? What happened to Jay? Is Jay okay? 

Alex, he said that was his name, let her have the camera, but he says he’ll explain the whole situation after they leave, but Jessica feels like they’re only going deeper into the woods. Something deep inside of her tells her that all of this is wrong, and Jessica believes it, but she knows that some things are out of her control. 

Alex starts up conversations, trying to ease her nerves, most likely, and he tells her he can help catch her up on everything she needs. She wants to trust him, she does, but she finds herself quietly doubting Alex. He has a gun and it would be super easy to shoot her and that installs distrust within her. A bullet flies faster than a person could move. She has no choice but to follow him (but she wants to run).

When he takes her to the tunnel, he tells her to go ahead. He’s been suspicious of being followed, but with a gun, he shouldn’t have all too hard a time surviving…

He gives her his flashlight and that makes her anxious. The feelings she’s been feeling since she turned up at the hotel, they’re back, and that terrifies her. Jessica is terrified, and nothing eases her. She tries to tell herself she’s just needlessly paranoid, but something deep inside of her (almost like a voice, she realizes) drowns her out. It’s like it’s yelling at her— her mind is yelling at her and that is not comforting. No, it is a bone chilling fact.

IT WANTS THE FAMILIAR TO KILL YOU.

She turns around, hopeful she can scream back at her own mind, but then she sees Alex’s gun pointed at her. She turns the camera and flashlight towards him and rocks back and forth on her feet. She wants to charge at Alex, and when he tries to blame all this on Jay? Her body lunges towards him. She sees herself do this, but she knows that her body is moving on its own.

She isn’t in control. She isn’t in control as he doubles over. She isn’t in control as she picks up the gun. And she isn’t in control when she yells at him to shut up.

She regains control when the hooded person runs by her to beat up Alex and she sets down the gun for a moment so she could grab the flashlight, but then picks it back up as she runs off. She runs, even if her mind yells at her to go back and help finish off Alex. No, she is in control right now, even if she shouldn’t be. She will not listen to herself right now, because her only goal is to get away from both the hooded person and Alex— even if it means denying instinct.

SO WHY DO YOU NOT TRUST THE SKULL???

Jessica is running, so many thoughts racing in her head, and so many feelings she is trying to repress. She feels like she is being watched, but she doesn’t know by what. She has half a mind to know it is that thing, but she can only hope this is another one of those wretched nightmares. She can only hope, but right now she is running. She is running, even when she feels she doesn’t make it closer to the end of the woods. 

She sees a man, tall and in a suit and she calls out to him. She hopes he can help her, but every fiber of her being is telling her that this is no man. It is a thing, and It is what watches her. When she is alone, when she is dreaming, when she is working, and when she is existing, it is this thing that watches her (and perhaps it had been watching Jay, too).

She realizes this all a bit too late, because the moment she notices its lack of a face, all of Jessica’s mind seizes and for the first time, she does not dream, nor does she sleepwalk. She and The Skull are silenced, but they could only hope it is not for long.

The walls were bleak and familiar. Nothing was notable about them, not yet at least. The walls had a bit of light that poured in through the blinds, highlighting lines across the walls. The light that poured in Jessica that it was time to get up— but she could do so at her own pace.

(The Skull always invites The Hood over into Jessica’s house. The Hood mostly chooses to use Jessica’s computer, though. The Skull never asks why.)

The bed wasn’t soft, nor hard, but she prefers it this way. It’s that middle ground that is “Just right!” as Goldilocks would have said. The sheets were slightly thin. Jessica finds these types of blankets ideal, because in winter, all she would need is multiple blankets to be warmer.

(The Skull thinks The Hood is doing something with the videos they record. The Skull does not care to pry.)

The atmosphere was overall a tranquill one, and whether the ticking clock added to it. Glances around the room reminded Jessica that she should focus on decorating her apartment room more. With time, her new place would be rather homely. She has a computer at least, some clothes, and a few plants throughout her room. She wants more candles, soon, but she’’l only have some when she can afford them.

(The Skull does not know why The Mask does not visit, despite being invited, but The Hood won’t say the reason for this. It irks The Skull, but perhaps The Hood would rather stay silent than to lie.)

She sits up and moves to get out of bed, but she finds that her mask is beside her pillow. Recently, she wakes up beside it and while she doesn’t mind, she can’t help but wonder when it is that she puts it beside her. She didn’t go to sleep with it? She can’t remember, but she doesn’t care to bother about it. Not right now because nothing matters. Not while she feels safe.

(The Skull is given medicine— two pills each time— that The Hood always presents as an offer of thanks. The Skull knows it wards off The Operator. Hopeful, with these pills The Operator can finally accept being told “Goodbye.”)

She picks up the mask and smiles. It fills her with a sense of ease, and she likes to think of it as a good omen. Everytime it is near her, Jessica can’t help but feel calm. The skull-like mask has that surprising effect on her. Life is stressful, but as long as she has the mask— her mask, as she has come to fondly refer to it as—, she feels she can get by.

BECAUSE AS THE SKULL, YOU FEEL SAFER.

[dangerous-ladies]

lately i've found myself actively disliking wearing cosplay. i still enjoy making costumes and talking shop with other cosplayers, but the joy i used to feel while wearing what i've made has died a lot. have you ladies ever gone through this? is there a way to get that feeling back?

Absolutely. This was me to a T for a solid two or so years, from Madoka all the way to Fire Emblem just last year, which was weird considering I used to jump at literally any excuse to get in costume. Getting out of it is really about getting to the bottom of why you started to feel that way, though, and what your priorities are. For me, it was three things –– being so tired of a project that by time I finished it I loathed the idea of putting it on, starting to feel my age in costumes designed for characters in their early teens, and feeling tired of conventions in general. Here’s how I got it back: 

I decided to stop taking on projects I wasn’t really passionate about. After Overwatch and Inuyasha (which we committed to last year) we have no plans for big groups where everyone picks a character regardless of interest level. Since I do the bulk of the planning and sewing for our groups, I felt I had to lessen the load on myself in order to enjoy making costumes for myself again, so going forward we’re going to be structuring groups a little differently. A big part of this is not investing hundreds of hours into costumes I don’t care for, as it takes time away from the things I actually do want to make AND wear. I feel like there’s a huge pressure in the community to constantly have new finished costumes and that’s way too stressful and takes away my enjoyment of the craft when everything is about rapid turnover.

I confronted the fact that I am not a teenager anymore. I’m not youthful person and I have never looked young for my age, so it stands to reason that I didn’t feel convincing dressed as a fourteen year old. I took the “anyone can cosplay anything” philosophy too far and pushed myself out of my comfort zone when I really didn’t need to, and it had the adverse effect of making me feel like Sakaki in the swamp instead of feeling cute. As a result, I don’t do schoolgirls and idols and magical girls so much anymore. Now, I’m working on embracing cosplaying older or more mature-looking characters that I used to really want to do when I was younger. The new motto, spiritually jacked from Ratatouille: anyone can cosplay anything, but it doesn’t mean everyone will feel great in anything.

As for conventions: this took some finagling. One, it took starting to go to conventions outside of our usual haunts. After 10+ years, Anime North and FanExpo feel tired. Absolutely EXHAUSTING. It’s the same thing every year, and the conventions have stagnated so much that I feel like just about everyone goes out of habit rather than any real excitement or joy for it. I mean, if we’re going exclusively for a reason to dress up, why not go shooting for a weekend with friends or something? So we branched out and started going to American cons. It’s been phenomenal, honestly, and going to cons outside our area has made me relish conventions like new again. Going to Katsucon was the most fun I’ve had at a convention since my very first one, honestly! And a part of that is part two: meeting new people. I’ve been a hermit for yeaaaaars in the cosplay community, seldom venturing outside this tumblr and whatnot, but this past year I’ve started making a lot of close friends through social media and it really hypes me up to wear costumes and go to conventions again, as I’m sharing it with new friends whose vibrancy, passion and excitement is infectious. (Shout out here to Krista, Christen, Max, Bono, Tori, Mia, Tracey and the many others too numerous to name but all equally loved who have given me reason to love this hobby again in the past year!)

Anyway: I care again. I haven’t felt so excited for my upcoming costumes (Mercy, Luna and InuYasha!) in a decade.

- Jenn

If it’s a costume I don’t feel very good enough, yeah, I’ll be meh about it, but I try to find costumes I’m super passionate about because it makes all the difference! Like, I felt OK in Sailor Mars, but she wasn’t my favourite scout, so it was natural to not feel as passionate about it. But I feel amazing in Sumia because I feel I can portray her very well, so I find something I’ll feel so good in, and I had a hand in. I like projects that are my niche and that I’ll look so good in!

For me it was also the reverse for a long time –– I didn’t like making them because I was scared of learning to sew but I liked to wear them. Now that I’m learning to sew I’m a lot more excited because I feel that much more connected to it.

- Emmy

If you enjoy making costumes but just don’t want to wear them, you can take a break. Make costumes for other people for a while, or work on real clothes or something different from what you’re burned out on. That’s what I did when I felt it; I said whatever, I’ll just sew other stuff. The best thing you can do is try something else for a while until you find a project that motivates you again.

- Christine

The ladies have pretty much said everything that could be said perfectly, but here are some of my experiences. I’ve had a very brief stint with cosplay compared to others, but the ups and downs have not eluded me. While I had always wanted to cosplay, I guess I never wanted to do it alone. I was always timid to go to cons by myself and never felt strong enough to venture into making costumes on my own. Meeting my friend Erin changed that completely because I met somebody who wanted to be a part of it with me. Suddenly it was this wave of going hard on making things I never thought I would make even though I can look back on it now and see how terribly I made things hahaha. I started with my Cass Cain Batgirl and Chell from Portal. Two crazy starts for me personally as I had never sewed, worked with acrylic, vinyl, fibreglass and bondo. Making them felt invigorating! However, over time, my living and financial situations didn’t really allow for me to have creative space (4-6 adults in an apartment, yikes!). I also went hard into my work so my passions kind of fell to the wayside. Erin moved away to a different continent for a couple of years, but she’s back now woo! I didn’t have many other friends I felt close enough to and as Jenn previously said, Fan Expo and Anime North don’t inspire much creativity or a fresh, exciting environment so even if I went with other friends, it was just going through the motions. I wasn’t inspired to attempt to learn more. I didn’t feel like any characters really connected with me and the ones that did, like Shepard from Mass Effect, I was too scared to attempt alone. Little by little, I fell out of it. I didn’t want solo projects, I wanted to be a part of something.

Joining the Dangerous Ladies has completely rejuvinated my love for it. The first group project I joined was for Sailor Moon, how could I not be excited to do one of my first loves? Lucina has given me life, I could do version after version of her and wear her for years, I absolutely adore her. The thought of being Ana from Overwatch and doing an Inuyasha cosplay (Sango) excites me to no end. I’m more brave and have more opportunities and motivation to learn more. I’ve already learned so much in the few years being with them and WANT to learn more! The passion is back. My love for gaming and anime feels alive again in a way I can visually express it. The new cons we’ve ventured to have been phenomenal and the people we have met have been such an inspiration and so much damn fun to be around. Finding the right people to be around, work, and travel with has been so important for me to find my love for cosplay again and I am so happy that I found it.

All this rambling comes to this: Find out what the source of your distaste for it is. What drove you to love cosplaying in the first place? Find that drive and source of inspiration and love. Search for new ventures that will motivate you to try out new things! All the best!

- Shazz