#how am i supposed to survive without a proper ending

[filmm-jpg]

finished good omens. im never going to be okay ever again. ever. what do i even do now? why would they do this? im shaking im crying

[comicarc]

𝐂𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐈𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Leon Kennedy/Reader Note: This is a rewrite of a fic I published on AO3 with the same name, linked here 【 wc: 2261 】

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Leon gunned down as many infected villagers–Ganados, as Luis referred to them–before the onslaught became too much to bear. Luis’ efforts proved equally futile as he ended up getting backed into a corner by the unrelenting mob. As the men fought against the physical threat that loomed, y/n battled between whether she should reveal her truth so soon to these strangers, or play it safe and hope that they’d make it out of this alive. Unholstering her gun and helping subdue the Ganados would only make Leon more suspicious, and that proved to be too big of a risk to take for the woman. The only weapon that she could use without being scrutinized was her mind. So, she shielded Ashley and got to thinking of a proper getaway.

Motioning Ashley to retreat upstairs with the woman at her tail, y/n had figured that if they were able to block off any other points of entry into the shabby place, everyone could escape out back swiftly. Quickly, she gestured for the other girl to start shutting the windows and putting up wooden boards on the glass surfaces. 

Hoping the makeshift defense would hold up long enough, y/n shouted downstairs, “Hey guys, come on up.”

Leon was the first to rush up, concern apparent on his exhausted features. Luis’ continued to hold off the mob, as Leon interrogated, “Is Ashley hurt? What happened?”

y/n pointed to a window, explaining, “Let’s get out of here before we get a one-way ticket to hell we can’t refund.”

“No.” Leon’s reply was curt as he repositioned himself to return downstairs to the heat of the conflict.

“Are you crazy? We won’t survive this. Ashley won’t survive this, and isn’t your foremost priority supposed to be her safety?” Ashley simply nodded along to y/n’s plea.

It was clear Leon was suspicious of y/n, but his inability to pinpoint what exactly she was lying about led him to be too skeptical for Ashley’s liking. The girl, stubborn as she was, started off for the window as y/n and Leon began to bicker. It wasn’t until Luis made his way to the top of the stairs, back facing Leon’s, that he pointed out the girl’s disappearance. 

Frustrated, Leon finally relented and followed Ashley’s footsteps out the window, where she helped him onto the roof. Luis followed closely with y/n, rushing him from behind. The Ganados were closing in, and she couldn’t afford to be at the tail end, lest one of them capture her. Just as she made her way through the window, one of the villagers grabbed her ankle and pulled hard enough to throw the woman forward. Luis saved her head from hitting the roofing and promptly held onto her arms as he pulled. She felt as though she was the rope in a game of tug-of-war, with how her skin stretched against both their grips. 

Bloodied and bruised, it was inevitable that Luis’ grip would falter. And with Leon and Ashley too far forward to help in time, y/n finally grabbed her gun and started shooting at the assailant. When she’d freed her foot, y/n took a running start. She gripped Luis by his jacket and forced him to run at her pace as the two caught up with their allies.

The four managed to find themselves in a safe zone of sorts–a nook where there were no Ganados in sight. A few crates outlined the walls of a half-torn shack where they decided to settle.Luis was the first to seat himself on a crate. Leon attempted to maintain his mask of strength before even he succumbed to fatigue. y/n joined them, sitting beside Luis and leaning on him to alleviate the pain from her bruised ankle. 

Leon watched the interaction, curious whether Luis and y/n could be working together. Conspiracies plagued his mind, his only clarity being the mission at hand. He turned his attention to Ashley, who was deathly pale. 

Initiating contact, Leon inquired, “You ok?”

“Am I ok? There’s zombies chasing after us in god knows where. I mean what’s the deal with that?”  Ashley rambled, trying to regain her composure despite her racing heart.

In the midst of her calming herself, Ashley began to violently cough, prompting a guilty Luis to explain, “The cough, the blood–it’s caused by something called a ‘plaga’.”

Leon made his signature scrutinizing look toward Luis, before turning his attention to y/n expectantly. Shrugging her shoulders, y/n waited for Luis to continue as he spoke, “Ok. You saw those ‘people,’ right? Well, you have the same thing inside you. The same thing that made them like that.”

All the information she’d gathered against Umbrella had to be kept under wraps, for they could easily lead the organization back to her if caught. And Leon’s gift didn’t alleviate any of her concerns. But in the grand scheme of things, one misstep couldn’t hurt her operation. So her guilt forced y/n to reveal, “It’s a parasite.” Turning to Luis y/n pressed, “So, there has to be a way to remove it, right?”

The Spanish man was hesitant at first. He bit his lip profusely, contemplating what he should say. “It is possible to remove it…” He eyed Ashley wearily before continuing, “with a surgical procedure. And all you need is some know-how. And, the right equipment.” 

Luis felt all eyes looking at him with doubt. Shutting his eyes, he loosened his collar and revealed a surgical scar that spanned his chest. Relaxing his eyelids, he opened them again to inspect his companions. Ashley’s mouth was slightly agape, y/n held a straight face, and Leon’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“You too?” Leon was the first to break the awkward silence. 

Wearing his smirk again, Luis enthusiastically answered, “I can cure you and the girl, just like I was. But you’re going to have to trust me.” 

Leon mulled over the man’s words. This was their best (and only) bet at surviving this wretched place long enough to reach the extraction point. It was a risk he had to take. He looked to Ashley, who simply nodded her approval. 

As soon as Leon’s head tilted down into a subtle nod, Luis chirped, “Great, we’re partners then!” 

Standing from his place, the man waved as he departed. y/n was ready to follow suit, but seeing Leon hunched over at his seat and Ashley still out of breath, the woman remained seated. As she waited for them to recuperate, the woman made a few mental notes. She couldn’t jot down the information she’d learned in her handy notebook, for that would only raise Leon’s suspicions, so she opted to file it away in her head. 

Before coming to Spain, y/n had gathered evidence from Raccoon City and the Arklay Mountains that connected Umbrella to the outbreaks. But it wasn’t enough. So, she tracked down the man who had haunted her for years in hopes that he’d lead her to something damning. And he did. By the end of the week, the corporation would face its retribution, even if it was the last thing she did. 

The woman was snapped from her thoughts when Ashley placed a hand on her shoulder. It took a moment for y/n to reorient herself in the present and channel the anticipation that boiled inside of her. But when she did, the three were off. They walked down an empty pathway for miles. 

Ashley remained beside y/n as they walked, both behind a strangely irate Leon. Confused as to why the man insisted on ignoring her for the duration of their walk, she turned to the girl beside her, inquiring, “So, do you know why he’s so mad?”

Ashley held back a giggle. “ I’m surprised you haven’t caught on yet.”

“Caught on to what? That he’s bipolar?” y/n was even more puzzled now.

“No, silly. I won’t ruin the fun just yet.” 

Groaning at her response, y/n turned her attention to another question that lingered in her head. “How’d you end up here?”

Ashley’s smile dipped to a slight frown as she remembered. “I was at college, coming back to my dorm from a party. Before I knew it, I ended up in Spain.” She took a deep breath before elaborating, “Lots of people try to target me cause of my dad, but no one’s ever succeeded until now, of course.”

y/n set her hand on Ashley’s shoulder, meeting her eyes with a look of assurance. “You’ll get out of here in no time. After all, you’ve got James Bond here at your beck and call.” 

A smile spread across the girl’s face as she turned back to the road ahead. After a bit of silence, Ashley voiced, “How about you? Why’d you willingly come here?”

“I’m a journalist, so strange situations have always attracted me.” The lie rolled off her tongue easier than she would have liked. 

Ashley teased, “Speaking of attraction, did you see the way Luis was looking at you?” 

y/n had no idea what the girl was talking about, but it seemed she was the only clueless one. Leon’s ears had perked up upon hearing the tail end of their conversation. Curious as to what y/n would respond with, he slowed his pace so he’d stand a foot in front of them.

“What about it?” y/n’s eyebrows were intensely furrowed. Ashley’s cryptic talk was only riling the woman up. 

“Can’t you tell? He totally wanted you.” Ashley’s hands clasped together as she made doey eyes, pretending to be him. 

“We could die any minute now, and you think Luis is going to fall in love with me at first sight,” y/n chuckled. Everything up to this point had been quite strange, though. What a coincidence it was that she’d be captured and kept in the same shed as the two men. Maybe they were fated to meet, and if that were true, then Ashley could have been right. 

Brushing aside the silly idea, y/n walked straight into Leon’s stationery back. Huffing with frustration, she stepped away from him and looked ahead to see another cabin. y/n took charge this time, making her way inside. Leon was right on her tail, his hands hovering over the small of her back. He was holding himself back but he didn’t understand why.

He had run headfirst into danger countless times, seen horrors beyond imagination, and yet he was hesitant to approach a woman he’d just met. A woman who’d intrigued him since he’d seen the way she could handle herself. She wasn’t any ordinary journalist, but she wasn’t with Umbrella either. 

Halting near a wall, y/n turned to face Leon. Attempting to ease the atmosphere, she began, “Still mad?”

He let out a grunt before shaking his head no. “I wasn’t mad.” He was curious, a bit bitter, tired, aching, and extremely frustrated, but not mad. 

The two were inches apart from each other. Leon could see the faint layer of dirt that had accumulated on her face, the way here eyes crinkled in defeat, the way her lips slightly quivered. Leon searched her eyes for a sign. Desperate to prove his suspicions wrong. “I want to trust you, but you and I both know I can’t–”

Almost on cue, two chainsaws ripped through the wooden wall beside them. The two Ganados holding the machines stalked onto the sawed wood. One step back. The Ganados followed. Another step. The Ganados picked up the pace. Leon held his arm out, pushing y/n behind him the further back they receded. 

y/n had come to figure out that Leon coped with such unorthodox situations with his lame jokes. So she wasn’t surprised when he joked, “I am flattered, but I’m a one-lady type of guy.”

The woman managed to roll her eyes before one of the Ganados came swinging at her. Picking up an axe on the ground, y/n swung it up and blocked the incoming saw. Creating some distance between the assailants, he threw a grenade. y/n took hold of Ashley as they all ran out of the cabin and through the town. The three didn’t relent until their lungs were out of breath, her pounding heart was exhausted, and they’d reached a large gate. 

It seemed the grenade had done little to stop the Granados, as they came charging a few feet behind them. With the time that distance gave, Leon unholstered his gun and shot them both squarely in the face. y/n had half expected them to rise from the dead again, but to her relief, they remained motionless on the dirt track. 

With the adrenaline in her veins dissipating, y/n began to finally feel the aches and pains that plagued her. A nasty cut on her thigh caused her to limp slightly behind the other two as they continued down the gateway. Leon took notice a few minutes into their walk when he hadn’t felt her presence. Turning his head, he saw her pale, sitting against a rock, clutching her injury. 

Before he could go back to help her, something violently hit his head. Slamming onto the dirt, his eyes began to falter. The last sight he saw was of Ashley lying beside him, knocked completely unconscious. y/n was screaming something, attempting to ward off an intimidating figure. Mendez. But even she succumbed to his strength. Then everything went black.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⛱⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

[mysticcrownwolf]

I have not watched arcane but I follow enough people that do to have to general idea of what it's about and I am calling it right now the only reason this fandom demonize Vi is because they like Jinx and by extension Silco so all the bullshit ass enabling he did with Jinx for years will be forgotten because Vi punches her for killing everybody she ever loved and then the people in this fandom who don't have even a quarter of a brain cell to rub together will be like well Jinx suffered so much because of Vi because she had suicidal thoughts and see people meanwhile Vi deadass saw everyone she loved die in front of her, then lose her only remaining family to Silco and then spend her whole childhood in prison. Like the people in this fandom can't comprehend morally grey characters or even think that their faves can be complex people who can do bad things if the narrative shifts that way.

Look me in the eye and tell me these people have a single thought in their head while watching the show because the writers said these two seasons are the Jinx and Vi story. That they will probably make more arcane stuff but these seasons are focused on the sisters and so why do I see post like I wish Vi didn't have so much screen time or I wish Vi and Cait story wasn't the main focus here and the show focused more on "insert any background narrative they wanted to see" like bitch go fuck yourself.

Like I have never seen such a large group of people utterly incapable of media literacy it's like they need to be handfed concepts like:-

"A doomed narrative means no happy endings at most you get a bittersweet one"

"Your fave can be a bad person and still be your fave you don't have to justify them as a good or reasonable person (and demonize their equally traumatized sister looking at you weirdly purist Jinx fans) to continue liking them.

"Metaphors and parallels shouldn't be spoken or spelled out for you. You as a viewer are suppose to understand then yourself using your brain"

"Good people can do some bad things this doesn't make then irredeemable and bad people can do some good things this doesn't suddenly makes them fully redeemable"

"If a shows ending is ambiguous it doesn't mean the writers were too pussy to commit to a proper ending it means they purposefully made it ambiguous so their can be more than one interpretation for it"

"Not all good stories needs have good or even satisfying happily ever after usually in a doomed narrative you just survive to live another day"

"Just because someone's trauma manifest in a more visible way doesn't mean another characters didn't suffer at all (still looking at you Vi haters)"

To summarise do I think the people who can't see a nuanced story like arcane without generalizing everything in black and white and then complaining about how it's bad are all brainless idiots with the mental capacity of a third grader with no capacity for media literacy or reflection. Yes. Is it probably a baseless generalization. Probably. Do I care. No,fuck you'll and all your arcane hate post you all tricked me into reading by disguise them as actually analysis.

If I can pick up on the subtle nuances and non linear narrative of arcane by just reading Tumblr posts and watching some clips on YouTube you people have no reason to have this shitty of an opinion when you actually consumed the full media.

[cruyuu]

Somehow I don't think sukuna is dead, yeah I may be coping, but is yuji story going to end with no sukuna? It started with THEM. Also no, call me contrarian but I don't want Yuji reduced to discount Naruto trio memes (I liked Yuji and choso more or Todo) without knowing his origins, but this chapter teased at ANOTHER flashback with Gojo (sigh) explaining Yuji's origins (but with gojo on screen who cares about soul uncle or mom bonding with yuji)

I also believe so, anon, hence why I am hoping harder than ever (even if it seems bleak) and want to believe that Sukuna will come back precisely because Yuuji (the one who was supposed to hate him and yet doesn't) wants him to. There's also the fact that they're supposed to be different than everyone else (hence why they were put as the center of the story) and why they deserve better and also deserve to give proper closure to all those themes and tie up the story properly.

Out of all relationships in this goddamn manga, the only one which doesn't change (even if it should, even if the plot is about them) is theirs. Therefore it'll be fitting for the story to focus on them more so than give jjk a typical shonen ending where he gets to be happy about rescuing his friends and in turn make that talk of roles and him still loving and asking for Sukuna back despite everything a straight up lie. It feels like the start of the manga again, except Yuuji never swallowed that finger and I don't want that really, not when Yuuji chose to bring Sukuna back despite Megumi's warnings.

I don't want Yuuji's wishes (or for that matter, who he is as a character) to go unheard or for him to get character assassinated in favor of a happy ending so the casual shonen consumers could be happy, especially not when it's the first time he had done something which was so unlike what the fandom thinks of him and that is wanting his enemy to survive. While everyone was saying that Yuuji despises Sukuna, in the end, that was a lie. The truth was a total opposite. Yuuji couldn't connect with anyone as well as he had connected with him. Why do you think he goes to cradle Sukuna and still insist on his answer instead of going after Fushiguro to see if he was alright? That tells you everything you need to know about who he is.

And that's why I believe Sukuna should come back. Proper closure would be them living despite the odds, them overcoming destiny (that they're forced to kill each other) and that Kenjaku's words are, again, just lies (just like how he really wanted the Merger yet in the end found more happiness in fighting Takaba and dying).

[young-royals-confessions]

Hello hello, it's anon from the flight! And how lovely it's this fandom that I got a moniker from an anon confession? I've read the messages and checked the reblogs and wow! I seriously didn't expect for my unhinged message to be this welcomed since I'm three years too late to this beautiful show! With this beautiful people and thank you so much to everyone who recommended me to listen to the Simon-not-actually-made-by-AI actor. AND SINGER! BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED. I'm still in disbelief he's real, like Omar Rudberg is so pretty AND has such a nice voice??? AND HE'S GORGEOUS and he's a great actor and UGH THE CHEMISTRY. With who I now know iis called Edvin and now I feel the need to see them acting next to eachother forever and ever, so much chemistry can't be wasted!! (looking at Netflix. I'm still so crossed I missed out of this beauty for three years wtf Netflix)

SO I binge watched the second season, patience isn't my name, and WHAT THE FUCK. Was not prepared for that rollercoaster. I gotta be honest, I almost stopped watching and went to sleep halfway through the season like ugh I fucking hate that Marcus dude, sure in the end I understand why he was a necessary evil for the plot but I fucking hate love triangles. I was a teenage girl during the height of love triangles in tv shows, I hate them. But I hate August the most. I think of his face and feel enraged.

BUUUUUUUUUUT UGHHHH. THE LOVE BETWEEN SIMON AND WILLE. That overpowered everything. Seriously, how am I supposed to be functional after being a witness to their valentine's ball kiss? And Simon's song? (Which I have been obbsessively listening on repeat WTF I understand nothing but I can feel FEEL the meaning on my bones. This beautiful dude's voice wtf. I can understand Wille's obsession, I'm practically obsessed too now wtf)

AND THE END OHMYGOD. A BALM FOR MY SOUL. I was kind of hoping to get heartbroken AGAin for shit and giggles but noooo, I got the best ending and I'm trying to not be too spoiler-ey since I'm sure I'm not the only human being living in this planet called Earth who's unaware the most perfect TV show exists and it's called Young Royals and beautiful people are in it to everyone taste no matter your sexual orientation (like hello Felice too!)(still shocked Omar Rudberg is a real person and not generated by artificial intelligence, maybe I'll be convinced after some proper sleep time, but for now he's too beautiful to be real. Not even exaggerating and I'm really good at that okay!)

I'm still processing the second season, I took a nap after I finished but I'm still tired since I cried and laughed and was left with the biggest smile in my face (and I also was in an 8 hour flight!) and then went to youtube and saw a clip from season 3 AND OMFG THESE TWO DUDES ARE TOO PRETTY FOR WORDS. Happiness and love look wonderful in Wille, like the literal heart eyes he's delivering there? That's how I feel when I see Simon too. Relatable character is relatable. What can I say about Simon without sounding crazy except I need to protect him at all costs??

I don't know what else to say except THANK YOU for reading me and thank you to everyone who has been nice to me in the comments even when I'm still anon, it means the world to me. I hope I'll be more coherent after eight hours of sleep and I won't be too embarrassed reading my own message tomorrow lmao and I don't know how I'm going to survive until 2024 for season 3, I'm sitting here taking notes for that too! I already know the answer it's fanfics so I'll be checking AO3 but also analysis? Meta? how are you guys for real? I was expecting a teenage fandom with just vibes but I guess I was wrong. And I love it. As much as I love the show and Simon and Wille's relationship and I gotta be honest, Omar Rudberg's face and voice. UGH.

Thank you so much for reading me again and for everyone who has left messages for me, I'll freak out more once I get some proper sleep!

Thank you and I'm sorry again XOXO

YAY thanks for coming back!! 💜💜💜

[boxx-sama]

Small Yuno Rant

CW: Abortion, mentions of sexual activity, mentions of suicide

Why Yuno Kashiki is NOT just “a girlboss”, as she has been mischaracterized by the Milgram fandom for who knows how long.

Oh boy.

I think most of you are already aware of the treatment Yuno gets by the fandom.

“Yeah girl, you abort that baby!”

“She did nothing wrong, she’s a girlboss!”

“She doesn’t regret anything!”

Well, to that, I say:

Do you know ANYTHING about Yuno, really?

These are all highly watered-down statements that prove that people see Yuno merely as some sort of feminine icon who did what was right for her body. And, that is right to an extent. I am pro-choice. But I don’t think they realize how unhealthy Yuno’s cravings were, how messed up her mindset is, and just how jaded she is.

I will debunk these statements one by one, so without further ado, let’s go.

Abortion in Japan, and Yuno’s Family

I’ve done my research on this, and I can easily say that getting a proper abortion in Japan is absolute hell. Taken from this article, an excerpt reads:

In Japan, abortion is essentially a crime except for certain indications. These indications have to do with mental illness, hereditary disease, leprosy, threat to the health of the mother, and pregnancy resulting from rape or threat. These indications entered into force under the eugenic protection law of 1948. On January 1, 1991, a new regulation became effective that shortened the duration of pregnancy termination from 23 weeks of gestation to 21 weeks in view of the advancement of medicine that made it possible for prematurely born children to survive outside the uterus.

Despite the limited availability for abortion, it is definitely seen as a crime by Japanese people. It is known that women are supposed to be held responsible for the death of the baby, not the doctors or pills that may be taken.

And even then, the chance of a proper abortion is slim. For example, birth control pills. The pill is not covered by Japanese Health Insurance, and the cost is approximately 3,000 yen per month. That is about $20 USD. Yuno is not struggling for money, either, as revealed by her T2 VD:

“I'm not pitiable. My family gets along super well. And I'm not particularly struggling for money. I decided, of my own free will, to do it because I felt that it was necessary for me.”

This adds evidence to my theory that Yuno did not want to be publicly shamed for having an abortion at such a young age, and as such, went to more extreme, private methods to rid of the baby; the latter of which I will get to later.

As I previously mentioned, abortion is looked down on in Japan. A few reasons for this include cultural influences, societal expectations, and historical factors, which contribute to a certain level of stigma. Traditional values emphasizing family continuity and societal norms may influence perceptions.

In a previous theory I had, I stated that Yuno had a highly religious family, and her own morals went against theirs. However, she loved her family, so she tried to seek a “cure” to her depression through sex. Many interrogation questions can add to this theory:

Question 4: Do you believe that god exists?

Answer: Obviously not.

(Note: The original TL had just said “no”, but Yuno has でしょ at the end of her sentence, and this can be used to emphasize a phrase or question, to my knowledge. As such, I changed it to be more fitting!)

Question 9: What do you think of your family?

Answer: I love them.

Perhaps she did everything behind their backs not only due to possible religious/traditional views, but because she wouldn’t want to be seen as someone who is “bad” for chasing after her ideals. On a slightly seperate note, this theme is fairly prominent in Umbilical:

Am I a bad girl? Please don’t answer What do you want to do? Please tell me

There are like more examples from the second trial interrogation, so if there are any let me know!

What Yuno Did + Her Regret

I think everyone has a general consensus as to what Yuno’s “murder” is. She participated in compensated dating, got pregnant at some point, and had an abortion, most likely by jumping off a set of stairs to kill the baby and herself.

This can be inferred by her Undercover shot, where she is standing at the end of her apartment balcony, seemingly holding her stomach from behind:

And not just this photo, but this brief shot from Umbilical:

(Fun little detail, but the whole aesthetic part of her MV is designed to be pink like a uterus and the balloons/white specs flying around may be sperm? Which implies she was “drowning” in warmth. Interesting.)

But wait, why would Yuno take herself as well as the baby? I like to think of it this way.

During her compensated dating, she met a man that she liked. One man who saw her for her, and not a complete facade. These dates, where she seems more like herself, are with said man—

The school uniform Yuno, as well as yellow Yuno.

It’s known that Yuno does look less happy in her other two personas by the second bridge, so I think she was more comfortable playing a lively character with this client because it felt more close to how Yuno wanted to represent herself.

So, progressing to Tear Drop, this man wears a gray coat. I saw a theory that I agree with once but forgot the source of it, so I’ll simply state it. I think that the Yuno in lingerie is representative of herself, and the Yuno in her uniform is the client. They keep and having sex and loving each other, but Yuno is betrayed when she finds out the man was using her for money and left her due to the pregnancy and then her life comes crashing down after. I’m kinda shortening this because this was supposed to be short but ended up long instead.

Does Yuno regret what she did? Yes, to an extent.

And anyone who doesn’t read into her character should really reconsider it!

[the-last-patch]

- H-hello again, Opossum! Tis once more thine friend of House Hurst. I um. Would like to apologize for mine lack of contact. Things hath been... t-tense here...

- In any case, I have r-read some of thine recent posts! The planet thou art on sounds beautiful! But cold, as well... I am used to warmer climes, I know not that I would last long there...

- O-oh right! Mine reason for addressing thee! In mine off time I have been doing restoration work upon the cassette tape! :D

- The thing has dirt and sand encrusted upon it like thou wouldst not believe, but I do belive with more time I should see it function once more! I am so very excited for you to see it!

- G-good tidings out there!

[Tuning In]

[Flipping to A-Side]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

Ah hello there! Long time no see, well, hear I suppose! Just so you know, there’s no reason for you to apologize buddy! If anything it’s my fault for not reaching out again since last time. I noticed that your sister regained her access to the account and was planning a little bit of a rebellion over in the baronies, commendable work honestly! I can only imagine how stressful that must be on you though, make sure to take care of yourself in the meantime. I mean that. It’s times like these that you really need to take a moment and spend it with those you love. You might not get the chance to later, although I sure hope that’s not the case!

<Theres a brief pause, it seems “Opossum” pondered something for a moment before continuing.>

U-XVII really is quite a cold place, just yesterday it was about -57 degrees! Although it can be dangerous on the surface because of that bitter cold, the wind will make it much much worse. Most of the time we camp out in natural caves or build igloos with our mechs to help block it. The real secret to surviving out here though is heated gear. Just about every inch of my hardsuit is fitted with a heater, without it I would surely lose a finger or two to frostbite! Honestly though, you do get used to living out in these conditions, and it’s well worth the struggle to see the planet’s true beauty! Enough rambling though, now let’s get to the fun stuff.

<The sound of shifting can be heard, as if someone just leaned forward in a seat or something similar>

So, before we talk anything about the current condition of the tape I want to confirm that you did in fact do your research before beginning restoration work. I trust you did, after all you seem rather well informed, and understand you are a historian of sorts, so the importance of this object isn’t lost on you. One thing I will recommend is that you make sure to keep it away from anything magnetic, or really electronics in general. Without proper protection from those devices it could threaten erasing the data on it. That being said, I am so absolutely jealous that I can’t be there to help restore it! I can just imagine how exciting it will be to listen to the first time! I wonder what songs are on it? Did it have a label? Oooh actually I’m not sure I want to know, it’ll be such a fun surprise! I’m just dying of anticipation out here! I promise that the first thing I’m doing after I get off this planet, will be hitching a ride through the nearest blink gate straight to…Crossland wasn’t it? Anyways, I don’t make promises lightly, and sure as hell don’t break them. I will come to claim that cassette one day, no matter what happens.

P.XV “Opossum”, talk again soon?

[End Track]

[Next Up - “Raymond..?”]

[thetrashbagswasteland]

LATEST FANFICS

Rules: post the beginning lines of your most recent 10 published fanfics, then attempt to tag 10 people!

Tagged by: @omniblades-and-stars (ty!!) Gonna do these in the order they appear on ao3, which means some of these first lines may be older but shhhh 1. Unwanted (AviTis angst smut oneshot)

Five more days. He just had to make it five more days.

2. Project Sunseeker Rewrite (my OG Shakarian first contact AU longfic, being improved upon)

It’s remarkably hard to work out where in the universe you are without a single point of reference. An alarm was bleating dully. Mmm… Not the usual tone. Maybe Kaid had changed it? He tended to switch them up so they didn’t all get used to sleeping through the tone. She breathed in and the acrid smell of cooking meat hit her nose along with something distinctly more chemical, like plastic - damnit Ash, really? Had she forgotten the spatula in the hot pan after walking away again? If she was going to insist on being the one to cook eggs and bacon for the three of them she should at least learn to do it without destroying their kitchenware.

3. The Longshot (AviTis pre-canon detective noir focusing on Castis Vakarian)

“VAKARIAN.” His heart sank.

4. The Student (pre-canon, Saren's recruitment and training of Avitus Rix)

“I’ve got you one.” For a second, Saren assumed he must have misunderstood. The line wasn’t brilliant, after all, and his brother’s statement made no sense as a way of greeting. Got him one what? “Am I supposed to know what you have found?” He asked, about as politely as he could muster. As a general rule it was his brain which jumped from topic to topic too fast for Desolas to understand and not the other way around - or at the very least that was how he preferred things to be between them. Ah- no matter. He diverted his attention back to the checklist he’d been going through; stocking the hold of a ship was easier in theory than in reality, especially when this time around it was entirely his own responsibility to make sure he had everything he could ever conceivably need. How was he meant to know what constituted a reasonable amount of any given resource? And why did everything have to be so spirits-damned expensive? A tired sigh dragged him back to the open comm line against his will, clearly and wrongly assuming they were simply resuming a conversation they had started some time before and left unfinished. “A student, dumbass- I’ve found you your student.”

5. Good For Some-Nothing (Desabrudas and young!Saren hurt/comfort fic, written as a gift)

The rapidly-becoming-too-familiar keening wails of an abandoned child behind a locked door was all it took to sink Valis’ heart straight down into the pit of her stomach. Fuck. How many days in a row did that make it?

6. A Cold And Unfamiliar Home (Andromeda AU wherein Macen is the surviving turian pathfinder)

Whatever it was she had expected of the turian pathfinder, Sara had to admit that it wasn’t Macen Barro.

7. Mostly Harmless (Barrix/Kryterius training mission fic with bonus smut)

| -Bitevitus Dick(s)- | ETA five minutes. Bringing dinner. Macen let his head roll back again, throat to the ceiling and neck popping soothingly as it found the roll-top of the sofa - just what he needed after too long clenching his mandibles and tensing every muscle from atlas to pastern in order to maintain the picture-perfect prim and proper posture his current assignment demanded of him. Forget that it remained a waste of his considerable training and talents, standing in one spot for hours on end without a pause sucked for far simpler reasons. Everything ached. | -Bitevitus Dick(s)- | Real dinner I mean. Stopped for takeout. Not my cock in a box of popcorn. again.

8. Seeing Another Sky (Sunseeker!verse post Sunseeker challenge fill (Moon Day), soft little Shakarian comfort fill)

Once upon a time, the stars had been a thing in the sky and not a place to go.

9. Before The Alarm Goes Off (Kryterius prompt fill (kiss upon a scar))

“I’ve not seen that one before- when did you get that?” Saren shivered. He allowed his head to be tilted to the side so as to let the thin, artificial light filtering through the blinds to better reach the scar - delighting in the soft scrape of a blunted, filed-down talon when his partner traced the ridge of unblemished hide between the two long-since-healed scars that made up that particular old wound. He was just so gentle with him.

10. Single Sided Dice (Sara Ryder (VetRyder, Beyond Familiar Stars!verse) introspective challenge fill.

“Babygirl, you’ve got to learn how to be on your own eventually…” Maybe it’s telling that what perhaps remains her earliest memory.

Open season if you wanna play, consider yourself tagged!

[crystalpop]

Just finished The Penguin and holy shit that has got to be one of the best shows i have seen in a long while. While i did cringe at some of the music choices and wish they had gone with some closer to the soundtracks to the show i can say without a doubt that it has to be one of my favourite soundtracks for a tv show. It fits so perfectly with what The Batman had already set up with its score and perfectly matches the genre vibe of Oswald. It reminds me of Gothams Oswald and his soundtracks. I wish the show was longer but i think it did everything it needed to do in its 8 episodes. Everything about it was so beautiful, obviously they didn’t have the same budget at the movie but i can tell they did everything to make it match in its own way. Im glad we got a glimpse of what Arkam is like in this version and how utterly brutal it really is, how a place that is supposed to somehow heal or help people becomes such a horrific and brutal hell for whoever believes they one day may be free of it. Sophia was so well written, every scene she was in was perfect (except for that situationship between her and her therapist, wasn’t a huge fan at all) all of her outfits suited her and what she was currently planning or doing. I hope we get more about her and her now second time in arkam. Now where do i start with Oswald, he is such a horrible person but i really can’t help but absolutely love and adore his character. Like he honestly sucks and deserves everything that happened to him but I can’t help but somewhat route for him (except for what he did in episode 8, fuck him for that). It was really interesting to get a proper background on him and how he grew up to be who is was in the series, it really humanized him and gave a proper reason to why he does what he does. Everything about him on the outside was so pompous and fake and the way he acted outside of is normally somewhat controlled temperament really shone a light on how much of a lying narcissist he is and how much he really doesn’t care what happens as long as he remains on top and in power. He is such a horrible person and i love him for that. Now i was honestly kinda sceptical about Victor at the beginning, I didn’t want the show to become fully focused on him as a sidekick to Os and all the wacky shit they get up to. Im very glad it didn’t do that and instead we got a well written character that is struggling after losing everything he cares about and then trying his best to prove himself to some random guy that threatened him and tried to kill him before taking him under his wing. We got to see a character struggle with the morally grey and most of the time straight up illegal and horrible things he’s been told to do but does them anyways because he either wants to prove himself or just survive. He became so close to Oswald and looked up to him as a guide and as close to family as he could get by the end. So many amazing complex and wonderful characters where created and expanded upon in this show. I hope we get more shows like this and i am very excited to see where this version of Batman goes. Anyways im gonna go cry and see if i can find any good fanfics about it.

[melishade]

Number 38

This ask game

Dark Timeline Epilogue

Part 28: Ending

Mikasa continued staring at the statue before her in the quiet hours of the early morning, adjusting the travel bag slung along her shoulder. It was in a rather quiet place: in the desert of Fort Salta, but the camp that was set up near the area was not too far from here. It was an hour by foot. That was nothing in comparison to the hoops she had to accomplish in order to get to this very spot from Paradis. But she did experience some unexpected kindness. Onyankopon had introduced her to the Hizuru clan, remembering information about what Yelena had told him about Mikasa being descendant from the royal bloodline. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with that, earning a modest laugh from the new emperor: Kenshin. Someone did tell him that she was there during that battle that decided the fate of their world. Mikasa was afraid of the attention that would come with that knowledge, but Kenshin was kind to keep that information between them. But he stated he and Hizuru's survival were forever in her debt, and promised to pay her back however he could. She just asked for a ride to Fort Salta and a ride back to Paradis.

But still, the statue bothered her. It was actually some type of angel with wings, slaying a demon that was supposed to be Shockwave. They did make the demon have one eye like Shockwave did, but it didn't look nearly as terrifying as the actual titan. It wasn't even made of metal, it was human skin.

Mikasa sighed. She wasn't going to lie to herself; she still had nightmares of almost being taken by Shockwave before Eren made that dangerous bargain.

"Mikasa?" Mikasa blinked at the familiar voice calling out to her from behind. She turned and saw Optimus walking up to her and the statue. He looked better and healthier. His armor no longer looked faded or discolored. He got his proper repairs. However...Mikasa looked up to see that Optimus' right optic was now replaced with a patch.

After they had defeated Shockwave, Wheeljack and Arcee had managed to use his resources to contact Cybertron. There was initial tension between them, what with the communication signal being from a Decepticon warship, and Optimus being alive. But once Optimus picked up the Star Saber, the tension and hostility was met with relief and jubilation. The Autobots have and still help out with the repairs on this world, but Optimus was receiving medical treatment on Cybertron, and when he elected to not return publicly even after he received it, they all knew what that meant:

Optimus was tired. He had been for a long time, and losing both Eren and Megatron seemed to finally be the last straw. He elected to live peacefully despite a few pleas from his old comrades, but they ultimately respected his decision. However, He did send a letter to Hanji, promising to return for any planned reunions, and today seemed to be that day. The Autobots and the humans of Paradis still continued to repair the whole world, Paradis and the mainland, building an era of peace and healing, without the one responsible for putting an end to Shockwave's life.

"I was expecting you to be on the island," Optimus remarked.

Mikasa turned back to the statue. "I found some help to get me here."

Optimus stared at the statue, and Mikasa couldn't help but glance back to see a look of disdain on his face. Seems he also hated the statue. She looked back at the engraving at the statue and sighed. "The Battle of Hell and Earth." Seemed fitting enough.

"It's been four years since we've seen each other," Mikasa began.

"...I am sorry," Optimus apologized, "I needed time."

"Don't be," Mikasa reassured, "I didn't want to help out with rebuilding at all. It shows how selfish I am."

"Mikasa, you made an unfathomable choice," Optimus retorted, "You more than anyone needed time alone."

"Maybe, but Armin lost his friend too, yet he's still helping," Mikasa shot back.

"I think we both know that a life of diplomacy and publicity was not meant for you," Optimus declared.

Mikasa let out a small smile. "Guess so." The Ackerman then looked at the Prime. "I'm sorry."

Optimus raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"...you did not get a chance to say goodbye to Eren," Mikasa answered, "I took that chance away from you."

Optimus noticed the sun was rising in the east and turned his attention to that. "Eren and I had many conversations prior to Shockwave's proposal. And I am proud to see how much Eren had grown."

"But you still did not get to say goodbye," Mikasa retorted.

"I know, and I mourned that loss in private," Optimus confessed, "But it seemed that Eren died without any regrets."

Mikasa remembered that. After she had decapitated Eren, his severe head just looked so at peace. Even before the impact, she saw his expression fade to peace. But...

"...you looked more heartbroken when it came down to Megatron," Mikasa couldn't help but say. It was probably out of line, but she was curious. She had noticed the way Optimus wept over him, even after he unceremoniously ripped his chest opened and ripped out a purple shard from his corpse before blasting it to dust.

"If there is an afterlife for humans, I'm certain that Eren will be rewarded for his hard work and sacrifice," Optimus explained, "I have no doubts and concerns for his well-being. Megatron is a different case. He severed his connection to the Allspark that all Cybertronians possess when he put dark energon in his body. He belonged to Unicron. I pulled it out in one last attempt to save his spark, but...it is a pitiful attempt I do not know will have worked until millions of years later when my spark returns to the Allspark."

Optimus' shoulders slumped. "I will forever live in a perpetual state of fear and anxiety, wondering if my actions to save my brother were for naught."

"But weren't the two of you enemies longer than when you were brothers?" Mikasa asked bluntly.

Optimus couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I suppose family is complicated after all."

“Do you forgive him?” Mikasa asked.

“Hm, I suppose that is a tough question,” Optimus admitted, “I am glad that I was able to say my goodbyes to him and see that he has truly change. I just wish we had more time to discuss.”

Optimus felt his spark ache as he remembered Megatron’s sad smile, dark energon leaking from his mouth. “I wish we had more time.”

Mikasa look back at the statue, the sun now reflecting off the bronze and making it shine in the early morning, but it was already beginning to rust to green. “Eren said that to me too. He wanted more time to make up for how he treated me. Not intentionally but Eren always had a one track mind. Always looking ahead.”

A seagull flapped its wings landed on the wing of the statue. “I want to see him again.”

Optimus saw silent tears streaming down Mikasa's face, prompting him to kneel down to her. He scooped up the grieving woman in his servos before holding her close to his chest. Mikasa let out more wrecked sobs, covering her face with her hands. Optimus continued to let her cry, and the woman cried until the sun was now completely over the horizon.

"Sorry." Mikasa wiped her tears, feeling ashamed for crying in his hands.

"It is alright," Optimus reassured, "You have every right to shed tears."

"I think-!" Mikasa sniffed a little, "I think we should go and see the others. They said they would be at the camp."

"If that is what you wish." Mikasa yelped when Optimus stood up, with her still in his servos. He placed her on his shoulder, and the Prime began to walk away from the statue towards the camp. Unbeknownst to them, the seagull sitting on the statue flapped its wings before jumping off the statue and flying after them.

As Optimus continued to walk, the desert ground started to show signs of life, with patches of grass coming into view. As he walked closer, the grass connected together, until the desert was now a field of grass. When they arrived at the camp, Mikasa noticed someone giving instructions on how to build a new home. The structure was actually made of wood instead of fabric.

"Armin," Mikasa realized as Armin beckoned a few people to bring the wooden beam to a particular spot. "Armin!"

The man stopped and turned around to see Optimus lowering Mikasa to the ground. Armin bolted towards Mikasa, and Mikasa ran at him at full speed. They met in the middle and embraced each other with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Armin let go of Mikasa and waved to Optimus with excitement, the Prime giving a polite wave back. Optimus heard a cry of joy behind him, and turned to see Hanji riding behind Levi's wheelchair. The captain holding on for dear life while Hanji was cackling with delight. They jumped off the back of his wheelchair and ran up to Optimus, hugging his servo when he kneeled down once again. Hanji then started rambling and pointing to their own eyepatch, saying that the two of them matched. Optimus turned his attention to Levi and saw the one-eyed Ackerman smile at him. Just a little bit.

The seagull landed atop the unfinished building structure, watching intently at the sight of the reunion before it. They laughed and chatted with one another, while the others in the camp were just excited to meet Optimus for the first time. The seagull wordlessly jumped off the wooden structure and flew off into the sky.

(A few cameos here and there and a message of sorrow and hope but yeah. #45 has been asked but everything else is free game.)

[pe4nutastic]

So I made another writing thing, but like WAY longer than I originally thought it'd be. Conventionally, I've never really written things that involves me balancing more than one character lol so I'm not sure how adept I am at the balancing act yet.

All the same, this writing thing takes place in sort of alternate universe where Giegue survives M2 (originating from my old, now defunct, RP blog @anearthstruckalien) and is stuck in a kind of limbo where he needs to put his own destroyed mind back together. This is one of the many fragments he addresses.

Everything is muddled like an unwound thread, always unraveling without apparent end, splayed in all directions like spiderwork and tangled into painful knots where it had been unfortunate enough to cross into its own endless trajectory.  Muddled away into agony and nothingness.  Drenched in darkness and blood, only punctuated by a distorted painful buzzing of so much something. Hot and cold. Wet and dry.  Sparking yet dimmed.  Suffocating and all-encompassing, like a tomb.  Something short and flitting at some points, rising and lowering like especially mercurial tides, and endless at others unlike anything even the deepest and darkest depths of the oceans have ever seen.  Thoughts cannot be formed… whatever that is supposed to be.  Identity cannot be found, whatever that is supposed to be.  Memories cannot be fit together.  Whatever that is supposed to be.  He cannot discern how long it has been.  He cannot even conceptualize how something like that is measured or what it means, even as it passes through him like wind, there and yet not in an instant.

And then.  Abruptly, as if forcibly cutting to the next scene of a film in an especially jarring way with bemoaning screeeeeeeech upon reaching the terminal of some arbitrary counter, a sharp pang brings a few things to focus.  And now, he can perceive and process his environment.  A shred of clarity.  A void-like place, painted in an inky and seemingly never-ending darkness–one tinged in an oddly despairing and desolate hue somehow–and littered with glistening bits of bright shards.  Incomprehensibly bright and ever-shifting in colour and form; iridescence incarnate.  Glimmers of that which is missing, seemingly unable to fit with each other anymore yet drawn to one another anyways with the sense that with enough effort, somehow it could all fit together and become recognizable anew.  And altogether with it all, the first proper thought–as opposed to a mess of disjointed sensations and tortuous pain–springing to mind with a sudden start, something indescribably heavy like a pit coursing through what little remains of his very being intact:

Am… I… dying…?  Ceasing to… be…?

He squints or rather… would, if he had any associated visual to him.  As it stands now, it would seem that the being known as the Universal Cosmic Destroyer, is little more than a flicker of consciousness.  The tiniest and most fragile ember from a flame which had previously been extinguished, now sparking anew against all odds and probability.  Against the schematics of fate which had dictated that he die in the battle against the Earth’s latest set of Chosen Ones.  Dying.  Finality.  Somehow that seems daunting–though he can’t recall why–yet he cannot feel alarmed by it at all by his own questions nonetheless.  He had just regained (or gained?) the ability to properly process his environment and string together thoughts after all.  And either way, somehow he knows that this isn’t the end anyways.  Or at least, not yet.  All he has is a feeling.  One padded out by that which sparked that ember of consciousness, fragile as it is, into being.  A sense of resilience and indomitable spirit that refuses to bend or break, no matter how hard it is chipped away at by the harshest of elements:  willpower and determination.

The will to not die (but from what?).  The determination to endure and survive.

And somehow, without definitive rhyme and reason, part of that lies in the glimmering points of iridescent radiances before him, scattered about like stardust in the void.  He shifts his gaze towards the one closest to him, feeling something almost like a magnetic pull towards it, and as though on cue… –the very moment he eyelessly stares at it for more than a few seconds, the scene before him is softly wiped clean like chalk off a blackboard and replaced with far less monotonous and simplistic scenery:

A brightly lit room adorned by ivory wallpaper dotted with artfully-administered strokes of tiny multicoloured carnations, light brown hardwood floors, and containing little more than a small window with nothing to see but golden radiance of some kind shining through and a tiny wooden table full of various desserts and cups of tea; one cup before the entity himself and the other… before a blonde woman in a neatly-pressed pale pink dress ruffled at its ends and hanging just past her knees.

Dark blue eyes squint anew with a shrewd sense of calculation as he assesses the room anew, trying to piece together what had exactly happened to shift the location, but unable to come to an answer.  A train of thought that inevitably comes to an abrupt halt anyways when he catches sight of himself in the murky reflection of the tea soothingly settled in the ivory nook provided by its petite cup.  Shock jolts through him almost immediately, eyes widening just a smidge, as he almost jumps straight out of his plush seat.  Small fingers tap at his face and pull his cheek in an almost clinical way, as though jumpstarting a more thorough tactile examination.  He looks quite a bit like the blonde woman.  He looks… what was the word for it?  Human.  A young human boy to be precise.  Fluffy blonde hair.  A set of blue eyes set in white sclera and black pupils. A nose and mouth set into a relatively flat profile and smooth skin.  Real skin tinged with warmth, but with minimal color rising to its surface.  Human.  Somehow it feels like an illusion and yet he cannot recall every being anything else save for the formlessness he had experienced a moment prior.  Has he always been human?  It doesn’t feel like it, but…

…–and almost as soon as that particular thought starts, it comes to a grinding halt when, after what feels like an eternity of confusion and strangeness (but in actuality was little more than a few seconds worth of time), the blonde woman speaks up.

“Ah you’ve finally arrived!  I’m so happy to see you here!  It’s been a long time huh?”

She tucks a few strands of gently curling blonde hair behind an ear and all the while, the now human-boy tilts his head to the side a little at the inquiry.  A long time?  A long time for what?  He taps small stubby fingers against the solid wooden top of the table or rather, the long and lacey pale pink tablecloth daintily hanging over it, dull gaze averting in an oddly concentrated way as though attempting to grasp onto something.  Bit-by-bit, it feels like something is trickling in so as to fill an emptiness he had not realized he had, but not up to pace enough to leave him anything but perpetually confused and disoriented nonetheless.  There must be a more… a more… –efficient? yes, efficient method to this but it would seem that he has little more than the ability to think and process at the moment, knowledge itself lacking save for what inevitably trickles in.

“Are you comfortable?  I’ve prepared your favourite tea and some desserts that you’ve always liked just for this occasion.  So feel free to take as much as you want of whatever you want.  Nothing ever runs out here --take my word for it!”

She winks, one bright and lively blue eye–practically brimming with a zest for life and unwavering optimism for whatever the future may bring–of two, momentarily being obscured by the attached flap of skin before re-emerging.  In return, the human boy stares blankly at her for a few seconds before seemingly relenting his inscrutable gaze–unable to find whatever it is he was looking for–before gingerly plucking a shortbread cookie off its pristine plate, intrigued by both the dessert and by what the blonde woman had said.  By the very notion of having information that he lacks.  Something about that feels right… familiar… but he can’t quite place why exactly.  Lifting the cookie directly before him, rather than immediately consuming it, the human boy examines it with just a glint of intrigue in his comparatively dull pupils.

“My ‘favourites’...?  I have a favourite?  How would you know?”

A genuine question.  The entity rather delicately nibbles on the perfectly-formed edge of the cookie, swirling the tiny bit on the tip of his tongue, before taking a proper bite out of it afterwards.  One which he hopes will at the very least serve as a good point of reference or direction towards easing away that thick fog cluttering his mind.  The cookie is… hm… ‘good’.  It tastes good.  Familiar.  Safe.  Safe…?  Safe.  Dark blue voids flicker back up to meet the blonde woman’s gaze.  She seems to have no immediate response, thick eyebrows knitted in thought albeit without ever breaking her gaze on the entity himself, before settling on something, smile dimming a little to something less exuberant and more gentle and understanding.

“It’s a liiiittle tricky to explain if you even need to ask in the first place… but, I know what I do about you because in a way, I’m a part of you.

The one part that’s never changed… –that never could.

No matter how much everything else got rearranged.

…it’s never changed.  You were still you.  You still are.”

She taps a finger over where the human heart would be located, over the left side of her chest as she makes a claim of being part of the entity himself.  And she does just that, something lights up in softened iridescence over that point, in the shape of a stylized heart, the same occurring immediately to the entity himself in the exact same point and thus emphasizing the verity of her very point, dark blue voids widening just a smidge in surprise before giving way to a small pensive frown.  He sharply glances down to his own chest as the light fades away.  Part of him…?  He taps the same spot a few times.  But, he’s right here and yet… even though it seems nonsensical, it somehow seems to make perfect sense anyways.  Instinctively so.  The answer isn’t as direct as he had been hoping, but maybe it’s meant to be this way.  Meant to be?  There’s a word for that.  Destiny.  A bitter taste in his mouth.  Fate.  A sensation that twists and churns his guts (if he had any to begin with) with intense fervor for reasons he cannot entirely parse out… –doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t apply in this situation anyways.  Because this is on a significantly smaller scale anyways.

The entity takes a small sip of the hot and soothing tea before him, a cooling sensation immediately hitting afterwards despite its true temperature setting.  Peppermint.  Much like the shortbread cookies, it indeed seems pleasant to his palate.  Between this, what he captured beyond this world in the form of glittery fragments amidst a void, and the growing conglomerate sensation (familiarity, safety, trust) towards the blonde woman… it seems that there’s more merit than ‘meets the eye’ to this interaction.  Clarity starts with this.  Perhaps that’s why he was the most drawn to this fragment.  Another small sip of the peppermint tea.  Perhaps that’s why not receiving a direct answer is the most conducive to dispersing that thick fog over his mind.  Towards feeling less empty.

“Perhaps.  But, if what you are saying is accurate, then I must be incomplete.

In… pieces.

It is what my… ‘gut’ is telling me… though it also ‘feels’... incorrect to rely on such a thing.”  He glances back down at the tea, settled shortly after his last sip, and down to his murky reflection in it before shaking his head.  “This form feels incorrect.  As though I should have a different shape...”

Yet another sip of the peppermint tea, head tilting slightly to the side afterwards as he continues to speak, any uncertainty from before evaporating to be replaced by what seems to be rather characteristic of him; blank neutrality and flatness.

“Being in pieces is not my natural state, is it?  Is this interaction a way of pulling everything back together?”

The blonde woman takes a sip of her own tea.  Chamomile tea.  He can tell what it is somehow, without having tasted it and even before its smell registers with him.  It’s her favourite.  Just like the carnations dotting the worn wallpaper.  She taps her head for a moment as she responds, a hint of playfulness entering her tone as she does so.

“Maybe.  Maybe not. I can’t just tell you directly, but I can give that knowledge as an exchange of sorts.”

The entity lifts up his own cup of tea anew, as though planning to drink it, before deigning to just swirl the liquid around a bit as if mulling something over before responding, a twinge of determination entering his tone as he does so.  Of course not.  He isn’t being fed direct answers, but being directed towards them after all.

“What kind of exchange?”

Her smile widens, matching the playful tone as it continues to seep into her next few words.

“We can play a game and if you win, then I’ll be more direct with you.  A game of…”

She pauses, frowning a bit herself in a rather pensive manner as if mulling over a few options herself to determine which one would be best for truly helping the entity, before settling on something and with that, clasping her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. 

“... –of riddles!  It’s a pretty simple points-based game with two roles:  the one that makes up the riddles, the Riddle Master, and the one that answers them.

The Riddle Master gets points by making up riddles that the other player can’t answer while the player gets points by successfully giving the correct answer to the Riddle Master’s riddles.  No one loses points, you either get them or you don’t.

In this game, I’ll be the Riddle Master and you’ll be the one answering.  There’ll be a total of 5 riddles.  How does that sound for you?”

The entity hesitates very little, taking just a moment to mentally go over the exact parameters of the suggested game, before offering a definitive nod.  He’s already determined that judging by every minute improvement in his state here… it’s best to simply ‘play’ along, no matter how counterproductive it may seem.  He implicitly trusts her, even if the reason why exactly cannot be parsed out, and so this aspect to him must represent someone that was (and perhaps still is) important to him.

“I accept your arrangement.  Proceed with the ‘game’.”

The blonde woman takes another sip of her chamomile tea, gulping the rest of it down in one fell swoop before gently moving aside the empty cup… one which stays empty for only a second or so before the familiar steam of freshly crafted tea wafts through the air anew, as if no progress had been made on it to begin with.  ‘As much as you want’ huh?  The entity consumes the rest of his shortbread cookie, as if to test the theory for himself, and in line with what he had just seen… the empty spot on the plate from which he had plucked it is immediately filled with a new shortbread cookie as its replacement; a reinforcement that this is a matter of the mind… he thinks.  At this juncture, he only has sensations and hunches –not true concrete data to confirm if there is anything more than this.  He smoothes out the neck of his grey sweater before folding his own hands together with definitive intent and concentration, dark blue voids narrowing accordingly.  All the more reason to ‘play along’ and succeed in this game.

“Alright!  Let’s get to it then.  I’ll keep the first three riddles simple and easy; a good warm-up before getting to the trickier ones.

What… disappears as soon as you say its name?

That’s it.  That’s all you’re getting to work out the answer!”

The entity immediately gets to thinking over the answer.  A riddle is an inquiry that appeals to logic, problem-solving, or both.  And so, it either has an answer that’s so obvious one wouldn’t even consider it or clues scattered throughout as the characteristics of what the answer is supposed to be.  Judging by the minimal nature of this riddle… it must be the former.  The answer is obvious.  Something in plain sight.  An auditory component to it.  Speaking aloud the name of the subject will make it disappear and so, it can only exist so long as one doesn’t speak… ah.  He almost smiles, satisfied, even by such a trivial accomplishment.

“The answer is ‘silence’.  Not making any sound is a condition inherent to maintaining it therefore, it ceases to be once sound is made.”

The blonde woman gives an affirmative nod in agreement, sticking two closed fists with thumbs sticking out as if to reaffirm the point.  The entity isn’t entirely certain as to what he should make of the gesture, but based off her body language, he can only deduce that it is a positive gesture.  One whose continued enthusiasm is admittedly a little endearingly infectious though he doesn’t quite outwardly show it yet.  He doesn’t feel as though he is the sort to ‘warm up’ quickly to others, but something about this comes just as naturally as trust did, tinged with a sense of ‘deja vu’, as though he’s done this many times over before.  Something about this contents him, the familiarity and warmth prevalent throughout their entire interaction thus far playing no small role in this, even though the game has just started.

“That’s right aaaand one point for you!  You’re a natural at this –I knew you would be!  You’ve always been clever.  But, can you handle this one too?  

What has many keys, but can’t open a single lock?”

Hm.  Yet another question with very minimal clues and in lieu of that, an obvious answer to it.  Keys and locks.  A key?  A key is… a key is… hm… oh! something that is used to open places safeguarded by a matching lock!  Keys and locks are a pair, one shape fitting the other in order to move the mechanism keeping its interconnected block in place against those without the necessary key.  Small fingers pensively tap his chin.  But, in this case… the key in question has no matching lock.  Several keys without matching locks to be specific.  A quality inherent to the object in question and not the result of some defect or damage, if he has analyzed the phrasing correctly.

Admittedly… be it due to his gaps in actual knowledge or not, he cannot imagine anything which would have multiple useless keys attached to it.  But then… perhaps the term ‘keys’ does not refer to what his initial instinct falls upon.  Maybe he needs to consider alternate contexts of it…–an abrupt pause mid-thought, by the sound of the blonde woman tapping her fingers over top the table’s wooden surface.  A rhythmic and intentional motion…

… –as though, she’s creating music.  An oddly familiar tune, sweet yet bitter in a way he can almost grasp, like words just at the tip of his tongue.  Understanding clicks into place.  Playing an instrument.  With keys. 

“A piano.  The answer is a ‘piano’.”

No need to explain this time.  The abrupt, almost enthused despite the blandness of his tone, way in which the entity himself answered, cutting straight through the tapping says it all.  He’s certain in his conclusion with no need to explain it to the one that created the riddle in the first place.  And as such, he receives another set of ‘thumbs up’.  Something which sparks a bit of brightness in his heart anew; contentment and satisfaction at succeeding.

“Correct!  Two points now!

For someone that doesn’t remember much, you’re pretty good at this game, but remember, this is the last easy question before things get more challenging okay?”

A playful wink on her part while the entity does little more than offer a curt nod, much of his attention glued more to whatever the next question may be.  It’s difficult to parse out the exact words for this sensation, but it’s hooked him in rather quickly; a combination of its familiarity and the mental exercise it offers.

“What do you call two birds in love?”

And with that question, the blonde woman uses her respective thumbs and and index fingers to form the shape of a heart as if to emphasize the ‘love’ part.  The entity himself stares at the motion, from start to end, with a blank stare despite his enjoyment of the game before focusing in on piecing it out.  It doesn’t seem like a true riddle.  The question does not seem to have an object inherent to its answer, but a term instead.  He rubs his chin.  An odd departure or perhaps a format that he cannot recall, due to his fragmented state of being at the moment.  He thinks on it for a few seconds more before shaking his head, a touch disappointed in himself, and ultimately relenting.

“Apologies.  I do not know.  Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on the matter?”

A short and sweet–almost as musical as her voice, like gentle wind chimes–burst of laughter bubbles out her mouth at that before its obscured by an arm, bare skin far less effective than actual fabric would have been were the sleeves of her dress not short.  Nonetheless, once the blonde woman regains her composure enough, the answer comes out in one similarly short burst as if retelling an especially thrilling punchline to a joke.

“Tweet-hearts!  Get it?  Because they’re birds and in love –like sweet hearts haha!”

Another short and sweet burst of laughter, her hand gently smacking the table with a soft yet no less resounding thunk, clearly thoroughly enjoying the joke herself.  The entity on the other hand… though he understands the concept of it and the wordplay that inspired it, mouth twitching a bit, before he just turns his head to the side.  And he does so in a rather petulant and oddly childish way, as if overcome with an emotion from a separate moment in time tipped in deja vu, before huffing through his nose to forcibly dissipate any genuine amusement that may (or may not) have been felt by him.

“That is not a riddle.  It is wordplay.  You tricked me.”

In response, the blonde woman sticks up a single finger and wags it side-to-side, having long since gotten the last bit of her amusement out of her system, evidently finding great amusement in jokes like this.

“Uh-uh!  By definition, a riddle is a question or statement with a clever twist to it. And all clever twists need ingenuity to properly entangle, don’t you think?”

Incapable of actually keeping up the petulant facade–the emotion as insincere as everything else might as well be about him at this juncture–where the human woman herself is concerned, the entity ultimately relents and turns back to her with a nod.

“... I suppose.  Does it count against me then?”

She shakes her head, high energy dimmed a little but no less bright and warm in her overall demeanor nonetheless.

“It’s just a joke –a bit of humour!  Pretty punny don’t you think?  Don’t worry, this one doesn’t count against you.  You still have two points.  Two for you.  Zero for me.

Are you ready to move onto the next riddle?  Two more left.  And remember, it gets more challenging from here on out.”

The most immediate answer that pops to mind is a resounding ‘yes’.  And yet, the entity finds himself halted by a sudden and odd sense of melancholic emptiness, one which almost completely replaces the contentment he had experienced before.  He downs the rest of his peppermint tea, somewhat hoping to distract himself from the uncomfortable sensation, but ultimately failing.  How familiar.  The sense of deja vu is even stronger than before and it’s only really hitting him now.  It isn’t just the game itself, but the exact questions and wordplay interjection that’s familiar.  Nonsensical as it sounds, this exchange feels as though it’s happened before in every exact step…at least on the blonde woman’s part.  The entity himself has changed.  Somehow, he’s certain of it… certain that when (if) this actually happened in reality… he more closely mirrored the blonde woman’s demeanor.  He glances back down at the now empty cup before it immediately refills itself with the steaming and soothing aroma of the peppermint infused liquid.  The entity himself has changed, even before the fragmentation event, and likely for the worst.  He takes a renewed cursory glance at his surroundings, one with renewed clarity even through the still ever-present fog in his mind.

The surroundings make a lot less sense now.  The odd minimalism and the overly bright hues to everything (now that he really looks at it) as if it all has a subtle glow to it… the lack of anything beyond pure radiance outside the window… it seems less like reality and more like a dream.  A thing of the mind after all.  Something in his chest tightens.  Hesitation encased in dread cutting through what remains of his contentment before he mentally presses on with a determined nod, ready to hear the next riddle.

“A star twinkles in the distance, a wonder of its existence. In exchange for a bird, the silence of a child. A question of the sheep's provisions.

What is it?”

More challenging indeed.  The format is far less simple, especially when he’s on the cusp of what feels vaguely like an awakening of sorts.  A stab through delusion which, if he is to fully submit to the idea that this isn’t what reality is actually like, he must not have wanted to recover from on some level.  Not if it took for him this long to figure it out if he really is as supposedly clever as she claims.  And yet, despite the cloudiness introduced to his logical processes, the answer comes much quicker than before with little introspection needed on his part.  Like he already knows it… because he almost certainly already does.  Quick as it comes however, some of that hesitation from before rushes back with a biting vengeance.   It… hurts?  Something does.  The game is almost over after all and yet, his determination to see it through remains anyways.  Feeble as it may be… the entity nonetheless, pushes on anyways like before.

“...a lullaby.”

Almost despondently so, his gaze averting off to the side, but never fully breaking the blank neutrality of his tone.  Then silence for a bit.  A much needed reprieve and yet, one which even in the absence of the final riddle, only lasts for a short burst of time or so before his mind wanders back to the blonde woman’s tapping from before.  With a bit more clarity gained now… he not only realizes that she was giving him a hint as to what the answer to the second riddle was, but that he actually knows the words.  Sweet yet painful.  More clear images–and with it, the surroundings losing their subtle glow and coming more into focus–starting to filter through like film from an old movie that might have once been in pristine condition, but has now long since degraded, cutting off at certain points while slanting in an unsightly way at others.  Another pang of clarity.  He almost doesn’t want to play anymore.  To stop it at this before things go too far… before he is far too gone to return to being more contented and… and… normal.

N o r m a l.  He’s always wanted to be normal, but they would not let him.

A discordant thought.  One which he neatly sweeps aside, finding it easier to do so as opposed to letting it run any further, before forcing his attention back on the game.  Despite everything… he still, at the end of it all, feels inclined to finish.  He has to finish because this is important.  More than he had initially surmised in his far less lucid state upon arriving here.  At that conclusion, as if on cue, the blonde woman starts on the next riddle with no further lighthearted comments or jabs, her expression going completely inscrutable yet no less determined as if she knows the end is near in more ways than one.  An awakening is coming and though it’s a bit hard to pop the entity’s bubble… though it feels cruel… she must press on.  It’s better this way.

“Three points.  Onto the last riddle

I’m always old yet sometimes new.

Never sad yet sometimes blue.

Never empty but sometimes full.

Never pushy but always pulling.

Always here even when I’m gone.

What am I?”

The entity’s eyes widen as though he’s just been sloshed with a bucket of ice-cold water.  Inexplicably so.  Nothing about the wording is especially offensive and yet something tightens in his chest anyways.  The very feeling which had been building up over the course of this whole interaction peaking and exploding by the very last sentence of the riddle, small hand reaching up to tightly grip just over his chest, where his heart would be were he actually as human as he appears.  The moon.  Gone.  He knows it.  Not real.  She’s gone.  He knows that this is the answer with 100% certainty and yet the answer is caught in his throat anyways, as blocked and paralyzed as he’s abruptly become as something inscrutable splits, fracturing like glass or like one layer of a haze which had hung over him ever since he had gained cognizance anew.  She’s gone.  The moon in all of its mundane glory.  A basic satellite that orbits the earth.  Her home.  She’s gone.  A rock inhospitable to humans and littered with maria, dark flat regions that look like bodies of water from a distance–

…–maria? He shakes his head to himself.  No.  Not maria, but Maria.  Maria.

Maria.  She’s gone.  Always here.  Always gone.

It all cliiiiiiicks into place.  Not in full–that much requires a far lengthier and more arduous journey–but enough to properly identify that which pertains to the blonde woman before him.  His hands curl into tight fists by his sides, posture going completely rigid as he shakes his head, as though that would somehow magically make this particular ‘awakening’ stop.  To Maria.  His dearest mother.  His only family.  The one and only bit of good in his life before everything was irreversibly poisoned.

Poisoned by them.

And as if in direct response to that particular thought, rising up against it amidst everything else, something abruptly breaks on the inside and against all odds, out gushes a sensation even more overwhelming than what’s just hit him.  Overwhelming enough to push aside that odd melancholic emptiness, bitterness, and despair which had all too fast begun to fill him.  A jumbled patchwork of emotions that shouldn’t fit together yet do all the same nonetheless, tumbling out at various intensities and moments without rhyme or reason.  And it is all because of her, with one particular emotion far above the others at the core and helm of it all.  The very base origin behind everything felt now.  The planet to everything else which revolves around it.

An all-encompassing, rich, and impossibly deep sensation, almost suffocating in its concept, almost too overwhelming to contain within his fragile body yet somehow it manages to be anyways.  It permeates every fibre of his being.  It exists in every crevice and space where it could fit within the essence which constitutes who he is.

Warmer than the simple, bright, and short sprigs of happiness from before.

More passionate than the most concentrated poisons of hatred.

Beyond all comprehension and in complete violations of all logical conventions;  the very pinnacle of irrationality, evolved beyond its initial spark and into its final transcendent format.

Love.

Yes.  That’s right.  It’s clear to him now.  More than anything else, he loves her.  He had forgotten that he did, for a bit, but now that he is no longer blinded by… other things… he realizes that there is nothing more important than that.

Nothing more important than her.

That is what has come gushing out with such vigor.  The true form of his feelings towards his adoptive human mother.  That is the precise name of that sensation.  It only hurts because he loves her.  It hurts because it mattered.

Because it still does.

Despite everything, it still matters.

She still matters.

“Maria.  Mother.”

He hesitates, sadness sharply pinpricking his heart with renewed enthusiasm against the seemingly endless onslaught of love as if attempting to strike a particular emotional balance and with it, a strange and foreign wetness forming at the corners of his eyes.  Liquid.  Strange, upsetting, and rending liquid.  Are his optical receptors broken…somehow, even here in a dream…?  He rather tentatively glances down at his refilled cup of peppermint tea to discern the true identity of the mysterious liquid, almost jumping back as he does so, his chair making a muffled skidding sound on the floor as the only indication of his shock.  His appearance is no longer human.  He appears as he feels he should, but perhaps a bit small?  A small clawed digit pokes at an upright and triangular ear, then at his stubby snout, large dark blue voids (the same colour through every part of his eyes, from the sclera to the pupils) narrowing in the welcome distraction that this provides before closing his eyes with a sigh, the clear liquid dripping out and staining the otherwise pristine pink tablecloth before him.  Fists somehow becoming even tighter, claws digging into the palms of his hands without drawing blood.

“Are you really here?”

The question comes tumbling out, rigid neutrality finally properly breaking a bit under the enormous weight of what can only be his own grief reborn–having originally never been permitted to properly manifest and instead, kept at bay by things that seem awfully petty and meaningless now–before he can stop himself.  He knows.  He knows the answer to his own question.  The painful, bitter, and ugly truth.  He knows and yet he can’t help asking, hoping to be wrong.  To receive an answer to halt what he’s reliving; the warmth and intensity of love, outlined by crushing and unrelenting sadness.  Maria herself reaches out–the chairs, table and everything on it having mysteriously vanished now seemingly in accordance with this change in the entity himself, as smoothly and seamlessly as if it had been like this all along–and bending down to the entity’s now diminutive height, her expression twisted a little with concern, and gently presses a thumb at the corners of his eyes to wipe a few more budding tears away.

“My dearest Giegue, I’m always with you.  And I always will be.”

She pulls him into a hug and overwhelmed by the flurry of emotions as he is, Giegue does not resist.  Rather he numbly allows for it to happen, more liquid leaking out his eyes to replace that which Maria had so kindly wiped away, his mouth pressed into a rather tense line that faintly quivers as if holding back so much more.  He can’t breathe, physiological impossibility of that aside.  He can’t move.  He can barely think, what little he can manage utterly dedicated towards “getting it together”, simply-put.  His memories are largely incomplete, but this feels awfully pathetic anyways.  As though he’s supposed to be better than this.  As though he has no right to break and bend at all and rather, has a duty towards remaining completely militant.  To otherwise fail to do so, as he is now, admittedly makes him feel hatred not just for them in general but for himself for being unable to do something so basic and so much more.

“You’ll always have a bit of the most important people inside your heart.  They’ll always be a part of you, even after they’re long gone.

Memories might hide in different parts of the mind’s maze, but they’re never really gone.

You never really forget the important things.  Do you understand?”

Of course he understands, comprehension cutting through the budding self-hatred for a moment.  He slowly, almost tentatively moves just a bit to loosely return her hug.  But, that’s exactly what makes this so difficult.  He knows.  He knows that, though the sincerity of her words rings through, this isn’t the real Maria.  It’s an aspect of his mind.  Love and maybe a bit of hope made manifest in the form that which exclusively inspires such an irrational state of being.  He closes his eyes shut rather tightly, pointed teeth grinding harshly from behind the tight line of his mouth.  He knows.  His fingers claw into the pink fabric of her dress as if he’s been starved of something for a very long time and can no longer continue to push back the desire to be satiated at long last.  He knows that he needs to complete this interaction in order to move onto the next fragment of many out there.  To become more complete.  And yet… his grip on the pink fabric abruptly tightens at the thought of having to move onto something else.  How despicable.  And yet… he briefly entertains the thought of never properly waking up.  Disgusting.  Of never becoming complete again.  Lowly scum.  Of the dream never ending.

Irrationally so.

Irrational.  Stupid.  And selfish.

Childishly so.

Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.

Let go.

But, he can’t.

Move on.

To what…?

Get over it.

How can he?  Everything has unraveled too far to neatly tie back up in its box.

Let go.

NO.  Never again.  That fleeting thought of never repairing himself is promptly crushed underneath his proverbial and unyielding heel.  How can he even think like that?  Be that pathetic and weak?  Somehow.  He knows that it isn’t like him.  And even if it is, then he knows that he needs to transcend such a basal nonetheless.  To be better.  Stronger this time around.  A slow and disapproving shake of his head to himself before the Psion pulls back from the hug, letting go of her dress and recomposed just a bit albeit still teary, and levitates up enough to meet Maria at eye level.  The first display of his psionic power since he regained his ability to think and process things at all, perhaps in response to the latest bit of growth towards becoming complete.

For several moments, he just stares at her.  Just stares and stares and stares while she patiently waits, completely nonplussed–a glimmer of understanding no less prominent in her gentle gaze–by this particular development.  He can’t find the words.  Despite his renewed, albeit still shaky, determination… words fail him anyways.  Despite knowing just how much of an illusion this actually is… mountains of mountains of mountains of words pile up all at once, much like the way all these feelings and thoughts of his had come rushing back in a jumbled mess.  There’s so many things that he wants to say.  Things he’s always wanted to say to her; archived for millenia until the consequent backlog became almost impossible to contain, now bursting out and flooding his mind in violent waves.  She’s not really here.  She’s gonegonegone.  

Destined to never cross paths with him again.  

Like lines that can never intersect.

GONE.

There’s NO POINT in saying anything meaningful.  And yet…

“I am sorry.  I could not be what you wanted me to be.  I have failed you.”

He cannot help himself anyways.  His head dips down, gaze averted towards the ground while his shoulders hunch ever-so-slightly, thoroughly miserable.  Shame.  Pure and unadulterated shame.  Out of the billions of things that he could say… that he shouldn’t bother with saying on principle… this comes out anyways.  A hollow apology tinged with regret.  Like that fixes anything, especially when he cannot entirely recall what he’s sorry about in the first place.  All he knows is that he’s deeply regretful about everything and that it is because he has in a way that is exceedingly wrong.  Utterly unworthy of all that she has invested in him in the short time they had known each other.  Is that really all he can say anymore after everything?  More liquid leaks out his eyes and falls, guided by the gravity of this dream towards the nonexistent ground now, blanked out by pale yellow hues in place of the wooden floor from earlier.  All the while, Maria shakes her head as if in disagreement with the Psion’s outward claims and the thoughts running through his mind earlier on, before gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.

“You haven’t failed me.  I think that… sometimes… we lose our way in life.  That doesn’t mean that we can’t find our way back.  Most people don’t stay lost forever.

The fact that you’re sorry at all is proof that you’re part of that majority.”

She steps forward and takes his small stubby hands into her own, cold contrasting against the very human warmth of her fair skin.  A beat.  And the Psion himself instinctively returns the grip–even though he shouldn’t–though he still doesn’t shift his gaze off the ground.

“Giegue.  You’re capable of more good than you know.

I still believe in you.  I always have and always will.  Because… just as I’ve said before, despite everything, you’re still you.

And I’ve always believed that you had a good heart.  I still do.

It’s never too late to turn away from the path you’ve been on thus far and do what’s right.  To be good against all perceived odds.  Even your own.”

Giegue wants to irrationally resist.  Hands twitching with intent to ball into fists, but only halting that particular action because said appendages in question are intertwined with hers.  Resist her words.  Resist the sense of ease starting to creep its way through him.  He wants to hold onto all that hatred, bitterness, and misery for as long as he can… to press it so close to his very core that he will never forget how rendingly awful it feels.  He deserves it.  Just as much as he wants to never let go of her, even if she’s just an illusion here.  And yet, he finds himself comforted by the words anyways, pain ebbed away by her warmth and kindness.  It’s absurd.

Because even if she’s an illusion… an apparition of his mind… he cannot bring himself to sincerely fight her on this.  He cannot deny her.  Not anymore.  So the only option he has is to simply let himself be comforted by it, somehow, and instead focus on seeing this interaction through to its end.  The surrounding details fading further away, window and wallpaper disappearing until the background is little more than a pastel rainbow of color splotches twinkling with a mysterious kind of radiance, like the starry night sky.

Good.  Being good.  Is it really that simple?

It hardly seems like it, especially for a creature such as himself.  The sincerity of her words come through as clearly as his rediscovered… love… for her and yet, he cannot help doubting himself anyways.  He’s comforted by her words, but doubt creeps in just as swiftly as comfort comes nonetheless.  He’s done nothing to warrant such faith in his apparent intrinsic ‘good’.  Absolutely nothing.  That much, he’s certain of, even in the absence of supporting memories and knowledge to that.  Because he was created by them.  The Psion species and they are certainly not good.  Because Maria is indisputably good and Giegue himself is nothing like her.  His shoulders hunch further, twitching but not accompanied by any further tears, his gaze somehow dipping down even further –fixed to the ground with even more intent than before.  Then he speaks, expression as blank as the tone of his words despite the uncertainty, misery, and lack of direction behind them.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I nonetheless no longer have a purpose.

What am I supposed to do anymore?

There are many gaps in what I can recall at this juncture, but somehow I simply know that there is nothing meaningful beyond this ‘dream’.”

He pulls his hands away from Maria, so as to wipe away the last few pinpricks of liquid off the corners of dark blue voids, shaking his head as he does so despite the resignation from before, emotional vulnerability of a new sort cracking through his renewed neutrality as he continues on, volume gradually quieting as he reaches the end of his message.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m… I am…. afraid that I am not strong enough to do anything else.

That I am only good for causing destruction and harm.

I am… afraid that… that I am not strong enough to be more than what they wanted.”

For a moment, there’s a brief flicker of sadness in her ever patient, gentle, and understanding gaze–a breakage in kindness and optimism paralleling the breakage in the Psion’s neutrality–before it snaps back to normal.  Then a pause as Maria carefully thinks over how to answer.  How to even begin addressing his feelings.  Complex things entangled in such a way, hatred completely and utterly integrated throughout, that it could not possibly be resolved in one fell swoop.  Nonetheless, the apparition has hope and unwavering belief in her son’s strength.  The memory of her would not exist at all if he really were as hate-worthy and weak as he believes.  And deep down he knows it.  She places her hands, one atop the other, over her heart while a small, hopeful, and knowing smile makes its way back onto her face anew.

“I only want for you to be happy with yourself and your life again.  It might seem impossible to you now, but I know that it will come to pass.

Giegue.  

You are so much stronger than you know.

The answer might not be immediately clear to you on what you’re meant to do now, but that’s okay.  You’ll figure it out and make it through.  You always do.”

Much like before, the Psion is hit with that impulsive and irrational desire to rebel against her words, but this time he quashes that impulse much more quickly.  Even if he cannot quite believe in himself the way she’d like for him to… he has to somehow try anyways.  If not for his sake, then certainly for hers.  He straightens his posture out and finally returns Maria’s gaze more properly, a fragile yet no less determined glint reflecting off dull pupils.  His doubts and fears cannot be mitigated so easily, but that does not matter because if he allows for himself to be completely consumed by such lowly sensations then he will only end up wasting the time, effort, and love–unworthy as he is of it at all–the real Maria had put into him long ago.  Apparition or not, the feelings of his which manifested it to begin with are real.  And in his… ‘heart’... he knows that this is how the real Maria would feel.

“Do you really believe that…?”

One last slippage, one last glint of vulnerability, and he’s done.  It’s a question he cannot help asking.   Especially now that the apparition before him has abruptly lost her details in line with the renewal of his resolve, demoted to little more than a vague pink outline while the multicolored splotches of their collective backdrop fragments to reveal the void from earlier on, sans a glimmering fragment.  The very development he had been dreading, but he holds strong against it with rigid neutrality.  He has to.  For her sake.

“Do you even need to ask?  Of course I do.”

She then looks down at herself, starting to fade now with the rest of the scattered backdrop pieces, and sighs a touch disappointed.  As if she had been hoping for a little more time despite knowing that this final outcome was near.

“Our time here is almost done.  You’ve achieved what you needed to.  Before I go… can I make one last request of you…?

I know that it might be a bit much with everything that you’ll have to face moving forward–”

The apparition is abruptly cut off before she can finish her sentence when the Psion sticks out a stubby arm, palm facing outward and towards her as a silent indication to cease speaking immediately.  No explanation is needed.  He will always help her without question.  She needn’t even ask.  Such is the ‘power of love’ in all those… stories of heroes and monsters that his adoptive human mother used to tell him, is it not?  In the end, love always prevails and though mere fiction, it certainly applies here.

“Yes.  Anything.  You can have no request that is too unreasonable for me to fulfill.

Though I may be uncertain on where I… ‘fit’... now… there is something that I can nonetheless say with certainty on how I will exist from now on.

And it is that… no matter what happens, has happened, or will happen… I will always stand by your figurative side through it all.

No matter what, I will never abandon your memory.”

The Psion receives no immediate response, the apparition taken aback for a moment, as if she hadn’t been expecting this particular response.  Or at least, not so quickly.  Strange for a mere apparition born of his mind.  As an aspect of him, she should have anticipated this particular result anyways, but then… he was rather heavily damaged.  His entire mind had fractured and so, certain… incongruencies can be expected.  Nonetheless, the apparition quickly recovers, a bit of pride making its way into her fading features as she smiles for the last time, embracing the Psion as she does so which he more immediately returns this time around. A tentative and awkward, as if completely unused to contact like this, but not less sincere in its gentle nature.

“I should have known.  I won’t hesitate then.

Protect the Earth and all life on it, won’t you?”

Gone.  Gone.  Gone.  Her voice fades away as she speaks along with the rest of her form, little more than a ghostly whisper lost to the void.  She’s gone.  One hand curls into a small and tense fist, both dropping by their respective sides, while his eyes screw shut.

Some part of him admittedly felt compelled to reach out, as if that would somehow stop what had happened. Another part felt inclined to call out to not leave, even though he already knew such an inevitability was near. The visuals made that much abundantly clear. He should have done this. He should have done that and yet, it happened too fast for him to do anything but reel in the cold and isolated aftermath of it all. An aftermath from which he cannot falter; he had already done far enough of that and at this juncture, he must remain strong even as renewed bits of wetness threaten to deftly slide out the corners of his eyes.

The real Maria is long gone. She has been for a very long time. That was just an apparition. Nothing more and nothing less.

Gone, but certainly not forgotten.

The pale alien takes a moment to just… accept what’s happened… the part he supposed would be hardest, even though he had braced for it.  One.  Two.  Three.  An inhalation of air.  Four.  Five.  Six.  An exhalation of air.  Then he opens his eyes anew and glances out at the remaining fragments in the darkness as the remaining bits of the previous fragment’s backdrop morph into pure glittering golden light–the very same which had once shone through the window in the dream–before concentrating into a beam that fades into his body, right where a heart would be if he physiologically had one.

“I will.  I promise.”

The semantics of that do not matter. Whether it's more complicated or simpler than he can currently envision, limited as his current database is, he will certainly see her request through to the very end.

It's the least he can do. The only thing he can do for her anymore as her son.

[rust-bearer]

Got some zombie thoughts I figured you might enjoy, since they're sort of more First Aid oriented.

It’s nothing too big, for the most part, but lately I've been thinking a little bit more about Aid's relationship with Ambulon, and... well, his relationship with everyone, really, and I’m starting to wonder how that would affect him overall (gonna explain in further detail, that’s so fucking vague lol). He's such an interesting character, and it makes me wonder how long he would manage to survive the apocalypse in the long run. Not like, physically.

Well, maybe physically, but moreso mentally?

If you think about it, everyone else has the capacity for callousness. I mean, sure, so does he, but he's so... I don't know. It's hard to pinpoint. You've got the Combaticons, which — yeah, you know. You've got Ambulon, who strikes me as someone who's kind of seen how bad the world can get and no longer cares anymore, he's like that one shitty parent that's gonna be like "real world sucks kid, get over it" but like, without all the extra trauma. He's probably seen shit, been through it, too, and no longer cares. His mindset is seeing the world like the main character in “Train to Busan.” Sure, he cares, but he knows damn well it's gonna be everyone for themselves out there when SHTF, and he can’t let his own compassion cloud his judgment.

Anyway, this is supposed to be geared towards First Aid, sorry about that, um... okay. I feel like First Aid is gonna have a very, very hard time living post-apocalypse. He's gonna see people fucking other people over, he's gonna see the bitterness and nastiness humanity is known for capable of, hell, he's probably gonna LOSE a lot of the people he's close to. Going off of my Amby shows up out of nowhere thoughts, but it makes me wonder what will happen when he realizes Ambulon isn't going to stay.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like Ambulon is falling off the face of the earth or pulling that end-of-movie move like in "I Am Legend” (I HATED that ending, can you tell?). No, I think it'll be a "we need to sit down, you and I, and we need to talk about what happens moving forward."

Ambulon is an immunologist. As such, it’s his responsibility to solve this! …Right? He’s got duty, he’s got a career (sort of), but most importantly, he has a very, very strong sense of independence. He's stifled there, trapped together in the farmhouse. The Combaticon family gets on his nerves, he feels unsafe/vulnerable, and he just can't handle the way First Aid looks at those kids, all the kids he's rescued, with love and affection and care. He can't stomach the fact that he's going to be leaving, that he won't be staying long term, that he's going back to the abandoned clinic, and he HAS to tell First Aid this sooner rather than later.

I just can't help but imagine how this might affect Aid. Like, he's lost his family (gestalt) and didn't even get a proper goodbye, let alone burial... assuming they didn't up and leave the country or something. He lost his practice, his hospital/urgent care, the unlikely found family that comes from spending so much time with so many people JUST as compassion as him.

He found the Combaticons (sort of) and he's got the kids (for the most part). It's more soul-sucking than it is helpful, but he’s also got Ambulon: a strong, steady, intimidating broody person who he knows he can rely on, who he knows he can trust, and who he knows will be there with him until—oh, what's this? Ambulon's leaving now, too?

It's not forever, he knows. He’ll see him again, he thinks—no, he knows (well, he thinks he knows). They'll keep in touch, or... something. First Aid isn't sure of the logistics, but Ambulon claims he'll find a way to contact First Aid with information and updates and logistics and—and…. That’s it. Nothing personal. Nothing familial, or affectionate, just... information.

It probably hurts. It's probably discouraging, really. First Aid has proven to himself and to others than he can survive, but can he continue living like this?

Eugh, this is wayyyy longer than I'd planned. Still, just figured you might like to play around with this, especially since it does focus more on Aid's mental state and mindset throughout the entire ordeal. Brain stuff is my absolute favorite, so I couldn't help but think about it and give it some consideration. Happy holidays!!

Christmas kept me so busy I almost forgor about this ask while I let it stew in my brain. I don’t even know how but I remembered it when opening a bag of veggie straws and saw the straws had a Facebook; why would I follow their Facebook, what could they even update me on.

Anyway. Slightly related but the book version of I Am Legend does do things differently- I always liked the buildup of the movie, and the way it sets up the “this is his normal day routine” and casually has him lock down his entire house and quietly huddle in the bathroom the entire night in routine terror… really good.

I imagine Ambulon would actually have something similar to that; in the sense that, he does have this survivability to him. Really, he only died in the comics because it was a plot point: First Aid needed someone to die for his ‘moment’, and Ambulon needed to die for Pharma’s. BUT in another scenario bereft of that, Ambulon is very good at surviving off the grid. Not “I’m camping in the woods and fishing” but more, “I have a safehouse and it’s stocked and it’s semi sustainable, and I’m always improving and researching”

First Aid, bless his heart, is the kind of guy who would have died early on in the comics if he wasn’t a semi main character and if JRO didn’t like him. He would be really GOOD at being a dead plot device, yknow? Can make everyone sad about how caring and kind he was, very fridgable. IN THIS story I imagine he is semi aware of how precarious his life grasp is- he’s more likely to die because of his caring, his kindness, his need to help people. It’s the kind of thing he tries not to think about, because the only way to solve that is to stop being who he is, and he can’t. But he can try to convince Ambulon, for instance, to stay. First Aid is absolutely projecting himself into Ambulon, but he’s terrified that if (when) Ambulon leaves, he will be in the same danger First Aid is always routinely in. And he will die. And First Aid’s stomach drops at that prospect.

Ambulon, for his part, tries to distance himself from… this. Not in an unfeeling way, but in that he cares too much. First Aid is his friend. But things are different now, and Ambulon can’t be worrying about that. Refuses to be distracted by imagining life is back to normal. He’s relieved that First Aid found a group of survivors, he really is, but it’s. It’s not for him.

A recurring nightmare is this scene. For who the nightmare is, who knows. But it likes to loop, every night he sleeps.

[midnightwind]

so I beat BG3 finally and I have.... Opinions. This is going to be Very Long and full of spoilers, obviously, so fair warning

So to open with, I do really like Act 1 and 2. They have solid pacing and while Act 2 might be missing more side content, it does makes sense given the whole curse making it difficult to move freely without always having a torch out which can severely impact some builds. So I'm glad we don't spend very much time having to deal with that. (I am dual wielding thief rogue scum, so the torch was Agony)

I think Act 1 does an okay job leading you towards the goblin camp as the big end all of the story section while letting you also decide to hop into the Underdark for extra optional content. The Creche is kind of nightmarish depending on your choices, but I think it's still good content. I simply don't care for the Gith much as a people, but they're an important story beat so it's nice to get more of them before you delve into cursed lands. A1 has a nice balance of exploring and side content to do and I really never feel lost or in a lull. I have a goal and the freedom to do whatever else I want on my way to it. Plus the companions have a lot to say and a bunch of interactions together, especially if you change out a member periodically to trigger new ones.

Act 2 is a bit more rail road-y story wise, but you have the little side quests for Astarion and Shadowheart to pursue, helping Halsin, and a few npc quests to pick up or find. I think the inn defense is a bit of a nightmare because Jaheira will sometimes just nuke the tieflings for daring to be near an enemy, so trying to keep everyone alive is.... it can be a lot. But that's going to be more rng to blame than anything else I suppose. And like, if you don't care about saving everyone then it's a breeze I'm sure, I'm just a goody two shoes. The only bad time I really had in Act 2 was due to bugs, so that wasn't the story's fault! (I fell through the floor and only survived because of Thief's passive to reduce falling damage) Well, okay, the Nightsong fight also sucked. Shove being a bonus action is bullshit and also why would they make that such a problem on a floating rock? I had to redo that fight so, so many times to have my party all make it to round 2 without someone getting launched into the void. But otherwise! The build up to Ketheric and actual execution of his fight were all really good. (Well, I skipped phase 1 of his fight because funny persuasion, but I digress)

They really made you worried about Ketheric, showed how much power and sway he had over the land, especially by making him the source of the curse that was poisoning the land. They went in on making him the big dead boss you had to work to beat. I was excited to see what Gortash and Orin had working for them in Act 3!

But then I actually did Act 3, and man, you can feel the rush here. There's just so much squished into the city to the point where having it split in half doesn't help. The game can barely handle how much it has to always have loaded and moving. And the amount of story feels like they were going to have 4 Acts total, but then were told to push the game out and they just had to throw it all into one Act and hope. I think having Tav deal with either Gortash or Orin for Act 3 would have been better for the pacing and allowed for both of the villains to get proper sway over the city they were taking over.

Gortash has some sway with the Steel Watch stomping around, but they really aren't all that threatening unless you decide to slap one on the ass in the town square. You get a glimpse at what they really wanted to do with Gortash at his coronation, but it never really leaves Wyrm's Rock. Maybe it's because I was playing Rogue and sneaking past every locked door, but I never felt like Gortash was a threat. He was more like a snotty kid in the corner muttering rude names at you. The second he tries to go for you without the public eye around, he's dead. He doesn't even do a good job manipulating you. He's all about schemes and having power over people, but his solution when he sees Tav and the gang is to just... ask them to kill Orin for him and share in the power afterwards. Which would make sense if he hadn't led with the whole killing his last partner idea. Why should Tav trust him to hold up his end of the bargain if he clearly would rather rule solo? If Gortash has full control over the city, or the beginnings of it, shouldn't he be making connections with the big entities? Shouldn't he know more about the group of adventurers set on ruining his plans? He clearly can have Orin walk around the camp whenever he wants, so why isn't he turning any of the companions' baggage against them? He could link up with Cazador to send Astarion into a panic, snap up any stragglers of Karlach's friends to keep her from playing baseball with his head, tempt Gale with magical secrets and knowledge of Netherese. He had an in against Jaheira with Orin's shapechangers infiltrating the Harpers, but apparently they suck at their jobs because they got caught instantly, and also the game just shrugs and doesn't have us save the Harpers. Like, so many of the companions are linked to Baldur's Gate somehow and it isn't used to control them. If you take out the foundry, Gortash is just a guy in a booby trapped room with two goons. There is some poetic justice there about how the schemer is just a man at the end of the day, but Tav doesn't do anything to take his power away outside of getting rid of the mechs and maybe changing a single day's paper printing, if you were so inclined. We have no chance to stop the coronation, to break up the blackmailing and mind controlled nobility, hell he doesn't even make it hard to walk the streets if you betray him! He's supposed to be the schemer, the brains behind the operation, so why does he just sit in his castle and do nothing? He could enforce a curfew, forcing the gang underground and into back alleys. Like, I could see it making some builds more tedious to get around with, but they needed to show his power over the city somehow. The Steel Watch just don't cut it, in my opinion. (I also basically one shot him in his fight with 0 traps even going off so perhaps my opinion is colored by that experience)

Orin, then, well... she barely exists as a problem honestly. She steals a party member a few days after Gortash warns you about her, but the reveal just removes the taken character and you're left down a man. She's a serial killer, Bhaal's own unholy assassin who can change her shape as easy as one dons a cloak. So why does she let her ruse be revealed so easily? I think it would have been more compelling, more insidious if she were to take Tav's love interest (or highest approval companion) and just never reveal it's her. You could stumble across the real companion later, mayhaps fleeing from the cult in the sewers, and be forced to make the call on who's real and who's the fake. We have multiple forms of revival in the game, so you could make this hurt without actually losing a companion forever. You would never know when the switch happened and if you chose wrong, imagine how gut wrenching that would be! Instead her cult is more annoying than she is. The whole Sanctuary mechanic is tedious, the amount of the fuckers in the city begs belief, and having to try to save random npcs on a bloody note proves extremely annoying quickly. We don't know the npcs being targeted which is fine, but when I've restarted 3 times to try and distract the 8 assassins with my party so they don't hit the 50 health citizen 20 times, I start thinking the random shop keep might be better off dead. And it is doable, to save them, it just takes so much to pull it off. Again, maybe it's because I was going through the game determined to save everyone, or near enough, so what should have been moments of feeling helpless were more just a huge pain in the ass. The threat of Orin is too simple because they drop the doppleganger act so fast. Plus, she even offers to call off the killings if you take care of Gortash for her and then meet her for a duel! She solves herself. I think it's honestly a disservice to the idea of the character and she feels like a lot of the ideas behind her just weren't given the time they needed to pan out.

And then we move past them, to the Elder Brain. You spend all of Act 3 working your way up to either taking over this thing or killing it. And then you get stuck in extremely long mob fights for the next few hours before finally reaching the damn thing and it's both a dps check and a fucking heal check. The whole endeavor was a pure slog to me and making the summon allies a full action made it feel like it was just never worth it, I could dish out more damage with my own actions. Plus, the allies can't even follow you inside to deal with the brain so at best you use an action to summon hopeful meat shields. It feels like a poorer version of the defense of Denerim in DA:O. The other companions aren't shown doing anything, or even really hinted at doing anything except for like, 4 of them being at the rallying meeting. And the choice between supporting the Emperor or freeing Orpheus! It felts terrible either way! Support the entity keeping you safe, but lying the whole time who doesn't seem willing to talk about it's plans after dealing with the brain or free the trapped Prince of the Gith and hope he doesn't instantly kill you or lead his people to kill everyone in a war of conquest under a new name because you honestly have no idea what he'll do. It's shit either way.

The actual character endings are rather sparse. Also, fuck whoever thought it'd be funny to have Astarion running off screen if you destroy the brain and the vampire rules reassert themselves. You spend the whole game with him mentioning loving the sunlight and seeing the world how he used to. And then you make it a joke when he loses that? It's a heartbreaking moment and it was ruined by having it framed that way. It felt cruel.

I only got to see the epilogue with Astarion, because I romanced him, and Karlach returning to the Hells with Wyll and while they were both nice, they felt very short. I wanted to see what everyone would do, if the gang would stick together or stay in contact. How would they settle into the remains of the city, who would tag along if Tav decides to adventure on, do they have reunions or get togethers, do we get to have that party? It feels so rushed, like a lot was cut to ship the game out, and the companions all suffer for it. Granted this is if you destroy the brain. The endings where you take it over seem even shorter, albeit executed well for the power trip they're setting up, but you don't get much beyond that to my knowledge. (I haven't gone back to see all of them yet) I spent something like 130-140 hours in this one play through. You spend the whole game working up to this confrontation, this resolution, and it feels so truncated. Even just a still image of the landscape or characters with some text slapped on top to detail how they wrapped up the adventure would have been better than having 80% of the gang forgotten. I didn't take them all out into the world, finishing their personal quests, to have them be left behind like that. I love them all and I wanted to see their happy endings.

I loved my time in Faerun, despite it all, and I'm just a little disappointed with how the last act played out. I wish the game had been allowed more time to be finished, for the love and care that so clearly shines in Acts 1 and 2 to be allowed to flourish in Act 3. The people who made this game clearly care, and they had a story to tell, and it leaves a bitter taste behind that they so clearly were not permitted to tell it how they wanted to.

[fallen-angels-go-to-hell]

i want to go to the beach, alone. But i cant can i-

i just want to go away for a bit.

i keep trying but it never gets better, and i feel like i need closure from D. I promised myself that once i get out of Bangalore ill text him and tell him about everything and get my proper rejection. i need him to tell me he never had feelings for me, for some sort of weird closure. I don't know for what joy i have kept this weird image of him in my mind and emotionally been so shut off. Does your first love actually never go away ?

I wanna say at one point i loved ym too, but never have i ever felt like this about him, i don't regret breaking up with him one single bit and i never ever think about him or feel low about him or anything.

D was my first love yes, but he isn't the love of my life. Morphi is, but i feellike he doesn't get that, and i feel like m trying and trying but m just hitting a dead end. i feel so happy with him, but he doesn't feel happy with me and sigh i do believe he is noshu's first love ([ⁱ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵈ ᵗᵒᵒ, ⁴ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ⁴ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰˢ ᵃᵍᵒ. ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵃʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ¹ ʸᵉᵃʳ, ⁸ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰˢ ᵃᵍᵒ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ. ⁱ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵉ ⁱˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵐʸ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡʸ ᵐᵃⁿⁱᶠᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒʳⁿᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵇʳᵃⁱⁿ ⁱ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ˡᵒʷⁿᵒˢʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗⁱᵐᵉ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵘᵖ, ᵃⁿ ⁱʳʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵘⁿʳᵉᶠᵘᵗᵉᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ⁿᵘᵐᵇˢ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ]).

i just read that post and broke down a few times lol. anyways, i called pulkit, polks is the only one who can tell me what to do. he's my best friend and he knows every single time i have been confused about D or anything for that matter.

i am in such a happy relationship. i feel guilty. i think m going to be a bit shut for a while, i miss having that stone wall around me, and i miss not having feelings and emotions. I feel too much and it sucks.

Noshu is always right but she didnt listen to herself, she always says don't get too attached, look at what happened with D and then she got attached to someone who doesn't even believe she loves him.

I dont know how long its going to go on, i just know id kill myself if it didn't. Nothing is right without him, how am i supposed to survive if the love of my life wasn't there anymore?

Glimmerings

(c) gifs by riverwindphotography

[gothwizardchick]

A Long-Expected Journey

In shortly over a month from now, I will be departing on a pilgrimage. I will be walking from Mineral Wells, Texas USA to Anchorage, Alaska USA, and perhaps as far North as the Arctic Circle. A distance Well in Excess of Four-Thousand Miles.

This Journey will be done entirely on foot. I will be doing this for multiple reasons.

-Firstly, this is a journey I have wanted to make since I was a small child.

There were several times I tried to run away from home when I was young, perhaps because of what is considered by some to be abuse. Regardless, I have wanted to walk from Texas to Alaska since I was around eight years old. I began studying survival around that time, I suppose because I knew I liked walking. I was enamoured by the Natural world and the techniques we used to navigate it. My grandmother would often take me on long road trips, during which I acted as Navigator, reading the maps and watching for signs and such (I got way better at this once I received my first pair of glasses).

If this were the only Reason, then I would say I was probably running.

-Second is that I feel this is necessary as part of my Apprenticeship.

I said before that I was an Apprentice Universalist Wizard. What I did not say, is that I am studying under no specific master. I am, by virtue of the fact that I created it, "The Head" of my order. There is only one other wizard in the order. He liked my vision and felt that it was appropriate to stay in touch.

The Order of Modern Arcana's ranks are thus,

Apprentice - An initiated Wizard, Someone who has signed the Order's Ledger.

Journeyman - a Master of a Field, Someone who can take on an apprentice related to their Field of Study.

Expert - a Doctor of a Field, Someone who has shown great work and dedication to their craft.

Master - a Doctor of Multiple Fields of Study, Someone who can Truly call themselves a Master Wizard.

My Field of Study is Universalism. I study The Universe as a Whole. As a result, the Journeyman requirement for my Specialisation is quite rigorous.

To qualify as a Journeyman Universalist, I need 1,000 hours of different trade schools combined. I currently have about 450 hours split between metal, wood, leather, cloth, electronics, construction, Aerospace Manufacture, and composite bonding. I have experience working in Factories, Workshops, Warehouses, Cleanrooms, retail storefronts, as well as as a stage performer. I sing, act, and dance and can play quite a few musical instruments, in addition to learning Calligraphy and Oil Painting.

I will also need three Master's Degrees. I currently have One (1) Semester of proper college. I forget how many credit hours it was, probably eight? either way, Someday I may start My own University, or other such learning institute, and that means I will need to be competent enough to teach at a Master Level.

Additionally, I will need to wander and ply my trade to those who need it. What good is Wisdom and Skill kept only for the Self?

-Which brings me to my third reason.

I am a member of a Faith occupied by Myself and Only Myself that I call The Order of Death's Embrace. This is not an Official Religion. This is just how I feel personally, and The Name felt appropriate. I do not feel like Death is a punishment. It is part of being Alive. You cannot Live without Death. In order to Live, you must consume many hundreds of thousands, if not millions of Lives. No matter Your philosophy about whether it is right to eat Animals, You must still eat plants. You still need beneficial bacteria that die in service to Your existence.

While on this Pilgrimage I will be hunting and fishing for survival and buying bread and water when I have a spare dollar. I will have to Personally take those Lives, and the Responsibilities of Ending them.

To know what it means to be alive.

Choosing to value my own existence over the lives of those around me. Because I can't Help Anyone if I'm Dead.

Usually, When I tell people that my Principle Deity is Death, they make strange faces and act as though I murder people (which, for the record, I have not). To them Death is something scary.

In Truth, what it means is that to qualify as Clergy of my Faith, I am going to visit Old Graveyards in old towns and tend to the graves of those who no longer have anyone to remember them. Afterall, isn't that what we all want? To be remembered when we Die? For someone to acknowledge that we were Here?

To begin with, I will be wearing Grey Robes. Once I cross the Desert on foot, during the Summer, I will have passed my trial to don my Black Robes.

-The Fourth Reason is something of a Complaint. Everyone, seriously, If I was playing Chess with someone, and they kept inventing new rules, making me stick to the rules, and then cheating even more, I would quit playing that game. I don't know that I can continue playing the game that everyone refers to as Society. I hate it, it Fucking sucks.

Likewise, Everyone is so caught up Blaming each other and fighting over things that don't matter that they never solve the problems they are complaining about. We know there's a problem, let's work on a solution. Doesn't matter who caused the problem. No reason to even bring it up unless you mean to find out more about how to solve the problem by asking the one responsible for its creation.

-But finally, and I suppose most Importantly,

I'm doing this because I want to. All trappings and excuses aside, I want to do this. That's why I'm doing it.

[brightblessed-aa]

@cagedfirebird (x):

An abandoned house full of injured Bearers, it was an odd thing that Cid had sent her to investigate. There was little wrong with the fact that there was another working to free the Bearers of Rosaria from the insult known as the Black Shields that had been crafted specifically by her mother to rub salt into the wounds of the former Duchy. But it was likely the man lacked resources, lacked the ability to offer them care-- and that was what she had come to offer those he had rescued. Tarja would happily see to their ails, and they would have no issues accepting their savior into their ranks or at least offering him coin for his unintentional help. Sword hung from her hand, another beasts blood fresh upon the steel of her blade. The path would need to be clear, it was unknown how injured the Bearers were, or if they were even capable of walking still. She hated how it had come to this, were they not men and women just as the rest of them? Clive had known her mother was never fond of the Bearers or her father's treatment of them, but this was far too extreme. "Whoa, whoa. I don't mean any of you harm, my apologies. No, I would have their blood upon my blade for making a mockery of the Shields and their service to the Ducal throne. I'm one of them too." Strands of ebony were moved off of her cheek, revealing the brand still upon her skin. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. I'm.. with the Outlaw, we wanted to know if you wished for us to ensure they get proper medical attention." Her own blade was sheathed upon her back, not wanting to look as if she would suddenly make a strike at the man. She wished to ally with him if possible, not cause a disturbance that would surely draw unwanted attention.

⸻ ✦Yellow eyes narrowed at the woman. It mattered little if she was a Bearer. He knew firsthand how many would turn on each other for their masters. It was not their fault. Survival often depended on being unwilling to turn a blind eye to disobedience. And while Roi had only JUST escaped from the Empire recently, he could remember it well. He likely would never have had the strength to leave his unit had they not all died aside from him. Even then, there had been a part of him that said it best to report in. He hated that part of him. The part that behaved like a loyal dog.

"Is that supposed to mean shit to me?" Roi trusted no one. He didn't even trust those hidden within. This was all just petty defiance. A search for redemption he would never find. An excuse to hurt people he thought deserved it. There were no heroic intentions here. Even if it could be seen as such. He was far too rotten for that.

"The outlaw...?" Roi had heard whispers of him. People asking if he worked for him. He didn't believe anyone would go out of their way for Bearers. Not without an ulterior motive. Still, he was hurt and exhausted. But he had to put on a brave face. His own mark was hidden, he could try to pretend to not be branded.

"This outlaw bastard... Am I supposed to trust someone out there would help Bearers? Or does he mean to use us--- them for his own ends?" Well, so much for pretending. He can only hope his misstep goes unnoticed.