#i told you it was unfinished

[midlevelmonstrosity]

the full, very unfinished, and VERY unedited draft of Clouds chapter 5

chapter title: Death No More

word count: 5020

reading over it now, the writing style is actually pretty good, but I heavily disagree with some of my choices in characterization, and also I like to think my sense of humor has improved a lot since 2021 (which was the last time I touched this draft)

warnings for pretty much all the usual things in BSD with the exception of graphic violence (didn't get around to writing anything actually violent because this was originally, you know. a crackfic). also this takes place during the Cannibalism Arc, so Spicy, if you somehow find this, maybe don't look. nothing happens to Kunikida in this chapter but there is a Kunikida pov in chapter 2 I think? don't remember honestly. also warning for mentions of disordered eating in Kenji's part

apologies again to the few Clouds fans out there for abandoning this

He drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair he was leaned back in. He could faintly hear the seconds ticking away in the corner of the room. Time was a strange concept, he thought. It was slow, and yet slipped by so quickly, and there was never quite enough of it. 

Red-orange imprints of light flashed across his eyelids. Each tick of the clock felt like a gunshot. 

"So," Ranpo said monotonously, face turned up to the ceiling. 

He was answered with near-silence. He could hear them breathing, of course. But existence wasn't a response, was it?

He sighed and opened his eyes, taking in the room around him. "We don't have enough chairs, do we?"

Beside him, Yosano shrugged with one shoulder, light reflecting off her blouse in a way that stabbed at his eyes. He closed them.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," he said, and returned to reclining, draping an arm across his face. 

Most of the time he was fine, really. He could go around and do things and not have to worry about how much of everything there was. And then there were times like this one, where everything became too much to even keep up the guise of the funny detective. Lights were too bright, colors too vivid, sounds too loud. One wrong move and he'd be stuck with a migraine for the next few hours, at least. Sensory hell, he called it. His very own hellscape, designed just for him! The universe knew him well, knew just what he liked and just what he didn't. There was a cruel sense of balance in that. 

Amid the quiet cacophony, he could just barely pick apart the sound of shuffling feet. "We need more chairs."

The distinct sound of chair legs sliding back. "I'll get them!"

Atsushi, always so eager to please. A multitude of thoughts slipped through his mind. No, not you. No, not now, this isn't the time. There are people in the hallway. Don't go out into the hallway. Not you. He didn't have the time to arrange them properly. "No hallway for you!" he found himself saying. Yelling, perhaps, he amended. Wow, his volume and tone modulation was really bad.

He heard a sound that, by now, he could identify as the kid pausing. "...what?"

The footsteps behind the wall grew louder, by way of the Doppler effect, or whatever. He wasn't a scientist. He didn't need to be. He prepared himself for the slam of the door, for the explosion of noise it would make as it hit the wall.

The slam never came.

Instead, the door quietly slid open. Slowly, one pair of footsteps made it into the room, followed by a raspy cough. "Oh." A pause, and then ominous whirring. "Jinko."

Ranpo adjusted himself in the chair. Where was popcorn when he needed it?

__________

He plunged his consciousness into the depths of his overcoat and wrenched control of it. In one fluid motion, he raised its tendrils and hurled the were-tiger into the wall.

The were-tiger managed to flip in midair and land adequately, skidding back until his heels met the wall, leaving long claw marks in the floor. "Akutagawa," he spat. "Still as violent as ever, huh?"

He strolled further into the room. "And you're exactly as pathetic as always, Jinko. What makes you think you have the right to speak?" Rashoumon twitched and writhed around him. 

The were-tiger let out a low growl. How fitting for an animal. "And what makes you think Dazai would appreciate you ruining a negotiation like this?"

His mind fell silent for a brief, eternal moment. A heaviness made itself present deep within him. He ignored it and straightened. Weak-heartedness had no place in someone like him. He hated to admit the were-tiger was right. 

A voice interrupted his thoughts, crashed through them and pierced into the deepest parts of his mind. "Can't believe you'd ruin my fun like this, Atsushi." Dazai. He forced himself to stay still and ignore the sudden nausea and lightheadedness arising in him. Rashoumon curled around him in a way that was almost protective. He let it. "But I guess you're right. No point in wrecking all chances of a truce." He could hear the smile in his voice. The were-tiger didn't look the least bit terrified. He almost wanted to shake him for his insolence, for his stupidity in not noticing the danger just across the room.

"Yes, of course," he found himself saying, mouth moving as if not even under his control. It felt as if a fog was slowly distancing him from himself.

He felt Dazai's cold gaze turn to him. He forced himself to suppress all traces of weakness, to stand as stoically as he could. Emotions were weak, and he could never allow himself to be weak again. "Where are the others?"

Others? What did he mean by that? The executives? Another group entirely? He allowed the fog inside him to consume him until he couldn't remember what it was like to be human. Much better, he thought. "The executives had to stay behind to deal with...a certain issue. They'll come once it's been dealt with." The Boss had been found, finally, lying in a dumpster in an alleyway not too far from the mafia's headquarters, bleeding out, delirious, and yelling incoherently at a stray cat at the end of the alleyway. Their time was running out, ticking away so, so quickly, and therefore anyone available was immediately dispatched to either help the Boss, investigate what happened, or, in his case, start dealing with the detectives while everyone else was indisposed. He was told he would be negotiating, but, like always, it wasn't true. He was needed to fight. Death was all he was good at, after all.

"And they sent you?" The words were more of a statement than a question.

"Yes." He made himself look at his former mentor.

Dazai hummed noncommittally. He felt as if he had already been dissected and laid out for inspection. "Interesting decision," he said, and Akutagawa could almost believe he hadn't planned the entire situation out. "Well, anyway, that's disappointing. I was hoping to torment Chuuya a little before we were completely out of time." The other detectives almost seemed to collectively wince at the reminder. "Could you do me a favor and remind him he's short every once in a while?" To say his grin was unsettling was an understatement.

Wouldn't that be insubordination? He shoved the thought away and said yes instead. Antagonizing Dazai was one of the worst mistakes a person could do in their lifetime. And he couldn't afford to make mistakes. He couldn't.

He was spared from his thoughts by a crash as Dazai was knocked face-first into the table. "TIME ISN'T LIKE YOUR BANDAGES, STOP WASTING IT!" He searched his mind for a name. Kunikida Doppo. That was who had dared attack Dazai. He stared in mute horror. He knew firsthand what it was like to suffer under Dazai, but it was four years since he was thrown aside and abandoned. What bloodbath would ensue now? Akutagawa could envision it perfectly, a wave of darkness rising in him and threatening to drown him. First he would deliver an incapacitating kick, then crush the fingers, then carve out lines of red in places no one would bother to look—

Dazai laughed. He blinked. Dazai...was laughing. He barely restrained himself from stumbling back. The blood drained out of every part of his body, and he felt an excruciating pressure start growing in his chest. He glanced around the room, at the detectives who looked exhausted and unconcerned with what was happening right next to them. The only times he had ever seen Dazai laugh was when he was about to deliver a punishment more cruel than any human being would be able to come up with. Was this the power of the Armed Detective Agency? Were they really so unbeatable so as to not show even a hint of fear in the face of the Demon Prodigy?

A strangled gasp escaped him and quickly turned into a cough that tore itself out of his lungs. "You okay over there?" the Agency doctor asked monotonously, suddenly looking at him. Her eyes almost seemed to pierce through him and see the useless mess he was, how his body malfunctioned and his very self was so intrinsically flawed that he could hardly be considered a person. 

He snapped up, wiping his mouth and pointedly ignoring the aching itch in his chest. He wasn't weak, he didn't need help, he didn't need anyone or anything, ever. "I'm fine," he spat, and struggled to suppress the next cough.

"Okay," she said, and turned away, clearly not believing him. "Whatever you say." He wanted to scratch that look off her face and beat her until she could see that he wasn't sickly and frail and weak. He may be completely useless, but he would never accept weakness. And, in that moment, he wanted to destroy everything around him until they understood that. 

He realized that Rashoumon was floating around him and forced it to stay down. 

Then he realized that Dazai was flying through the air and was unable to hold down the next round of coughs.

__________

He looked at the Boss's slumped figure in the car seat, still reeking a little of trash, rot, and the distinct smell of infection. They didn't have much time left. Ten hours, if he did the math right, which he did, of course. You can't exactly be a government experiment with the ability to manipulate gravity and not know at least something about how it worked.

He leaned back against the seat and turned his face up towards the ceiling. They had to make it. Had to. He didn't get this far in life just to lose to some greasy, edgelord-wannabe leader of a gang of emo war criminals lying semi-conscious, incapacitated, and restrained in the makeshift hospital of a group of pesky detectives. He laughed mirthlessly. The whole situation was almost funny. Here they were, on the verge of an all-out battle between at least three different organizations, with two important figures hours away from excruciating death due to a virus that ate them from inside, when the leader of the third group ended up being knocked out by a man-child with a can of beans because he decided he'd buy some dubiously fresh vegetables before plotting world domination in his gamer cave. No, it wasn't funny, it was absolutely hilarious, in the most tragic way possible. If this were a movie he'd be cackling with reckless abandon, but unfortunately it wasn't one, it was real, and he was stuck in the middle of it all with his Boss mumbling incoherently just to the left of him and almost everyone else in the Mafia scrambling to get to the Agency before Akutagawa either murdered someone or passed out and before Russian Ratatouille decided to make a break for it and start blowing up the world. He wasn't entirely convinced Dostoevsky was actually semi-conscious and not just pretending to be in order to attack in a moment of weakness, which made the time constraint even smaller, so much so that it felt like time itself was happily tying a noose around his neck.

Just thinking about nooses brought that bandage-waster to the forefront of his mind, which brought the whole incident at the office along with it. He pulled out his phone, already feeling the familiar wave of writhing, dark rage rising up deep within him to replace the annoying feeling of impending doom, and sent off a text he's been delaying for far too long.

why didn't you tell me that bandaged imbecile was out of the hospital? like we SPECIFICALLY AGREED UPON?

He felt the telltale signs of fury bubbling up towards the surface and shoved them back down with all his might. He set his phone down into his lap and closed his eyes, waiting for the onslaught of anger to calm before he ended up destroying everything in his vicinity. Though, Chuuya supposed it was better to have to deal with overpowering feelings of rage and traces of other emotions than be allowed to sit with his deep exhaustion in such a dire situation. After all, it was better to have the angry Mafia exec in a fight than a powerless, powerful barely-human who was so aware of how utterly estranged he was from the entirety of humanity that he wanted nothing more than to lie down and contemplate his own tragic existence. He'd rather be furious than empty. Not much could be done about the self-awareness, though. But it was fine. Chuuya would be fine.

Kouyou had told him, many times, that he used humor as a coping mechanism too much. She also told him that he broke too many phones, swore at his subordinates too much, and hid his problems behind a façade of a careless and hotheaded brute too much to not be concerning. He teetered on a narrow precipice between hating how well Kouyou saw through him and craving understanding and genuine connection with another person. Chuuya was a man of many faces, though, really, wasn't everyone?

"I'm gonna kill you, cat man," he heard Mori mutter quietly. He turned to face his Boss, who was staring blankly out the window. "Y'better watch out. 'Cause 'm gonna..." He turned away, not interested in hearing any more delirious ramblings. Here was yet another prime example of a man of many faces: a cruel military doctor, a calculating mafia boss with predatory tendencies, a regular man with questionable interests, a powerful man loyal to his cause, and a raving madman on the verge of death. What a deal.

His phone buzzed, and he found that he had received a reply.

thought it'd be funny lol

Soft-yet-jagged threads of a burning darkness shot through his entire body, raising his hairs with an unseen force and roiling deep inside somewhere adjacent to his chest, threatening to drown and blind him. He pressed his palms into his eyes hard enough to see stars and took a few deep breaths to salvage the torn pieces of himself from that dark and endless ocean. He could barely form a coherent thought. He grasped onto the first thing that floated up: the fact that he was in a car, then the subconscious realization that it would be highly inopportune to lose control here. As the seconds dragged on (time was running out, time was running out, time was running out), he gradually came back to himself with little reminders of who he was. He was Nakahara Chuuya, and he was who he made himself be. 

After a while, he opened his eyes and waited for his vision to stabilize and for the shifting colors to fade away. He picked up his phone again and willed the corruptive, corrosive flood back under the surface. He was going to stay diplomatic. He was.

  seriously.

The reply was nearly instantaneous. 

  yea lol

He typed a response. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted it. Calmed himself down with thoughts of a cold metal rooftop under the setting sun. Typed a question.

  well did you at least publicly embarrass him like I asked?

  oh u have NO idea huh :D

  what's that supposed to mean.

A typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. He looked out the window to find that they were almost at the Detective Agency's office. He would've gotten there faster on his own, but he had to protect the Boss, who was, at the moment, incapacitated and vulnerable, hence the convoy.

After a few minutes, a response finally came.

  ill send u the sec camera recordings later

  they're WILD

He stared at his phone for a few seconds. He wasn't sure what to expect, but it seemed like his plan was proceeding well enough for the time being. 

  sounds intriguing.

He shut off his phone after sending the last message. They were around a minute away from their destination. He couldn't allow himself any more distractions from the severity of the situation. He brought up everything that has happened to the front of his mind and allowed himself to sink into it. 

It was time for the real fight to begin.

__________

Kenji was bored. He could sit still and do nothing for long periods of time, sure, but that didn't change the fact that he was just. So. Bored. Boredom was like an itch in his brain that he couldn't scratch no matter how much he tried, and it was almost agonizing.

He was tempted to start spinning on the stool again, but the last time he'd tried that—around thirty minutes ago—he'd ended up accidentally putting a dent in the corner of the cabinets with his foot, and had to drag the trash can over from the corner to cover it up. He'd tell Yosano-sensei about it later. 

His foot was bouncing again, he realized after noticing the rhythmic tapping noise coming from the floor. He told it to stop. As people in the village always told him, he had to stay still sometimes or else he'd scare away the animals. That, of course, never happened because all of the animals loved him, and he loved them back. 

Thinking about his love for animals only made him think about food, which in turn made him aware of how hungry he was. It was like a small burning pit in his stomach, twisting and turning like an unruly horse. He was used to it, though. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made to be strong.

He felt like he could eat a horse. Wait, no, that was bad. Horses weren't food.

Kenji sighed and spun around, slowly, to face what he was assigned here to watch: Fyodor Dostoevsky, a guy who seemed to be pretty mean by the looks of it, but also had a cool hat. Maybe if they were lucky he'd turn out to be like Nakahara-san, a little mean-looking and violent but ultimately kind and the coolest city person he'd ever seen. But, if the faces of the rest of the Agency were anything to go by, then he didn't think they would be that lucky. 

Dostoevsky wasn't really doing anything interesting, which was part of the reason why he was so bored. He mostly just slept, or half-slept, and on the rare occasion he opened his eyes they'd be dull and lifeless. "Rare occasion"...as if it hadn't only been two hours. Time was so different in the city. In his village, keeping track of time was much easier. Here, there was too much going on to really notice it passing, too much noise, too much action. It was fast and slow and here and then gone.

Kyouka-chan was here with him earlier, but she left without a word a while ago, and he decided not to pry. Prying was, as he had found out through experience, not very good.

Prying...he wondered what was in all of the cabinets Yosano-sensei had. He doubted there would be anything to eat. But he wouldn't look, because he shouldn't. 

Kenji sighed again and stood up. He ambled over to the curtain hanging from the ceiling, mostly held back by a strip of fabric of the same color so that observing the patient/prisoner would be easier. He looked up at the links it was hanging from. It was such a drab color, nothing at all like the countryside, with its vivid greens and yellows and blues, and the sounds of the animals and plants, and the smell of the food always on display in the market...

His stomach rumbled and sent tiny, sharp pangs through him. He didn't need the food yet, he had a job to do, and that was to stop Dostoevsky from escaping if anything happened. He couldn't eat when he was needed, he reminded himself. Food was a reward for a job well done.

The door quietly opened and closed. He recognized that faint, ghostlike presence and whirled around. "Kyouka-chan!"

Her hands were holding two crêpes, one in each hand. A growl started up in his stomach again. One of the crêpes had honey and lemon inside it, with a bit of powdered sugar on top of it all. To say his mouth wasn't watering would be a lie, and he hated lying. 

Kyouka briskly approached him, knife glinting at her waist. "Eat," she said, and handed him the honey and lemon one. His favorite. 

"I can't," he said, waving his hands in front of him. "I need to be strong for this. It's my job."

Kyouka shook her head. "No. You need to eat," she implored him. She had the blank face she usually had when thinking and the Port Mafia, and his stomach sunk as he realized how serious she was. Not that she wasn't usually serious, but now he knew that he wouldn't be getting out of it.

"But..." he began, "the job..."

"Kenji. I haven't seen you eat even once in the past few days. I know how unpleasant that is." His stomach sunk further. He couldn't just abandon the job, it would be dishonest and disloyal. "Kenji," she repeated, and stretched the crêpe out to him. "You need to eat." She paused and looked at a point near his eyes. After a long moment, she continued. "And sleep."

"I'm fine, though."

Her face took on a colder aspect. "I think you'd find you'd rather eat this crêpe than find out the other methods I know of putting people to sleep." That was her attempt at a joke, he could tell, but he could also tell how painful it was for her to make it.

Kenji sighed and took the crêpe from her. Kyouka-chan was more than capable of covering for his absence. He'd have to apologize profusely to Kunikida-san later.

"You need to sleep too," he found himself saying as he took a seat. 

"I'll be fine." She took a bite of her crêpe, and he did the same. She seemed to contemplate something. "You won't be, though. You might be strong, but you're still human." Something dark and bleak shone in her eyes as she said that, something wholly unfamiliar to the boy he was before coming to Yokohama but now something he'd been seeing more and more often.

He turned her words over in his mind, barely noticing how his leg started bouncing again as he savored the sour-sweet taste of the crêpe. 

Kenji supposed he had just learned a new lesson.

__________

Ranpo tugged at a stray thread as he carefully listened to the new fight begin. This fight was between Dazai and Kunikida, a regular occurrence in the office, so he wasn't particularly interested in seeing it play out. Two fights in the span of, what, fifteen minutes? Really, where was popcorn when he needed it? (In the safe under the main office room. In one of the drawers in the temporary kitchenette set up in a corner. Deep under the couch cushions.) And pain meds. But he'd bother Yosano about those later. Now wasn't the time to burden them.

The clock on the wall continued to sound like an endless series of gunshots shooting off into the abyss. Life really was like one giant battle for him. Lights were like Kunikida's flash bombs, Akutagawa's incessant coughing was like bombs going off in the middle of a hurricane, everyone's breathing was a heavy wind battering at him, and the faint, loud buzzing of electricity sounded like heavily bass-boosted 2013's-era brostep aimed straight at his ear drums. Not to mention that they were one wrong move away from launching into an actual war, though, if he predicted things correctly, then war would've been imminent either way. There was more to the Rats in the House of the Dead than met the eye, but he was never quite partial to seeing, was he? He was a great detective and could figure out anything. Which was how he knew that they were completely f—

The door exploded open with such force that he flinched and nearly fell out of his chair. His eyes flew open and he squinted through the sudden brightness to find that the door was not, in fact, lying in pieces on the floor but rather was just standing open. His mind raced to piece his thoughts together after the sudden interruption. How had he missed the footsteps?

At the door was Fancy Hat Dude, or Chuuya. He supposed it was time to start referring to people properly because it would be such a shame if all chances of (another) negotiation were ruined due to his "improper manners". He scoffed to himself.

Chuuya was no longer at the door, he noted. Rather, the executive was striding over to Akutagawa, who was nearly doubled over, clutching his stomach and coughing violently. Ranpo's ears were still ringing from the cacophony of sound, and he could feel a migraine developing behind his eyes from the sensory hell he was in. He tried to glance over at Yosano and convey his pain through friendship telepathy or whatever, but quickly regretted when he realized that even the smallest eye motion felt like two stabs delivered straight to the back of his eye sockets.

He leaned back again, massaging his forehead with his palms. 

More footsteps were coming up the stairwell and down the halls. Great. No, really, it was great, because now they could finally start discussing what to do with the smelly, gross, and also highly criminal guy currently (presumably) unconscious in a soundproof room that was under supervision by two fourteen-year-olds, and also how to deal with the fact that Fukuzawa (and Mori, he supposed, though he didn't care about him and would actually be rather pleased with his demise) was less than ten hours away from an excruciating death. But he wasn't stressed, not at all, he was a great detective and nothing could ever faze him.

...

...

Okay, yeah, fine, he was extremely stressed and they were all screwed.

__________

That idiot had forgotten to take his meds again, because of course he did. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong, huh?

Burning darkly both inside and out, he strode over to a choking Akutagawa. He slammed his hand into his back, allowed for the power to radiate out and stretch around a new form, and then quickly floated him over to the Agency doctor, who he'd taken note of as soon as he'd stepped into the room. 

"Take him," he barked, and then quickly severed the undulating waves of power stretching out between them. Akutagawa dropped onto the conference table like a sack of potatoes. He didn't have it in him to muster any extra sympathy. "We'll need him later."

He glanced behind him. After verifying the presence of the rest of the Port Mafia higher-ups, he focused in on himself and channelled energy through his legs and into the floor. The floor jolted with a low boom. That got their attention.

"Hey, Armed Detective Agency idiots," he began. "Get yourselves together. We have a lot to discuss. Namely," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "that."

As if on cue, through the door stumbled in a shaky and deathly pale mafia boss, leaning heavily against a flickering little girl. Mori had thankfully come out of his delirium near the end of the endless half-hour car ride, but it was still clear that he wasn't exactly in mint condition, and having been left wounded in a dumpster for several hours was doing nothing to improve his state. If the cannibalism virus didn't kill him, then the infection from whatever was teeming in the dumpsters behind the "Mori Corporation" buildings certainly would, and god, wasn't that a cheerful thought. The future sure was bright and smiling, huh? 

"And that," the Boss continued, pointing a thin finger left.

There was a brief moment of complete silence punctuated by stifled coughs. "Rintarou, that's a plant," Elise piped up. "Dofuto...dosutoefu..." She paused. "Whatever. The Russian's that way." She pointed right. 

"Ah, Elise-chan, of course..." the Boss muttered.

He thought he'd been a loyal part of the Port Mafia for long enough to not get smote on the spot for daring to speak against the Boss, which is exactly why he decided to speak up after half a second of deliberation. "Can we just get on with it already?"

Every eye in the immediate vicinity seemed to turn to him at once. 

"The hatrack's right. We should all stop getting sidetracked and start trying to solve the issue of both of organizations being on the verge of collapse. You know, I'm actually surprised the hatrack even had it in him to come up with such a beautiful idea, this entire time I was convinced his hat consumed his brai—"

The fact that he managed to keep himself from violating all of the Geneva Conventions within the span of a second was a testament to his self-control, and only marginally more impressive than the speed with which the blond detective kicked the offending waste of bandages into the nearest wall. 

"Please ignore him," calmly said Kunikida. "He does this a lot, my apologies. Let's proceed to the topic at hand."

He was a little awed. He made a mental note to buy the detective wine as compensation later.

"Yes, of course," Mori said, sounding strangely distant again.

[feelo-fick]

i thought the reason was obvious..??

but you dont seem to get the implication so i guess ill just keep talking and you can listen if you want to

—

that one meme but its them :] sort of a sequel to this

[astrophysician]

blacked out and this was on my screen when i woke up

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

what if i told you [post could not be finished, because typing involves pressing buttons]

[dreamsy990]

hi i wanted to draw my own au so have a snippet of scene i rewrote like 12 times and will likely rewrite again

[stabbingandorbeingstabbed]

that fucking circus organ at the end of the leaked paper kingdom song im insane i always just assumed the band ditched the whole thing bc it was shitty on top of the emotional toll of the subject matter or whatever i didnt know it ripped :-(((

[hacksawboy]

medic but hes in a shitty i cant decide animatic from 2017

[stupidrant]

Do you have any fanfic recs that aren’t proships? Because all I find when I look for fics on ao3 is proships, I think even that one person who sent a ss of what she saw was having the same issue

If youre asking for any atreboda fanfics, luckily i do 💜in no particular order: 1) grounded/uzieminoy , 2) how do i fair? , 3) the stars here are different (i have no idea if deleted or is just for members. Its about angrboda having a dream of her and atreus in a field and it manifesting into them actually kissing in the golden fields of jotunheim. Its a really cute short story) , 4) of monsters and men (not really atreboda focused but they are there. KEEP IN MIND this fic is very violent and graphic but i really love how the author made this. Its not completed yet but there is a sort of happy end.) 5) window seat (was a oneshot but then author wanted it to be a series but discontinued it shortly after 💔), 6) of atreus and calliope (not completely atreboda focused and i havent been up to date with this one as of late, but it is constantly updated. I recommend for the cute and angsty sibling moments with atreus and calliope), 7) blood upon the sands (freytos focused with atreboda involved. Havent finished this either but i recommend 💚)

[jacquiarno]

It’s Bisexuality Visibility Month (also Suicide Awareness Month), and the biphobia has been constant and intense, even in our own bi spaces, mostly from fellow LGBTQIA+ people.

Bi women have been told they are tainted for being with men, that we are dirty and dick obsessed. We’ve been told we are perverted fetishists by both cis and trans lesbians, with even gay men joining in on the insults, with one even threatening violence towards bi women if they come near lesbians. We even got told we deserve to be abused, raped, and murdered by our male partners because that’s what we deserve for dating men.

Bi men are being accused again for being HIV carriers, with gay men saying they are only good for sex because they will end up leaving them for women. One trans man said he would kill himself if a man started dating a woman after him, not leave him for one but just start dating again and that person being a woman.

I haven’t seen insults directly about non-binary bisexuals, but I’m sure there would be and a lot of hate lumps us all together. All this hates stings me but I can’t imagine the pain of all this for non-binary, trans women, and trans men dealing with it all, and it makes me so disappointed and angry that fellow trans people in this community are hurting them.

Pride Month a lesbian wrote “I wish god would eradicate all the bisexuals” while another wrote “For Pride Month let all the bi people disappear” with both having thousands of likes and comments agreeing. Now during Bi Visibility Month, a non-binary lesbian with feminist in their profile posted “Happy bi visibility month, I hope they find a cure soon 💖”. While continuing to mock us after.

Our allies and so-called LGBTQIA+ advocates have been silent and have even participated in bierasure, laughing at us when we point it out, saying “It’s not that serious.” “Lol the bis are getting upset over nothing again”. Only the bisexual advocates and pages have spoken out against the hate.

The B in LGBTQIA+ is suppose to be for bisexual but this community says and treats us as awfully as the bigots do to all of us. Bisexual is the sexuality that is attracted to two or more genders, that we have the ability to love anyone regardless of their gender. But we’re treated as greedy, perverted, hyper sexual, unfaithful, which from bigots you understand and usually brush off, but from those within the community who go through similar prejudice and should understand, sharing the same ignorant mindset.

These spaces are suppose to be our safe havens as well, but are just as dangerous. We try making our own spaces and even that is invaded by these people, we are beyond exhausted. We need the other members of the community that aren’t biphobic to speak out more and shut these people and this hate down. Because the lack of empathy from this community is frightening and all this in-fighting will allow the bigots to pick us a part more easily.

[fayoftheforest]

noooo dont replay tfbw and reawaken something buried deep and long forgotten within you 😩 ur so sexc ahaha 😏

[sollody]

Joyce is (almost) always right ... right?

Um...

Remember the scene where Brenner tries to manipulate Joyce - most definitely - in order to get her to help him get Eleven back (1x08)?

Well, I can't help but think that her reaction is a bit ... suspicious...

[Huh!?!?!]

To me, the response seems quite odd considering she knows about Jane and her abilities. She's well aware that the man in front of her has a history with Jane. Not Will. Jane. Eleven. 011.

Hopper even admitted that "he had been chasing after some other kid" - after she pointed it out (1x06).

And yet, she decides to accuse Brenner of taking Will and leaving him in that place to die.

[I mean, I get that she was probably trying to leave Jane out of it in order to keep her safe or something - but she could've easily been like: Uh, yeah, right. Your people just handcuffed me and took me to this creepy interrogation room. Why would I help you? - or something.]

And the way she puts it ...

It's not an assumption - it's a statement.

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

Just so you know, I - obviously - don't think it was Brenner who took Will and 'sent' him to the Upside Down. :D

But!

They've made it quite obvious that Joyce has some sort of ... sixth sense.

So what if she really is onto something in that scene with Brenner?

There are a few things that suggest that he (or the lab in general) had been in the know about Will (and his powers) - even before the events of November '83. (The fake body, Brenner's reaction in the shed etc.)

And I've always considered the conversation between Brenner and Connie Frazier (1x08) to be particularly ... interesting.

It feels kind of ... random, no?

----------

Like I've said, Brenner obviously didn't take Will and put him in the Upside Down.

However, he may have taken advantage of the situation.

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

My thoughts:

First of all, you may or may not be aware that quite a few people (looking at you, @pinkeoni , @chirpsythismorning and @ki-flor :D) are convinced that Will has creation powers and created the Upside Down version of Hawkins.

I am no different. :D

In fact, I take the matter even a little further: I believe that it's possible that he has something to do with the yellow wasteland version as well. [here and here]

Let's assume Brenner really had been aware of Will's abilities...

... we all know what he was like. He didn't give a damn about common moral and ethical principles...

So what if he really did intend to leave him there? - for research purposes or whatever

Like one of those "Hm, let's see what happens."- situations.

Another possibility: he was scared of Will's powers.

I must admit, this seems a bit silly. But there has to be a reason Will wasn't part of the experimentation program (in 1983) - even though they were aware of him. Perhaps Brenner and his team had never been able to find a way to deal with our boy's abilities. It's also possible that it has something to do with the huge amount of parallels between him and Henry.

So maybe he really did want for him to die in that place.

Who knows?

All I know is that we should never, ever underestimate a gut feeling of Joyce Byers. :D

---------

Anyway, thanks for reading. (:

[pet-cemetery-emotes]

unrealted but what does endo mean? /genq

Short hand for endogenic! Which usually means anyone who is plural for non trauma reasons! or who doesn't relate their plurality to trauma. if you don't know what plural means, there are a lot of definitions! I'd recommend googling around or talking to plural people, because i dont have good words today. plurality is often associated with DID, but that's not the only source or cause :) another common one is MADD (maladaptive daydreaming disorder) or immersive daydreaming!

take this with a grain of salt, though - people will often change their personal definitions of what it means to be plural or endo to exclude others. perhaps because of their own internalized ableism, or exerting control over their online spaces is the only control they readily get, or because picking on a subculture of a subculture means that their targets often won't be defended and they can get away with using them as stress toys. Similarly to queer infighting, and aphobia. Thumbs up emoji

[thelegendofmrrager]

what if I started reblogging osmosis jones fanart again. would that drive the property value down around here. would it scare the normies away

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

i want to spread the "what if I told you I stopped pressing buttons" outside of the kotlc fandom. I want people to not know the origin or why it's funny but still reference it anyway

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

Sooooo, Y2k finally happened 24 years later and we weren’t prepared.

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up