#i used my psychology degree and sleep deprivation to write this shit

[goldyluna]

I got inspired by @rosehippiefield's post about Shin's advice on how to deal with Midori and his own behavior towards Sara (that you can find here!). It made me want to analyze more his reasons behind all of his cruel acts. And how some other people from our main cast were affected because of the death game. So.

People can act very differently in different situations. Their emotions and behaviors are always connected to something they go through. No matter if we understand why and how.

So people that are aggressive, cruel, judgmental, rude, miserable, or every other negative adjective usually have a reason for being the way they are. Knowing the reason is really important for understanding others behavior. Of course understanding the reason doesn’t automatically mean we should like this person or forgive them!

Aggression can happen as a natural response to stress, fear, or a sense of losing control. People also react harshly and negatively when they feel like they are mistreated, people don't listen to them, or they are just frustrated. Fear is a really important factor in how we act too.

In Your Turn To Die we have a really specific situation. A few unsuspecting people got kidnapped and put in an unknown place to fight for their lives.

Death itself is a really strong stressor. So adding to it that basically everything is unknown is really not helping with the pressure.

Like was said before, people can behave differently even in similar situations. Really important are the personality, previous experience and predispositions.

Our main cast experiences different things, and because of that, their perspective and way of going through their current situation can be even more different.

Each of them will react differently because of the trauma and reactions of the body to the situation. Some of them even had traumas before landing in the Death Game by Majority.

There, of course, will be feelings connected with experienced trauma (during and afterwards). There are some that we can also see in the game:

Anger

Numbness or difficulty feeling any strong emotions

Lost

Fear or panic

Grief

Worried

Irritation

Confusion

Restless

Hypervigilance

Shock or horror

Shame

People may be affected by trauma in many different ways. There may be problems with looking after yourself, not being able to have a stable job, being distrustful, forgetting things or they can struggle with low self-esteem. People like that can experience flashbacks, panic attacks, dissociation or suicidal thoughts.

After this long introduction, let's take a closer look at some of our characters!

NAO Nao lost someone very dear to her. She even went a little crazy for a moment. But she is so strong mentally she moved past the death, she didn't give up.

A lot can be said about Nao. That she is rational, really smart, selfless and she is not afraid of making sacrifices for a greater goal. That's why it was her that pushed fake Reko down the pit, saving Sara from making the decision.

She doesn't hold a grudge against Shin. She really pays attention to details, so she notices Reko behaves differently. But she still hits Shin because she got scared (Kai's making) and, more importantly, we get the Massacre Ending.

It is not the greater good, this is not selfless. It is selfish and only for her (and Sara), so she can live. Because it is not fair for anyone to be destined to die.

KANNA Kanna was searching for comfort from Sara. She viewed her as someone safe and trustworthy. Someone she can look up to as a big sister.

I am not saying she was replacing Kugie, but at that moment she needed a sisterly figure and Sara suited this role so well. She gave her support and spent time with her. Sara was the one that was there for Kanna and was from the very beginning.

We see Kanna as someone cowardly, shy and innocent. Maybe a little too trusting. The death she experienced at the beginning didn't help and only made the whole experience worse. But she was with people that she trusted and wanted to help. That she was so brave in the second Main Game, making her death a choice. And even if she lived, her demeanor changed. At least a little. She wants to live for those that died for her and it is making her stronger.

Kanna will always be Kanna, but thanks to all the people that support her, she could show her real self. The prettiest flower in the game.

Q-TARO Q-taro is someone who changed his ways. He could escape with the tokens he got (and did), he could leave Gin for dead. But he wants what he thinks is the best. Being alive was the best he could think of at the beginning.

He is an easygoing and friendly giant with high levels of anxiety and selfishness. He has his moments of doubt, like with the tokens.

When we give him enough tokens, he escapes. Even when Rio tells him that, if he inserts all tokens, everyone else will die. Even when he is offered his tokens back. He just apologizes and turns away from Sara.

When we won't do the trade with him, he can't go with his plan. When his doll talks during the coffin roulette, he admits he wanted to abandon them all even if it meant killing someone. And when he talked with Mai after she woke up, he said that he would do the same as her, but he didn't have the opportunity.

He trusted Mai and didn't blame her for the stabbing because he understood. He made the whole plan of saving others by dying himself. Sacrifice from a guy wanting to live hits so hard.

KEIJI The thing with Keiji is complicated. He is a liar, a murderer and a skiver. But he also is so full of guilt and anger. He is still grieving. Years passed, but he still feels guilty about the death of Mr. Policeman.

He is angry, desperate, lost in the dark thoughts. And he acts on them during his First Trial. But Megumi was his friend once, someone really important to him. They drank together, worked together, spent a lot of time together. So he had another's blood on his hands and the whole death game on his head.

He isn't trusting anyone because he knows he himself has something to hide. But he suppresses all the emotions and hides behind humor and fake flirting. He lies about being a policeman because he thinks that would be the way for others to not think he did anything horrible.

He doesn't feel like someone who can do anything about his situation, let alone theirs all. It is easier to give responsibility to another person, even if she is only 17 years old.

He acts how he believes is the best. He acts without telling the person that is supposed to trust him the most his plans. For the best or for the worst.

The death game isn't really a good supplement for therapy.

SARA Sara is very strong-minded, very befitting for a leader. She is our main character, so it is obvious a lot will revolve around her. But even this is too much. There is just so much on her shoulders.

She is only in high school but she almost died a few times (and she did, probably, as we are the players, so the GAME OVER screen isn't strange for us) in a very short time. She got people she can trust and those that hate her and make her life harder. She became a leader for all of them and they look up to her.

"Are you going to be our goddess of victory... or our angel of death?”

A lot of pressure is put on her. She will be the reason everyone will survive or die. Isn't that comforting, Keiji?

But okay, some may say that she is a born leader anyway, but she holds onto Keiji really hard. He is her anchor after Joe. It is also a way to destroy her if she will ever lose him. Because while Sara is she's extremely competent, she makes mistakes. But we know she will always get up.

Sara is also even more interesting, because we know her rate of survival is 15.5% (and the % of our participants is really curious in itself and deserves its own post). We saw a lot of faces of Sara thanks to simulations. She could be merciless, manipulative and ready to do anything to survive. She is obsessed and selfish, not caring for anyone else, just herself.

And we can't blame her, she wants to live. When we are desperate, we do things that aren't good. Those horrible situations, life-threatening ones, make us different people.

Have you ever heard about the Johari Window?

The Johari Window is a quadrant diagram that is used to show how we know ourselves and how others perceive us. It can be a tool to understand ourselves—how we behave, our character traits, skills, attitudes, knowledge and reactions.

Like the name suggests, there are four parts to this model.

Open Part - there are things that are known to you and others. If you know you are shy and you act shy towards other people, all of you know that you are shy. We know Nao is an artist. She knows that and tells others she went to study art. She was completely Open with that.

Hidden Part - is when there are aspects only known to you. You keep them hidden from others so others won't know those things about you. For example, you can be very opinionated, but you don't show it to others. Then they can't know that your opinions may be different than theirs because they can't hear your thoughts.

Blind Spot - it is the complete opposite of the previous part. There are things that others know about you, but you are not aware of them. Kanna is really clever. She figured out the password to Kai's laptop when Shin had a problem with it and she knew that Shin tampered with her sister's message. But she still thinks of herself as not smart (she says that in chapter 2 part 2).

Unknown Part - this one is really interesting, because about this part neither you nor others know about yet. Mostly it stays a secret, but sometimes, where there is a really unpredictable situation that can, for example be life-threatening, that Part may come to light.

We never can know how we will behave during those situations that we never lived through. We don't know if we will fight, flight, freeze, flop or fawn.

Q-taro and Sara are perfect examples of the Unknown Part of the Johari Window.

Q-taro's high level of stress pushed him to do some horrible things. When he had to actively choose if it was him or Gin that would die, he didn't do anything. He let Gin get hit because he was afraid to die, even if the poison would work slower on him. Some shame him for this, but if we were in his place, would we do differently? Click a button that could kill us. We don't know and we hopefully won't.

We may say we would do or not do some things, but until the situation happens to us, we won't be sure.

Similar with Sara and her behavior. All the things she did, all the thoughts, emotions, relationships and ways of doing things we see are a result of some really important factor. She changes after the logic route, why?

Because of Joe. He is her tranquilizer, her anchor, her morality. He was the person that made Sara care during the death game.

Her whole behavior switched only because of one person.

When we pick Kanna to live, Sara is how we know her. Compassionate, strong, mature. But when Shin lives, Joe dies again, but this time in her memories. It makes the situation similar to those in simulations.

Even Sara is terrified by what she is doing.

SHIN (+ Midori)

And that's why Shin is so suspicious of Sara all the time! But let's start at the beginning with him.

Shin is, like every character in YTTD, a very complex character. We know him as an annoying, scary and cruel man for most of the game. Some of us hate him still and some took him as their favorite.

What he did and his reasons aren't forgettable. But it is nice to see a reason behind his behavior.

Midori is sadistic and really cruel. He torments others for his own amusement and loves to watch them break. He loves to make others be afraid of him—and that's why he always tries to be intimidating by holding eye contact and saying unsettling things. He is mean and childish, but he also is really good at reading people. He uses that for his own use, to push the limits of others, control them and let them fall in desperation.

Shin spent a lot of time with Midori. He was his only friend in school and he was so scared of him. Midori did everything to make Shin uncomfortable, but also unable to leave him.

But thanks to that, he knows a lot about him. Shin knows Midori loves control, so taking it away from him is lethal. He knows that Midori is so afraid of death (even if Midori thinks nobody will ever kill him), he is a coward that cares only about himself.

When Shin gives Sara advice, it is so ironic. He tells Sara she should act how he acts towards her. To try to intimidate Midori, make him scared, take away his control.

The advice is important, because only thanks to that can we see how Shin sees Sara and his situation.

Sara is so similar to Midori. Shin can see in her all those cruel acts that never happened. She is in so much control because she is the leader and makes a lot of final decisions. She can be so intimidating. She has sometimes emotional outbursts (that are entirely justified). Additionally, she has a really high % of survival that automatically makes her the most dangerous enemy.

Of course Sara isn't like Midori. Their reasons are different and Sara is genuinely a really good person. But Shin has problems with distinguishing them.

Shin definitely got traumatized during his "friendship time" with Midori. It affected him so much, he is searching for danger in anything remotly similar to what he already knows. His defence mechanism and heuristic try to save him, but it does more harm than good.

He got hurt by someone close to him, so he is extra careful. He doesn't want to be too close to people, prefers to be distant and mean. He prefers to act as someone he hates and is scared of, why?

Because he is afraid. In his own eyes, he is weak and easy to get rid of if he is useless. He thinks the way to survive is to act as the only person that made him feel the worst.

Intimidation, cruelty, cunning, manipulation, lies. Those are the keys to survival in the world where it is kill or be killed. If he is those things, he may live longer than if he were himself.

But as we know, Shin also isn't like Midori. He cares—for Kanna, Gin, even for Keiji and Sara. And he wants them all to escape, despite everything. But going back to old Shin isn't an option anymore. Too much has happened.

Fear is infinitely connected with anger. Anger makes people mean and impulsive. That's why after Kanna's death, he made the worst Joe experience for Sara. That's why he was so mean to Kanna when it turned out that she isn't the Sacrifice and is ready to die for him.

That's why he hates Sara. He is so, so afraid it hurts.

He wants to destroy any possibility that could hurt him and the only way, in his opinion, for that to happen is to hit first. And that's how they should fight with Midori.

Fight fire with fire.

But if anyone knows how extinguishing fire with fire works, then they know that at the end both fire dies and the forest will still be burnt. There will always be victims, no matter if they are main or side characters.

Fire destroys. Midori is so widespread that he can't be stopped by using only water. Sara is a small fire that Shin wants to nip in the bud before it is greater than the forest itself.

But we are heading towards the end slowly. There are fewer and fewer people. Relations will always be strained but also deeper, on another level. Let's see how they will act in the final chapter!

THE END

Finally, I just want to say: there always will be choices to choose, decisions to decide and fires to fight. We can hate, love or like anyone for any reason, but it is important to understand the other person.

Sometimes life is so unpredictable. We won't know what will happen and what we will do. We don't know ourselves as well as we think we do.

But let's be kind to ourselves and others. We don't know what they went through and what will happen to us.

[kareofbears]

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—  

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

[songficsbyrissi]

The Fix (T’Challa x Black Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, smut

“And when that pressure's building

I got what you need, come fuck with me

And when you get that feeling

I got sexual healing” - Nelly feat. Jeremih

A/N: If you haven’t heard this song, get your life lol and go watch the music video which inspired the plot. And this smut is probably trash but points for effort, right? So in the words of Chris Breezy, LEGGO!

************************

“Come on, girl! This will be good for you!” Your friend Ari urged on the phone and you scoffed in response as you scrolled through Netflix. “Don’t be like that, hoe!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed out of frustration. “Bitch, for the last motherfucking time, I don’t need fucking therapy. And besides, we are fucking black. Jesus and food is our therapy.”

Ari sucked her teeth on the other line. “Mhm well Jesus says you need some damn therapy. And the food agrees by the same way it be going to your thighs and ass.”

You put down the buffalo wing you were about to bite into and looked down at your thighs.

“Bitch, thick thighs are in!”

She groaned as a reply. “Seriously, girl, I’m worried about you. That bum ass nigga Aaron you call a boyfriend got you all types of fucked up with this stupid “break” he proposed. You’ve been only studying, working, eating, and sleeping. You refuse to go out with us. The only time you go out is to your classes. You’re alone a lot. Look, I’m not trying to find your dead body one of these days because I’ll Lorena Bobbitt that nigga and I’ll end up grieving your death in prison. Do you want that for me? Do you want that for your friend?”

You blinked repeatedly and squinted your eyes in annoyance. “Bitch, you are so dramatic and annoying.”

Ari perked up. “So that’s a yes. Aight so I’m telling Professor Udaku you’re stopping by his office in a hour for a session.”

“Professor Udaku? Isn’t he your psychology professor?” You questioned biting into your buffalo wing you abandoned when the slut on the other line insulted you.

“Yes, but he’s a licensed therapist. He does therapy sessions part time. So shut up, drop the damn buffalo wing, and get dressed. He’s waiting.”

You stared at your phone, the wing in your hand, and then back at your phone. “Alright, hoe. Are you watching me?”

Ari let a snicker and you knew she was smirking. “No, bitch. I just know your ass. Byeeeeee.”

You got dressed and after a good amount of time, you finally found the Moakley building where the famous Professor Udaku had his office. You cringed remembering how you reluctantly asked a group of girls how to get there and they mistaken you for a freshman. It’s your third fucking year at this school, you just weren’t used to coming on this side of campus. Their faces brightened up once they heard his name.

“Of course we know where his office is! He’s like the hottest professor and he’s so smart too! His therapy sessions are the best. Everyone calls him “The Fixer!” They gushed.

Yeah aight. Olivia Pope headass. We’ll fucking see.

You groaned loudly. You really had no business on this fucking side of campus but you are gonna suck it up and attend this one session so Ari can shut the fuck up. You finally found the wooden door that read “Professor T’Challa Udaku.” Mhmm, He’s African. You wonder which part but you didn’t come here to be his friend. You took a deep breath and knocked softly.

The door swung open revealing a 6 foot tall, muscular, man with smooth chocolate skin and black curls on top of his head. He had donned on a black hoodie, black jeans, and black Timbs. You looked up to his face seeing his coffee colored eyes looking back at you curiously. He looked young as fuck and sexy as fuck. Must be a TA or something.

You glanced behind you and put your attention back on him. “Oh I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be meeting with Professor Udaku. I can come bac-“

Handsome stranger cut you off. “I am Professor Udaku and You must be Y/N. It is my greatest pleasure to meet with you.”

You stood there dumbfounded and you’re pretty sure if you were a white girl, you would be blushing hard out of embarrassment. He stepped aside to allow you to walk in and You put your head down to hide your face.

“I’m so sorry. You just look so young. I’m such a dickhead.”

“No worries. I’m not too much older than you anyway so I can see why you thought that. And please. Call me T’Challa.” He spoke in the richest, smoothest accent you’ve ever heard. It sparked something in you that you haven’t felt since Aaron ghosted you. “Please have a seat. Ari has told me much about you.”

You place yourself into the leather armchair as T’Challa sat in an swivel chair across from you. The only thing between you guys was his dark oak desk. You looked up at the wall behind where you see a diploma that reads his name and says he graduated from University of Wakanda. You’ve never heard of that but didn’t care enough to ask. You looked back at him staring you and you get even more nervous crossing your arms. Suddenly you remember what he last said.

“Oh yeah. Of course she did. She got a big mouth. Listen, long story short, I’m on this break from my boyfriend and just because I’m not having much of a social life, she’s worried I’m depressed.” You paused and when he had raised one of his thick eyebrows, you continued narrowing your eyes. “But I’m not. I’m fine. So can you tell her that so she can hop off my clit?”

T’Challa chuckled when you finished and you’re not usually attracted to gaps but he had the most gorgeous smile. You ignored the throbbing down low and huffed looking down.

“Ari mentioned you were very....belligerent at times, and I see that this “break” from your boyfriend is making you tense. I’m examining your body language, I see that you’re nervous.” He stood and moved in front of you leaning back on his desk. “What’s making you so tense and nervous, Y/N?”

You crossed your legs fuming. It was pissing you off how you were so attracted to this man you just met and you had a whole boyfriend. Your eyes found his crotch and you couldn’t help but wonder how big is his- Snap out of it!

“I’m not nervous.” You finally let out.

“Y/N, you’ve barely made eye contact with me since you got here.” T’Challa came a little bit closer. “Do I make you nervous, Y/N?”

Oooh yes say my name again. You mentally slapped yourself. Bitch, what’s wrong with you? Pull it together.

“I take it that you haven’t been intimate for a long time now which is making you tense and belligerent and you’re nervous because you’re attracted to me. Am I correct?”

Did this motherfucker just tell you that you’re dick deprived in technical terms? That you are depressed due to lack of dick? Dickpressed? And saying you’re attracted to him? It’s true but fuck. He ain’t supposed to know that.

You let out a nervous laugh but tried to disguise it. “You’re crazy. I’m not attracted to you. I have a man, sir.”

“Indeed, you have a man but you also have needs and your man is not fulfilling those needs. Lack of intimacy can drive one crazy. Simple psychology.” T’Challa stated simply looking smug. “If it makes you feel any better, I find you attractive too.”

You felt your skin burning under his eyes and gritted your teeth. “For the last time, you’re wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Then why are your eyes on my genitalia?”

SHIT.

You shook your head vigorously. “Ok! So what do you want me to do? Mhmm Doctor? Since you got your degrees and you know every fucking thing, what do you suggest? You gonna write me a prescription for dick?!”

T’Challa pulled the armchair you are sitting towards him causing you two to be face to face with his lips dangerously close to yours.

“I was gonna say I could....fix your problem. That is....if you let me.” his lips brushed against your nose and went down to your jawline. “All you gotta do is say yes.”

At this moment, you felt like R. Kelly. Not pissing on niggas R. Kelly but Bump and Grind R. Kelly. Your mind is telling you no but your body is telling you fuck yes.

“I’m.....I’m not a cheater....I can’t cheat on my boyfriend.” You breathed as his lips found that spot on that neck that always made you weak. That’s your fucking spot!

“Ahh, but entle, he is cheating you by leaving his woman deprived of intimacy. Allow me to fix the issue he created.”

You let out sharp breaths of arousal as he began to give open mouth kisses to your spot. Your hands find the curls on his head and you find yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to your core.

“Fuck......yes! Yes! Give it to me! I need it!” You find yourself saying the words before you can even catch yourself. He took your words as an invitation to lift your body off the chair, turn around and sit you on the desk. T’Challa planted his lips on yours and slipped his warm tongue inside. You returned the kiss and he softly bit down your bottom lip. Your hands traveled inside his hoodie feeling up on his abs. He ceased your makeout session to completely remove his hoodie, revealing his perfectly sculpted chest. He tossed it to the side, letting out a slight chuckle.

“Is this much better for you, entle?” T’Challa’s cheekbones became more visible as his gorgeous face formed a closed mouth smile. He was so fine. Too fucking fine. Why didn’t you believe those thirsty bitches that told you? You tilted your head to the side biting your lip and inspecting this work of art in front of you. You don’t know where it came from but you had sudden force of confidence as you removed your grey crewneck showing your breasts in a red push-up bra.

“Stop asking questions and show me why they call you “The Fixer” the words flowed out of your mouth seductively. Once again, in the back of your head, you wondered “what the hell has gotten into you?” All this boldness and confidence was never you and the fact that you’re about to fuck a college professor baffles you but you’re too deep in lust to back out. You needed something inside you that wasn’t your fingers or your vibrator.

His lips took possession of yours once again and this makeout was more steamy and rough and you loved it. He grabbed your chin and looked deep into your eyes.

“You have a slick mouth. Maybe I should put that to use.” T’Challa stepped back a little and looked you over. “Remove all your clothes now. Don’t waste any time and do as I say.”

You breathed pulling the string of your matching sweats, moving them off your legs along with your short patterned slipper boots. He was watching intensely as you stripped and you felt more aroused and sexier under his smoldering stare. Like a vixen. Sadly, Aaron never made you feel this way. You removed your bra and went to take off your panties when you noticed T’Challa’s jeans around his ankles and his hands wrapped some abnormally large limb. Your eyes widened. Aww fuck. That’s his dick. That nigga is packing a whole sausage and you had the nerve to be bold before. He stroked his shaft slightly looking at your stunned expression.

“What’s wrong, entle?” You hear humor in his tone. He knows he got a third leg.

You cleared your throat. “Uh, nothing. What does “entle” mean?” You questioned as T’Challa discarded his jeans and shoes. He walked back up to you planting kisses on your collarbone and down your breast as his hand caressed the other one.

“It means beautiful. Which is what you are. Now lay back for me and open your legs as wide as you can.”

Shitttttt he ain’t gotta tell you twice. You nodded and obeyed his command. T’Challa continued planting his kisses down your torso and reached your pussy a little bit of hair due to you shaving last week. Even though you haven’t gotten any in a long time, your older sister always told you to “always have your pussy in edible condition.” Her nasty advice actually came through for you.

His lengthy fingers played with your other set of lips causing you to moan breathlessly. You felt his digits push their way inside you thrusting. He began eating you as his fingers picked up the pace. You groaned grasping your breasts throwing your head back.

“Fuckkkkkk! Shit!” Your hand found his hand giving it a push but he slapped it away looking up at you with piercing eyes. You whined at the absence of his touch.

“Allow me to devour you. You’re so delicious , entle. Do not interrupt me.” He grabbed you by you by your smooth thighs and pulled you down. You didn’t realize that you ran from him until he did that.

“And you are not cumming until I tell you to. Understood?”

You nodded vigorously. “Understood. Please fuck me.”

T’Challa grinned shoving his beautiful back between your thighs. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your legs shook as you caressed his head. It encouraged him to slurp you even more. Your orgasm came on and you tried not to scream remembering you were in a college building where students and professors could hear you. When you were close to cumming, T’Challa ceased the activity standing up and placed a condom on his dick. Shit, you heard it from that Katt Williams stand up but didn’t think it would ever happen to you. This nigga ate your pussy so good you forgot dick was coming right after. He bit his bottom lip as he opened your legs wider and aligned himself at your entrance.

“Fuckkkkk he brought dick too.”

T’Challa looked at you confused and amused. “What did you say?”

You groaned leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes closed. “Nothing. Just fuck my cervix up.” You muttered.

“You talk too much but I like a verbal woman.” T’Challa slowly entered you and your mouth formed an O as you took every inch of him. You knew it’s been a while since you had dick but you gonna take this like a champ. He slowly moved inside you so you can get used to his size. You moaned loudly feeling yourself about to combust.

“Are you alright?” T’Challa questioned keeping his agonizingly slow pace.

“Yes.” You breathed biting your bottom lip.

“Good.” He pushed your legs back further and started pounding your shit intensely. You began yelling curse words and calling for God when your hands found your mouth stifling your screams. He went deeper as if you wanted someone to hear y’all. The sounds of slapping skin, stifled screaming, and T’Challa’s grunts of pleasure. Your second orgasm came on and you bucked from underneath him.

“CHALLA!” You yelled out releasing yourself all over him. Once you ran empty, you breathed heavily wiping your forehead. You peeked up seeing T’Challa’s dick still hard.

“Are you ok with another orgasm, entle?” T’Challa asked helping you up and kissing your lips and jawline. You nodded saying yes. You needed a third orgasm.

“Then turn over, lay flat on my desk, and open your legs wide.”

“But I wanna taste you.” You pouted getting off the desk. He smiled touching your lips and kissing you again.

“Not this session, ngelosi. Maybe next time. Now do as I say. I didn’t forget you disobeying my order by not cumming on command.”

You obeyed his command spreading as wide as you can. You braced yourself knowing he intended to fuck your shit up as punishment. T’Challa slapped both of your ass cheeks and entered you from behind going the fast pace he did before. You leaned up your elbows slowly as he stroked roughly daring you to cum once again. You began to throw it back which drove T’Challa crazy because he started cursing and groaning in response.

“Bast! You feel so fucking good around me, gorgeous.” His right hand found your neck and the left held your ass as he pumped even faster. You shrieked in ecstasy gripping his desk as he continued breaking your back. You let yourself cum again. His strokes slowed down and his loud groan filled the room as he came into the condom. T’Challa pulled out of you and sat back in the leather chair across from his desk. You steadied your breathing as he got up and threw the filled condom in his trash can.

“Did “The Fixer” live up to your expectations?” T’Challa inquires smugly dressing himself as you managed to get yourself dressed even though you were worn the fuck out.

You looked away from him shyly as you grabbed your crewneck and pulled it over your head. You walked very slowly towards to the door and sighed stopping midway glancing in the professor’s direction.

“Yes. You fixed my...problem.” You attempted to hiding your grin that forcing itself on your face.

T’Challa came up to you grabbing your hand and placing a small white card in your hand.

“When you need that fix again, you know who to call.” He winked giving your hand a tender kiss.

You nervously made your way out of his office and shut the door behind you. You walked down the hall a few steps and looked down at the card that read his full name and cellphone number. You peeped back over at his door and bit your lip.

Maybe you’ll need that fix again soon.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Alcohol Was Invented by the Gods...for Parents

Today it's finally clicked for me, why there's so many memes and posts dedicated to Moms and their love of wine, or alcohol in general.

I am tired. I am chronically bitchy and irritable and stuck within 4 walls with 5 kids. Their personalities are as wildly varied as their ages; from newborn to teenager and I don't know how to parent each of them individually. You'd think, after being a mother for nearly 14 years, I'd be a veteran, I'd have this shit pat down.

Sure, being a SAHM is one of the toughest jobs a parent can have, and true, it can be rewarding, but at the same time it can be psychologically damaging. The constant arguing, bribing, negotiating, demanding...and that's all AFTER the civil conversations. My issues vary amongst the kiddos too; one refuses to do her chores correctly or just doesn't do them, another half-asses them and I have to go 'round and clean up what they supposedly cleaned and the other 2 just refuse to do their ACTUAL chores in favor of doing the easy things that'll earn them points on their chore chart. My oldest is lazy, which, I wish if I were as lazy as her, I wish I could be as thin as her. My son, though he is INCREDIBLY helpful and always asking me if I need anything; has a habit of forgetting to do things, things that are specifically spelled out in his chore folder. Then the little girls; they throw each other under the bus for playing rather than cleaning and they get distracted by EVERYTHING.

I didn't grow up as spoiled as my kids are. I didn't have Wifi and Social media. I didn't have smartphones, tablets, a DS, a PS4/PS3/PS2/Wii and Rockband equipment. I didn't have huge flatscreens with cartoons and DVR'ed episodes of the shows I loved. It took nearly a decade and a half before I had my own room; I almost always bunked with my little sister who's about 7 years my junior and we clashed all the time. I didn't have a bike, or rollerblades, or all the fun outdoor toys. And I sure as hell didn't have a huge 50x30 sized playroom FULL of hundreds of thousands of dollars of the coolest, most requested toys. I had books and paper to write on and had to ask permission to walk to the local library, where I'd spend hours of my free time.

And all I ask these kids to do is help out and keep their rooms clean. And even with their help; I STILL have a a lot to do daily myself. Laundry, especially the laundry, with 7 people, it's never ending. The bulk of my days are spent loading laundry to wash, starting the dryer, nursing a baby, folding laundry, putting it away, starting another load, drying another and nursing a baby again. And sprinkled in between those hours are dusting, making beds, straightening up, fixing the couch, picking random shit up off the floor, going through the always-present mountain of mail and school paperwork and bills. I wash the dishes and then wash the baby's accessories and by then someone needs to be nursed again. And I'm expected to not only find time to READ a book, but write 2 myself, as well as maintain a blog AND do my school studies? No wonder my blood is at least 50% caffeine.

Maybe having my mother move in would be a good idea, but after a long and thorough conversation with her and Derrick and the kids. Because sometimes her harping on my kids is far more of a hindrance to me than helpful. And I don't want my kids resenting me the way I did my mom for the longest time. But maybe her being here would allow me to focus on school like I should, and she could help me with a few of my chores when I'm busy with the baby--but I wouldn't blur the line between grandma and housekeeper. I hate being treated like a housekeeper, so I wouldn't do that to my mom. And who knows, maybe it'll be easier this time because my sister and her kids aren't here. It was a bitch trying to maintain this house with the three of them here, because she was lazier than Evelyn, didn't pay rent and ate up all my food and towards the end, I easily dropped a hundred or two on packs of cigarettes for her. WTF she was so stressed about beats me, if anything I could've used the $200 worth of cigarettes for my anxiety and stress, let alone poor Derrick who was keep all of us afloat.

But then another part of me worries about having my mom here. I become of two minds when she's around. She's the last parent I have left; after my dad choosing to not be a part of my life and Stephanie dying, so I try to maintain a relationship with my mom, because she's technically all I have left. But when she's here and she's either yelling at my kids or berating them to me; she doesn't recognize the repetitive exhaustion on my face from being tired of hearing the same "you're not a good enough mother and if these were my kids..." speeches. And at the same time, I'm so used to her yelling and berating from my childhood that I either ignore it or I tend to harp along with her to my kids. And I'm both a stressed out 32 year old mother of 5 who can't get her kids to listen, and she's grateful for the help...and then I'm also that 11 year old again, who's trying her hardest to be an Honor Roll student and keep a clean house just to "please" my mother.

Why the fuck do I do that?

And then she has the habit of making it worse by talking on and on about her workouts at Curves and how she's using this new weightloss pill and that weightloss pill and how these WorkIt Wraps are a Godsend and blah, blah, blah. And I'm like TRYING to get my mental and emotional shit in order so I can work on my physical appearance, but to literally have EVERY conversation stream from my kids' inabilities to clean properly to how I need to lose weight since she has, is really fucking damaging to my psyche.

And after I'm stressed out from trying to man my house, do chores, be a dairy-cow for a baby on demand, and try to parent my other 4 kids whom are capable of cleaning and following directions, to being a cook who's responsible for at least 2 meals a day, to dealing with guilt trips from my mom and her not respecting my mental boundaries with my grandfather and her constant pressuring to FORGIVE him so he can see my kids, to her bitching about my kids to me making me feel like a shit mother, to her going on and on about diets and pills and wraps and Curves and then her transition to shit about Keyre and then somehow she's bitching about Robert and the shit he took from her, to me needing to nurse again and swap the laundry again, then arguing with the kids about why their rooms aren't clean and it's 20 minutes till bedtime and showers need to be taken and there's more laundry and I'm counting down the minutes until Derrick gets home, so I can clock out...but then guilt hits and rather than "clock out" I make a drink and I UNLOAD all my stress of the day onto him.

I don't expect him to fix everything; but I married a smart man and damn; all this shit every day makes me hella indecisive and I'm left between a rock and a hard place.

I am struggling at this parenting thing.

I am struggling at this being an adult woman thing.

I am struggling at this being a wife thing.

Now that it's summer, I'm hoping like hell it'll get a bit easier. Done, for now, are the 5am alarms. So no morning madness rushing while sleep-deprived. I can nurse at 4am and go back to bed if Ivy allows me to. Hopefully I can finally tend to the personal goal list I made myself. I want to go to the gym and at least run on the treadmill for 30 minutes a day; listening to music, not newborn screams or little girls fighting over their Troll hairbrush. I'd like some help with the laundry; I don't mind washing and drying, but can someone else at least fold? And I don't mind doing the dishes; if someone else puts them away.

These kids have so many expectations this summer; from trips to the Great Wolf Lodge, Seaworld, the beach and hella activities...and my expectations? A clean house in case company comes over, where I'm not rushing to clean an hour before their expected to arrive and I'm a fucking bloody sweaty mess when they get here and I can't relax. I want time to READ an actual book. And yes, I expect a fucking getaway with my husband this summer, without the kids, because I am with them ALL THE TIME and he works so fucking hard to provide for us that he deserves to PLAY with some of his money, not just WORK all the damn time. 6 to sometimes 7 days a week, sometimes pulling 36 hour shifts, as a driver is fucking deadly for him. I am truly paranoid about it--but he does it to pay for the internet, the food, the electronics, a fresh supply of art and craft shit and so many other things the kids don't fathom.

Today is one of those days; where as soon as Derrick left for work, the baby became inconsolable and nothing I did calmed her down, until 3 hours later, I think she passed out due to exhaustion and screaming. The AC is still broke and it's over a 100 degrees here. I am pouring buckets while sitting here typing this AND I'm sippin' on an icy drink. The girls (ALL of them) haven't cleaned their rooms and I made the mistake of gifting Evelyn back her iPhone yesterday, in agreement that she'd keep her room clean--that worked out gleefully (sarcasm). Maverick is the only one who did his chores without asking AND he asked me if I needed anything else. There's still laundry, even though I've already done 6 loads today. But the garage is like a sauna and I'm trying to avoid it at all costs; but I tore our bed apart, to wash the sheets and blankets in Dreft...so I have to tend to the laundry whether or not I actually want to.

So I get it, moms who enjoy their wine. Except I need something with a higher proof.

But I can't get drunk or even buzzed, because I REFUSE to dip into my freezer stash of breast milk. That is SOLELY for when Derrick and I go away to Costa Rica later this summer and I am NOT fucking up my supply!

So I'm sippin' on my weak ass Mai Tai that's far more juice than rums and I say CHEERS to all the SAHP that are dealing with similar shit, just a different day. We'll figure this out eventually. And hopefully they'll clean up their fire hazard of a bedroom before they actually become fire hazards. Cheers!