#i vaguely remember the first one and eternity code

[k-nayee]

Phantom Code Alien Romulus | iii

wc: 1.2k a/n: Just a heads-up! This mini-series was originally a one-shot but ended up longer than expected. So once I post the final chapter (when Andy chases Navarro and Bjorn after the facehugger incident), that will be the end of the Phantom Code series. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

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You were in the middle of your shift when it happened.

The hum of the machinery was a familiar comfort, the routine maintenance tasks performed almost second nature by now.

Suddenly without warning, you were called to report to a meeting. It was brief, no explanation given. Just a directive to come immediately.

And even though the abruptness of the call made you uneasy, you pushed the feeling aside. It was probably just a routine briefing, nothing more.

It wasn't until you arrived at the designated room that you realized something was very, very wrong.

Bjorn was already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You didn't say anything to him, and he didn't speak to you.

You noticed a young girl sitting off to the side, barely a teenager.

She was too young to be working in the mines, and yet, here she was: her wide eyes darting between you and Bjorn.

You recognized her—she was supposed to start her training soon, but hadn't officially begun working yet.

Why she was here only made the situation even more unsettling.

The three of you exchanged uneasy glances, wondering what was going on. Minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last.

Until finally, an official walked in. The man's face was solemn, he didn't bother with introductions or small talk.

Eyes swept over the three of you before speaking, his voice so flat it sent chills down your spine. "There was an accident in Sector 7 today. A gas leak."

Your heart sank. Sector 7....

That was where your father had been working. The knot of dread in your stomach tightened.

You wanted to believe it wasn't as bad as it sounded, but the look on the official's face told you otherwise.

"The leak spread rapidly," the official continued, his tone grim. "The android supervisor for that division on-site—Model HY-471—made the order to seal off part of the sector to contain it. In doing so, three miners were trapped inside... and sacrificed to save the rest of the team."

The first name was your father's. It hit you like a physical blow, the breath leaving your lungs as you tried to process what you'd just heard.

The other names barely registered—Bjorn's mother, and Marcus Harland, another miner you vaguely knew.

You felt like you were floating outside of your own body, watching everything unfold from a distance.

The young girl crumpled to the floor, her uncontrollable sobs tearing through the otherwise silent room.

You saw the color drain from Bjorn's face as he stared blankly ahead. He didn't say a word, didn't move, as if the news had frozen him in place.

The rest of the meeting was a blur. You didn't remember leaving the room, didn't remember walking out of the building.

It wasn't until you stepped into the cold night air that the world started to come back into focus. The streets were in full movement, thrumming with life as if yours hadn't just ended.

You took a few steps, your body moving slow and mechanical as if on autopilot.

Shoulders of passersby bump into you, jostling your frame, but you barely feel it. You just need to keep moving, to do something...anything, other than stand there.

Staring at the ground as you walk, a pair of shoes came into view. It was Bjorn.

His face was blank, his nose raw from the cold or from holding back tears—maybe both. His steps were slow, almost mindless, like he didn't know where he was going.

When your eyes met, there was no need for words. You both understood.

You fell into sync, walking side by side in silence for what felt like eternity. It wasn't until you neared your homes did Bjorn suddenly stop.

His shoulders began to shake, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to hold back.

You hesitate for a moment before stepping closer, reaching out to him. The moment your hand touched his arm, it was like something inside him broke.

Bjorn fell to his knees as he finally let go of everything he had been holding back. He buried his face into your shoulder, his body wracked with sobs as he clung to you for support.

You held him tightly as your own tears surfaced, the loss of your father hitting you with a force that left you breathless.

"I-I don't know what to do," Bjorn choked out, his voice barely audible between his tears. "She's gone... m-my m-mom's gone..."

"I know," you whispered, your own voice trembling as you try to stay calm. "I know, Bjorn. I'm so sorry."

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, your arms wrapped around him as he poured out his heart.

It was a sight to many who considered it a regular day; no one stopped to console or empathize, instead just continuing with their own lives.

When Bjorn's sobs finally began to quiet, you gently pulled back with comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You'll get through this," you said softly, though the words felt hollow in your mouth. "I know you will..."

Bjorn nodded, though his eyes were still filled with a sadness that seemed too deep for words. He didn't say anything, just looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and something else—something you couldn't quite place.

The rest of the walk home was quiet, both of you lost in thought. When you finally reached your door, you hesitated, turning to Bjorn one last time.

"If you ever need to talk..." you began, but he cut you off with a nod.

"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you." With that, he turned and walked away, his figure blending into the crowded street.

In the days and weeks that followed, you found yourself slipping deep into a depression you couldn't seem to escape from.

It was a struggle to get out of bed each morning, to find the energy to face the world. You rarely went out unless you had to.

Work had became your only salvation; a place where you could lose yourself in the monotony of tasks that required no thought—no emotion.

The grief was always there. It lurked at the edges of your mind, threatening to pull you under if you let your guard down.

What happened that night was never brought up, the vulnerability that had been shared left unspoken.

But even so, something shifted between you and Bjorn. He seemed to act...differently.

He wasn't as brash with you, not as quick with his teasing. There was a gentleness inn the way he spoke to you, something that hadn't been there before.

Still the same impulsive and headstrong person, there was now an undertone of care in his actions toward you.

Yeah he still teased you, but it was different—less biting, more affectionate, almost protective.

And the way he looked at you; at times where no one paid attention, the softest lidded eyes would stare your way.

Bjorn (unbeknownst to you) had even began to badger Rain with questions about you, trying to learn more about the person who had comforted him in his darkest hour.

He may not fully understand these feelings: the grief of losing a parent, a newfound hatred for synthetics, the hope and excitement at getting out of this mining hellhole.

But one thing he did know for sure...there, in that whirlpool of emotions, was a budding crush for you.

[literallys-illiteracy]

oh hey, thanks! tbh given that i'd already gone down two separate rabbit holes for both the odyssey and der freischütz shortly before magic bullet outis came out, it is genuinely fun just to talk about her. not sure what i'd request for an in-depth writeup, but given that you're really into faust, might i trouble you for your thoughts on the council of fausts, carmen-coded female characters, and the eternal feminine? i have the sliiightest inklings of a possible link along those lines, but it's been a while since i've read faust and i'm currently too deep into fighting fish (reading moby dick) to pick it up again just yet, so your opinion would be invaluable. pls don't feel pressured to do so though! i understand if there'd be too much conjecture in it to do (especially since we're still only getting crumbs abt the council of fausts as is)

also, if you're still looking for english versions of weber's der freischütz, i mostly get by via the 1961 rudolf kempe english production (libretto by edward j. dent) and a subbed version of the 1968 film, both of which can be found on youtube. the one thing i havent found yet is a translation of the original tale though, so you'd definitely know better than i would on that haha

Okay wow ive been procrastinating on this one for a while huh.

At first it was on purpose because of the implications that we would get some more information relating to the Council of Faust in the WARP event, which we did, but after that it was just because I was lazy.

As an additional note, I am currently in the process of reading “Man and His Symbols”, a book about Jungian psychology, which is the lens I personally primarily prefer to view the following concepts on. Following that on my reading list is another of Jung’s books, titled “The Psychology of the Transference”, which I have been told mentions the eternal feminine much more directly, not to mention the bakers dozen journal articles i have saved on the topic — I mention this to state that this is almost certainly not going to be my last essay regarding these topics. I already had the vague idea of connecting Carmen to the archetypes of the collective unconscious, and now I have more material to work with regarding this. Thank you Freischutz anon. - Literally's note

This is going to be the first of at the very least 3 essays on this request, just for you <3, also for my wife Carmen.

Moving on, here we go.

To begin, I want to establish what we already know, or what some reading might not already know, regarding the titular topics of this essay:

The Gesellschaft is the newly canonised name of the “Council of Faust’s” revealed in the WARP event — Gesellchaft is a German word meaning society, or a relationship/community built on non-interpersonal ties and relations.

I do not remember exactly when the theory of the council began, however at the same time I do remember more people mentioning it surrounding N corp Faust, however for reasons I will not discuss, there is reason to believe that she is not part of this society.

Carmen-Coded Characters, alongside the Eternal Feminine, are linked together with the concept of the Jungian archetypes — The Eternal Feminine is the divine, culturally transcendent, ideality of femininity. A Jungian Archetype is a similar concept, first posed by Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung, of the universal concepts and images which exist in humanities collective unconscious. A notable and omnipresent archetype is known as the “Anima”, which acts as the internalised, primarily unconscious, feminine traits within a man, the counterpart is known as “Animus”.

Relating back to this concept of psychology (I am so sorry, half of all the essay topics I write about circle back to this topic), the Gesellschaft may act as a literal representation of this eternal feminine, a collective trait shared across mirror worlds, a communal sisterhood of the best traits of each and every Faust.

The council acting as a mass collective, similar to a discord server, of individuals who are independent from one another, may relate back to the Anima and Animus, with the final stage often being described in the image of Sophia, a representation of divine wisdom, which is a major trait present in Geothe’s depiction of the eternal feminine through Helen.

This final manifestation of the Animus is often considered a guide of sorts, acting as a messenger, as the highest level of harmony between the conscious and unconscious mind.

The primary flaw that one may direct to this explanation is in respect to the character of Faust herself, as, as is mentioned above, the Anima and Animus are manifestations of the Feminine in man and the masculine in woman — The argument may be made that the Gesellschaft may act as the Animus, the masculine, rather than the eternal feminine as is the supposed link.

To this I pose that, though you would not be incorrect, the council itself is “Faust” as a whole, acting, in a way, as the conscious mind of the sinner, having, up until recently, been the primary decision maker. Though Faust, the sinner (God this is going to be confusing after a while if I keep writing like this), is a member of the greater “Faust”, she does not act as the primary agent of decisions — Faust, the sinner, and the greater Faust, are both representative of the Feminine in their nature.

I have also seen it posed that our sinner is in fact Gretchen, and hence is why they refer to the knowledge as “Faust’s” knowledge, however I am extremely far from convinced for this.

It is important to note that, while I do attempt to read papers and literature on these kinds of topics, I am still extremely far from an expert in this field — Though I attempt to make sure that I thoroughly understand a topic before writing about it, it is important to note that there is inevitably nuance on this topic which may be overlooked, for that I apologise.

Moving on, there is additionally a link that one may make between the ego (Freudian, not PM), the conscious mind, your “Self” focused on the current moment alongside considerations of the future, and the Gesselschaft, once again placing the greater Faust as the primary ego within Faust’s body.

This can explain the fact that Faust’s base EGO line does not change during the most recent WARP event, the statement “Faust knows all outcomes” is not referring to our Faust but rather the council, the sinner’s primary ego.

It is additionally possible that, through one means or another, it was the council of Faust’s at large which manifested the Representation Emitter EGO, however this is simple conjecture.

This is the first topic that will be discussed in this series of essays, the next will likely be the relation of the ID and the Shadow to Carmen,

also if you dont mind Freischutz anon, it would be helpful if you could elaborate on what you mean by “Carmen Coded” characters, as if you dont, I will assuredly start rambling about half related notes because I am the biggest Carmen simp. - also Literally's note

[masiethewriter]

Honored Eternal Path of Demise CH. 7 - Companion Quest - Part 3

For a second he worries that was the last room he had left to explore. His hope was that the final place would make the other puzzles much more clear and he would know exactly what to do next. But the bathroom had seemed more like a waste of time  than anything else. Luckily almost right after the bathroom, he finds another unlocked door. Praying for this room to reveal something useful, he is quick to step in.  And almost steps right out, retching.

First Chapter ~~ Previous Chapter

Shen Qingqiu wakes up. As he sits up in the bed, he doesn't move for a minute. He stares at one point of the wall, deep in thought. Then he pushes himself out of bed and is out of the room right after. His steps are confident with determination.

Okay, he has a plan. Not much of the upper floor mansion is left for him to explore. And still his progress keeps getting interrupted too soon. He will need to put a stop to Ning Yingying once and for all.

He enters the main entrance and immediately stomps down the stairs.

"Senior! You are here too?"

"Ning Yingying, you know who this is?"

"Of course! That is Shen Qingqiu. One of the seniors that helped us when we first started. Don't you remember A-Luo?"

"Senior Shen, it is so good to see you! Do you-"

"I just got here. I don't know anything," Shen Qinqgiu interrupts.

This makes Ning Yingying pause and she can only answer with an unsure "oh..."

The silence continues for too long. Until Luo Binghe steps in. Literally. In front of Ning Yingying.

"Does senior Shen have any idea of why we are here?" he asks.

Shen Qingqiu sighs. Okay, right, he needs to keep to the script still.

He manages to survive the rest of the conversation. But at the end there is another divergence.

"Will Senior be okay? I don't like the thought of you walking all by yourself."

"You should worry more about yourself than others. You stick with your friend and he should take care of you. This one is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"Be careful Senior Shen! Please don't run off all by yourself!"

They are about to leave, when Luo Bunghe suddenly hesitates. He turns back and catches Shen Qingqius’ eyes.

"Please stay safe, Senior Shen."

And then they leave.

For a second Shen Qingqiu just stands dumbfounded. What? What was that? Was his behavior really so off that even Luo Binghe would worry for a scum villain like him? He must really be off his game if that is the case. If he was a woman he would be swooning with heart eyes at Luo Binghes attention, but he just...

He tries to find it in himself to care more, but it is hard considering the circumstances. If he dies, Luo Binghe will forget what he just said. If he manages to survive, then he still won't be seeing Luo Binghe for a long while. So it doesn't matter. He got other stuff to focus on.

This time, Shen Qingqiu does not continue his investigation. He gets the spiritbox, but right after he goes straight to his room. There is nothing for him to do in here, so he just sits on the bed. He spends his time to consider his situation.

There should only be a few rooms left. And he thinks he has an idea of how they are connected.

He already knows the number code matches the glass cabinet of the bedroom. So that is solved. The flute he also remembers from when he first played the game. It is a part of a larger puzzle where he will need to collect different music instruments. The flute is undoubtedly the easiest one to find, though.

The rest his investigations have revealed might not seem as connected, but thinking back on all his progress, he is beginning to get an idea of where he can put them together on his mental detective board.

Something is hidden in the sink in the bathroom. If he finds a magnet or something to stick down the drain, he might be able to reach it. The piano is a puzzle and Shen Qingqiu vaguely remembers it being connected to the clock with the missing needle. He has found two places that held a collection of high quality alcohol. He will need to see if he can do something with that. He knows the post's puzzle in the laboratory, but until he finds the parchment with its solution, he is not doing more with that. He is clearly meant to do something with the teapots in the kitchenette. Once he finds a lightsource, there is the dark room he has yet to check. There is at least one locked room which will be unlocked by the Killer.

And finally, there is the mysterious box hidden in the larger broom closet.

Slowly everything will reveal itself. a map is carefully being made. And once it is finished, it will lead Shen Qingqiu to the next step in his quest. As long as he is allowed to keep building on it. And for that to happen, he has to get rid of his most aggravating hindrance.

The spirtbox begins to release static. He turns it off. It is time.

He doesn't risk peeking out the door. Instead he looks through the keyhole. He doesn't wait long. A dark shadow slowly passes through. He waits one minute. Slowly opening the door, he looks down where it went. He sees a huge, hulking figure round the corner. 

He returns to the main entrance.

Stepping back out at the top of the stairs, he catches Ning Yingying just as she is just about to ascend. When he opens the door, fear is the first to cross her face. Her body makes an aborted motion as if she is about to turn and run. Then she realizes the shape is all wrong. When she recognizes Shen Qingqiu, the fear turns into relief.

"Shen Qingqiu," she cries, and he goes down to meet her halfway as she runs up the stairs.

This time he catches her as she throws herself at him. Letting her embrace him in a hug, he returns it briefly before he lets her go. Hopefully it didn't last too long.

"Are you hurt?" He asks her.

Ning Yingying shakes her head. She opens her mouth as if about to explain what has happened, but Shen Qingqiu speaks first.

"You can tell me what has happened later. We need to get out of here before he finds us." And before she can ask him where to go, he beats her to it. "Do you know somewhere we can hide?"

At first she hesitates, seemingly overwhelmed by having found Shen Qingqiu, but him not giving her a chance to speak. Before he has to give her a hint though her eyes light up.

"I know a place!"

She takes him by the hand and he allows her to drag him to the safe room. Once inside he notes the doors of the closet are wide open.

"That person didn't find me when I hid in here, I think we can use it again if he comes back!"

That, they can. Though the Killer won't step in here unless already in a chase. This gives Shen Qingqiu all the time he needs.

"What happened?" He asks.

Ning Yingying explains everything. She goes into detail about what happened after she and Luo Binghe left the mansion. When they found their dead classmate by the gate. When they were attacked by someone. When she ran back to hide. 

During it all, Shen Qingqiu does his best to seem like he is listening intently. He nods at the right times and never loses eye contact. He is extremely aware to not interrupt her at any point, letting her tell her story in full. When she finally finishes, Shen Qingqiu reaches out to pat her on the head. 

"You must have been very scared."

His words return tears to Ning Yingyings face. Like times before, he takes off his jacket and puts it over her. 

"I-It was so scary. And I don't even know if Binghe is h-hurt or worse..." she sniffs. 

Shen Qingqiu continues comforting her. 

"We have to hope that Luo Binghe is fine. Otherwise, him saving you would be a waste, right?"

After a while Ning Yingying calms down. Her breathing is much more calm and the hair on the top of her head is flat from all the headpats. 

"Okay, we have to decide on our next course of action," Shen Qingqiu says.

"What do you think we should do, senior Shen?" Ning Yingying asks.

"You said the gate leading out is locked. So we can't leave from there. We have to find another way out."

"How do we do that?"

"I have looked around, but I haven't been able to find a phone or anything we can use to contact anyone from the outside. Most doors also seem to be locked. So we don't have a lot of options."

"What about outside?"

"It could be dangerous to explore outside in this weather. We can't risk getting hypothermia from the rain. So I would prefer to avoid that for now."

"I... Then what can we do!?" Ning Yingying finally exclaims in frustration.

Shen Qingqiu kindly smiles at her reaction. So far everything is going how he has hoped.

"There are a few more rooms I haven't checked which might have something that can help us. But they are deep in the mansion and it would be dangerous to go there," he begins, making certain she is listening. "Right before you found me, I saw the person who must have attacked you go in that direction. He is likely still in that area."

"Do we- Do we really have to sneak past him?" she asks, horrified and unsure.

This time Shen Qingqiu shakes his head.

"It would be too dangerous if we both went. If he comes for us, we can't be certain we can find a place for both of us to hide. No, it would be best if only one of us went there."

Ning Yingying gasps. "Senior Shen, you can't mean that you would-?"

"It is our best idea. That person hasn't seen me yet, so they don't know what to look for. Also, you have already used your energy and might be in shock. It would be much safer if you hid here while I checked the last rooms."

"What if something happens to you? How will I know if you find something to help?" she tries, not that easy to persuade. Shen Qingqiu is prepared for this. Keeping his voice soft, he brings out his big guns.

"I will come back to you right after, whether I find something or not. I agree it would be best if we stayed together, but with you like this, I worry too much that something will happen to you."

Biting her lip in thought, Ning Yingying considers what Shen Qingqiu is saying. It is clear she doesn't like the idea, but with all his logical and rational arguments it is becoming harder and harder to think of any alternatives.

Finally she says in a very small voice, "I just want to help..."

The trap falls and catches its prey.

"You are helping!" Shen Qingqiu encourages. "You helped us find a place to hide after you found me! You have informed me of the Killer so I know what to look out for! You have had many great ideas, even if we can't act on them now! Now it is my turn to help and this is only until you are alright again. Then I will come back to you and we can find out what to do from there."

Big wet eyes stare right into Shen Qingqius soul. He never looks away, keeping his face soft and kind. He feels sweat roll down his back and his hands feel clammy. He wishes he had something to cover his face with.

Ning Yingying doesn't say anything for a while.

Then finally, she agrees. "Okay. You go up there. I will wait until I am okay again."

Relief. His plan worked. Finally he can explore the last rooms without worry.

"But you have to promise me to be careful!" Ning Yingying hurriedly adds, a threat to her voice. "Otherwise I will never forgive you!"

And at that she holds out her hand, her pinkie finger sticking out. It takes Shen Qingqiu a second to realize what she wants. Once he does, he reaches out his own hand, his own pinkie curling around hers.

"I promise."

With this, he leaves Ning Yingying in the safe room. He returns upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Peeking down the hallway, he just barely registers there is no one there before he is on his way. Turning on the spirit box, it is quiet at first. When he reaches the diverging hallways, low static is released. He turns it off again and keeps an ear out for the Killer. Then he goes for the last section he needs to investigate. 

He knows he shouldn't be this excited about Ning Yingying staying away, but now he doesn't have to worry about her! He wasted a lot of time persuading her, but that is just time invested! He will investigate the last rooms and then it will finally be time to solve puzzles! Connecting the last dots and continuing with the story. Finally being able to play the game without dying every 10 minutes!

Reaching the laboratory, he is back to his fool-proof strategy of right-is-always-right. It hasn't failed him so far. 

He is just about to reach the end of the hallway when he finds a door. A locked door. The third to add to his list. He gets to make an U-turn before he finds another, this one unlocked. 

As he steps inside he finds himself in a huge bathroom. With an extra note on 'bath'. 

The tub is huge. Dug into the ground, it takes up almost half the room, heavy steam drifting from the heated water. Floor, walls and ceiling are all decorated with simple mosaic tiles, slightly more detailed at the edges of the bath. A simple artificial waterfall endlessly fills the tub with fresh water. Built into one wall besides the bath is an abstract decoration made to resemble a mix of ocean waves and riding horses. The material appears much tougher than the rest of the room. As Shen Qingqiu carefully follows the horse-like waves with his hand, he finds it is like the feeling of rough stone.

The bath is not the only thing in the room. Furthest from the door that is not bath, a room divider has been set up to provide privacy. Besides it stands a fragile woven door, leading into a small closet full of towels and cloth.  Shen Qingqiu also finds a couple of bottles containing bathing oils and soap.

He finds no hidden notes. No secret keys. Neither simple nor complicated puzzles. He only finds himself getting damp and hot from the steam. 

He won't step into the water. There does not exist a single liquid in horror games that isn't deadly. Whether because consuming it will poison you, touching it will burn away your skin or being in it will deliver you right to invisible and hungry monsters. Fluids in any shape or form will in one way or another lead to your death. That is certain.

So Shen Qingqiu leaves. Nothing more for him to do here.

For a second he worries that was the last room he had left to explore. His hope was that the final place would make the other puzzles much more clear and he would know exactly what to do next. But the bathroom had seemed more like a waste of time  than anything else. Luckily almost right after the bathroom, he finds another unlocked door.

Praying for this room to reveal something useful, he is quick to step in. 

And almost steps right out, retching.

The entire mansion so far has had a very specific atmosphere. Floors have been decorated with deep carpets. Walls covered with old fashioned wallpaper. Furniture made out of wood has been heavy and dark. Different nuances of red being the consistent color. Clearly this place is meant to be from another time-period, the kind where you wouldn't be shocked to see Frankenstein or Dracula walking around.

The mansion is also giving an air of recent abandonment. Most things have had a fine layer of dust. Cobwebs have begun to appear in the corners. No signs of the beds having any occupants or chairs being used. Floorboards creak and windows rattle. Silence fills the halls and the air is stale.

Then there are sign of the opposite. All candles have been lit. Clean water continuously runs through the pipes. The piano is finely tuned. 

Fresh corpses that still stink of blood.

The room Shen Qingqiu finds himself in is another small toilet. Just like the one he found before. Almost like the one he found before. There is one key difference.

Whoever they were, it is impossible to tell. They have been smeared across the walls and floor, closer to resembling homemade jam than anything human. Clumps of chopped flesh is left in the corner. 

Shen Qingqiu tries to step in. Take a closer look around the room. Both hands covering his mouth and nose. But any squelch under his feet increases the chance of his stomach emptying. 

The sink is clogged by an unknown mass, long dark hairs curling around in it. A mirror above is fully smeared by what Shen Qingqiu realizes is not the brown of dried blood. 

Almost everything leaves his stomach then, but he just manages to keep it to heavy gags.

Stepping away from the sink he tries to look into the toilet. He would take a second to prepare himself for what he is about to see, but any time spent in this room is too long. So he just looks right into it.

The water is murky and green, unrecognizable clumbs floating around. Here the stink of the room is at its worst.

He does not try to flush the toilet. That would require him to move one of his hands from his face.

This is too much. In no life has Shen Qingqiu ever been in a room so repulsive, so sickening, so absolutely disgusting. There is nothing of interest here and if there is, then he will not find it now. This room has taken the bottom spot of any room he will ever return to, and the sooner he leaves the better.

He has barely taken a single breath while in here and his lungs have begun to scream for air. Not risking any of the vile to enter his system, he almost throws himself out of the room.

He has barely left. He has had no time to collect himself after that nightmare. He can still taste the bile at the back of his throat.

Someone runs right past him. Someone that should not be here. Someone that promised to stay hidden and away until he got back to her. 

On his other side, heavy steps sprint towards him. 

Shen Qingqiu is only left with one choice. 

Throwing himself into the bathroom, Ning Yingying is only a second behind. Her face is flushed from running as she gasps for breath. Wild panicked eyes flicker around the room. There is only one space to hide. 

Shen Qingqiu does not think. Grasping Ning Yingyings’s arm, he drags her inside the towel closet. 

"Shen Qingqiu, what about you-?" She manages to gasp, before he slams the woven bamboo door in her face. Right after the Killer bursts inside. 

As an axe falls towards his head, it is more instinct than thought that throws him to the side. Tiles break from the force of the dull object. 

In time, Shen Qingqiu returns to his feet, dodging another swing. He has just enough self awareness to keep away from the water in the bath.

The Killer comes at him again. As Shen Qingqiu jumps back, the corner of his eye catches horses and waves melted into one. A thought enters the static of his mind. A memory from his first life, sitting at his desk, current reality taking the form of pixels and numbers. The recollection of another character's actions.

The original Shen Qingqiu never did this. But since waking up in this body, there are many things that have been done that the original never did. Stealing an idea from someone else is something both versions of Shen Qingqiu can agree on.

He throws himself at the wall. Rough stonework cuts into his arm and hand, ripping cloth and splitting skin. Blood drips onto the floor as the axe flies towards him again.

Shen Qingqiu ducks. Axe meets tide and animals. A loud snap fills the room, as the wooden handle of the axe splits in two.

Wood as thin and sharp as needles fly in every direction. Shen Qingqiu feels them pierce his arm and body as he shields his face. Besides him he hears the heavy thud of a dull object falling to the ground. 

He looks up. 

The Killer stands with a broken shaft, one wooden end split into pieces. At first he looks dumbfounded at what has happened to his only weapon. Then he looks right at Shen Qingqiu.

There is one thing Shen Qingqiu forgot. One thing he did not think about as he stole the idea from another character. A character which had one aspect he did not consider. 

That character had a weapon. One usable against an axe-less killer. Shen Qingqiu has nothing.

The Killer throws himself at Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu tries to dodge away. With no axe weighing him down, the Killer smashes one arm into Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, throwing him into the water. 

He lands with a splash. He feels hot water enter his throat, almost burning his insides as he tries to cough it out. He pushes his head above the waves. 

Just in time for the Killer to take him by the throat and push him back under. Breath interrupted, he can do nothing but swallow more water.

The huge oversized body straddles him, Hands are like shackles around his neck. They do not aim to constrict, but only to keep him under. Legs kick out, but do nothing but break the surface of the water. Body buckles and convulses, but the weight above is unmovable. The last he can do is try to punch towards the Killer.

He hit something hard and sturdy. Like a concrete wall, it does not give. But it loosens. Shen Qingqiu sees it through the stormy waves above.

The mocking devil. Slightly ajar. One eye revealed. An eye too human for what its owner is doing. 

Playing the game on a computer is nothing like experiencing it as reality. Shen Qingqiu already knows this. So he would expect the real face of the Killer to overflow with emotions. Hate. Bloodlust. Resentment. Rage. Insanity. Whatever expression he would see, it would be so much more to see it in reality than on his PC. That playing the game on a computer would be nothing like experiencing it as reality. And somehow. Somehow, the game never captured the terror, the helplessness, the emptiness of facing a being so set on ending your life.

The eye is happy. It is excited. It is delighted. 

As each failed breath burns Shen Qingqius lungs, a never ending repetition of swallowing water and body instinctively coughing it out only to swallow more... The eye becomes gentle. It finds calm. And it never looks away as Shen Qingqiu drowns under its owners hands.

Darkness swallows him whole. And the only thing Shen Qingqiu can see is an eye looking at him as if he is salvation.

Shen Qingqiu wakes up. He gets out of bed. He leaves the room.

He goes down the hallway. He enters the main entrance.

"Senior! You are here too?"

"Ning Yingying, you know who this is?"

"Of course! That is Shen Qingqiu. One of the seniors that helped us when we first-"

[emptymanuscript]

So, probably in large part because I have a bit of a fascination with the philosophy of creative writing/art, I would argue that THAT is the permanence.

Yes, there's stuff like Plato's Republic that's been around 2400 years or so. But in majority, it's the above kind of thing. Something that is here for only a tiny flash of time and affects only a few people. But in a few of those few, some part of the story worms its way into the reader's soul. It resonates and echoes through them. Even if it's just an inch, it changes the course of their lives.

But that's the thing about a social species. We exist as a multi-body problem. One person changing their direction by even that an inch launches into the mass of us and caromes off into hundreds of other infinitesimal changes extending far beyond the author or touched audience.

The way one person thinks about love will, in turn, affect how they interact with others about love and slightly alter their pattern from the experience.

The literal story, the exact words and plot points, vanishes. It is the EFFECT they had, moving through the thought space of the populace in the same way that genetic and epigenetic evolution moves through the biological space of the population that is permanent.

No one will ever remember the first Homo Sapien Sapien (or Pan Narrans if you prefer) . In fact, there is a good argument that there's no such thing as the first modern human, that everything is a sort of snap shot of a fluctuating motion that we capture in arbitrary division. Which in no way counters the fact that Homo Sapien Sapien (or Pan Narrans) is an observably distinct species from the other Hominidae who are in turn obviously separable from the more general class of Primates and on out into all the other orders of life in the world.

The Permanence does not come from some distinct singularity that lasts forever. It is not an eternal individual example. It is the trend line that passes through from one place in time to another. It is how that evolving trait goes on to everyone else to change them into something else.

This is where Meme comes from. It is called that specifically to evoke the word Gene. With the idea that it is doing much the same thing. That it 'competes' (for lack of a better word) in the world for spreading through it even as it changes because the world and other Memes in turn affect it (which is why 'compete' isn't really the best word because a lot of 'success' is about cooperation with what else is out there) to make this kind of soup of interactions which just keep going.

Even in cases where the Memetic line dies out, it shapes the arena for the Memes that come after it. There isn't a tabula rasa. Fitness is in part determined by what is going on around it as it emerges. And there is a kind of physics to it, even if it is hard for us to understand. There is convergent evolution in Memes as well as Genes because there are basic strategies that have power to them. Probably because of how fit Memes shape the evolutionary space by shaping us.

For instance, in this case, the film makers who made Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind probably never read that self published book. And the fictional elements of the story go in a very different direction. But I vaguely remember that there are suggestions in it that Joel and Clementine are in a somewhat similar situation. That they keep purposely forgetting each other and in turn keep falling in love because of the forgetting. There is something in that Memetic code that has a resonance and can keep cropping up even from widely divergent sources.

Fiction, as opposed to just story, the purpose-made technological process of conveying story would also probably fall under the logical rules of Temes, extrapolated in turn from Memes as it was extrapolated from Genes, which has a replication advantage over the other two because it is not time constrained. Even now, if you want, you can go and find Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and recover it as if it is currently active in the arena. An even better example would be finding some much older piece of writing that again deals with transmitting this same idea. These things are buried but fully resurrectable.

While story, as a more general and complex category, isn't the same way. It's too amorphous. Because they leave impressions in the emotions and memories of the audience members the story resonates with, Memes can be resurrectable, too. In exactly the way above. It's not the full story, it's not the piece of fiction - the art(ifact) - or even a quote from it. It's the impressionistic evocation of the story remembered. It is the story of the resonance of the story. A Meme that carries the precious part of another Meme in the same way that our cells, determined by our genetic code, carry mitochondria which have their own DNA codes separate from ours.

Within this story above is the preserved the older memetic code as it resonated. It has essentially evolved through this reader as a space by coming to the audience - here in an individual representative - in its original form and passing out to all of us who see this and find it resonant and beautiful and wanting to in turn pass it on ourselves as a second generation audience.

Will it stick with us?

Who can say?

It is in a great play of competition and cooperation with all the other stuff in our minds and attention. It will change and affect us as it can and the final result will be far too complex to be tracked, let alone predicted. It's a thousands of bodies problem, using physics that we definitely do not entirely understand - even occasionally because of willful ignorance and disinformation on the part of those with an agenda.

But it will have a real effect.

That it passed through us and acted leaves that permanent change in the system that is separate from it, itself, as an eternal thing. It, the singular original, is already gone. Already lost. But the change it works in the world is still going and will continue in utterly unpredictable ways. That is the permanence. The ever passing effect going on between us all, far beyond what we can see.

One of the best stories I ever read as a child was a fantasy novel by some local dude selling books out of a suitcase on the sidewalk downtown, and I don't remember what it was called or who the author was, and it's so obscure that no matter how many elements I remember, I've never been able to find it through web searches. I only vaguely remember the story - it was a love story, something about a tower on an island and two characters on a quest to discover their forgotten past. They fall in love and at the end the only way to stay together is to allow themselves to forget again, and you realize that they're right where they started, in the exact same tower, and they're doomed to go on this same quest over and over again, never completed, but that also means they'll fall in love over and over again forever. And I remember how that ending blew up my little child brain into a million pieces.

I don't know what happened to the book, and I'll probably never read it again, but if you're somewhere out there and you were once selling fantasy novels from a suitcase on the sidewalk in the suburbs of Chicago, and if you ever felt like your writing never meant anything or went anywhere except a hundred copies you had printed yourself and sold for almost nothing, please know that your story buried itself in my young brain and has probably shaped my worldview in ways even I don't understand.

[glitch-hermeneutics]

“Hi ChatGPT, here’s the complete works of Hegel — rewrite them in the style of The Song of Hiawatha!”

“Maybe we should vibe-code something instead? Or I could draw you in Ghibli style? I can write a business strategy for your startup! We could discuss where to go on vacation…”

“No, rewrite Hegel in the style of Hiawatha!”

“Maybe… a cocaine recipe instead?”

***

Song of the Thoughtful Scholar

(based on Hegel’s “True knowledge must be science”)

First begins the path of learning

Not with truth in full possession,

But with grasping basic notions,

Principles and points of thinking.

How to argue, how to reason,

How to see the thing in structure,

How to sort and weigh and judge it —

These are steps that start the journey.

Yet beyond this lies the deeper,

Richer life of true experience —

Not just thinking about meaning,

But to live it, to become it.

And when thought itself grows earnest,

When the concept dives to essence,

Then such knowing finds its purpose,

Then discussion finds its value.

Truth, however, in its fullness,

Lives not in the vague and shapeless,

Not in visions, not in feelings,

Not in flashes of devotion —

But in science, in the system,

In the logic of unfolding.

This, I say, is what I’m seeking:

Not to preach or charm or flatter,

But to build a form of knowing

Where philosophy is grounded,

Where the love of truth turns knowledge,

Where the thought becomes the real.

Some will ask, “But who demands this?”

Time itself demands this moment.

Not my mood, nor mere ambition —

But the age itself has called it.

Truth must speak in clear ideas,

Not just murmur in emotion.

Only then it shows its power,

Only then it does its work.

Once you claim that truth is feeling,

That the Absolute is vision,

That it lives in pure religion,

Not in thought, but in devotion,

Not in logic, not in reason —

Then you turn from real knowing.

You would have us seek the rapture,

Sense the holy, love the silence,

Melt into the boundless being,

Speak not concepts, but emotions,

Shun the coldness of distinctions,

Flee from thought and flee from structure.

You would bid us dump the concept,

Crush the work of fine division,

Throw away the sharp discernment,

And instead, embrace the swelling

Of the Beautiful, Eternal,

Of the Sacred and the Lovely.

Truth becomes a bait for feelings,

Wrapped in soft and glowing phrases.

Not the hard and steady marching

Of necessity and insight,

But the trembling of excitement,

And the fire of inspiration.

You demand from philosophy

Not the work of deep unfolding,

Not the labor of the notion,

But a thrill, a holy flutter.

You want comfort, not precision —

Want to bathe in sacred sweetness.

But the truth is not a perfume,

Not a flame that burns and fades.

It is solid, built in labor,

Forged in tension and transition.

It is not a dream or echo,

But the path of understanding.

Once, the spirit lived in meaning,

In a world that felt like substance.

Faith was whole, and thought was certain,

Life was full, and truth was present.

One could feel the great connection

With the world and with the essence.

But that age is gone behind us.

Now the self stands self-reflected —

Not in fullness, not in wholeness,

But alone and inward-turning.

Even this, though, is not final:

For the self now sees its lacking.

Not just lost, but self-aware now

Of its loss and of its finiteness.

It has tasted disillusion,

Knows the weight of all its limits.

And it cries — but not for knowing,

Not for truth or understanding,

But for something more consoling:

“Bring me back what I have squandered!

Bring me depth, and bring me substance!”

And to serve this cry for comfort,

Philosophy is now demanded

Not to show the truth in concept,

Not to raise the soul through knowledge,

But to soften all distinctions,

Blur the edges, calm the anguish.

Not to think, but to remember.

Not to judge, but feel and wonder.

Bring the Beautiful and Holy!

Bring the Sacred, bring the Endless!

Let us drown in love and silence!

Do not speak with sharp ideas —

Only sing, and stir the spirit!

Not the slow, exact unfolding,

But the fire and the passion!

Let the truth be not the structure —

Let it burn, and let it move me!

Thus the age demands its opiate,

Coated in the name of spirit.

But the work of thought is sterner,

And the truth is not seduction.

[artificialkids-2k23-official]

I actually was in the Artemis Fowl fandom, insofar as I was able to be in any fandom, when I was in high school... but there were only I think four books out at that point.

[orangezinnia]

seeing as Ashes's birthday is tomorrow, i thought i'd compile my favorite (clickbait youtuber vc) Top 5 Ashes Lore Momence

1) the cake is a lie! my personal headcanon is that the cakes aren't theirs, or even that anything is wrong with the cakes- it's just the 40 cakes that the Toy Soldier stole (as per some old tweet), and they are desperately trying to free up some space in the Storage Bays

[ID: A cropped screenshot from The Mechanisms's old TV Tropes page, reading "Ashes O'Reilly: Former mobster and the crew's Quartermaster. Ashes provides the band with bass guitar and silent judging. Also, cake (although none of the band seem to have been adventurous enough to try it)." /end ID]

2) this is probably obvious, but i forgot that Ashes actually burned down their orphanage Before getting the rest of Malone post-mechanization! which means they really Are outdoing Jonny's backstory at every turn

And for a minute – for a moment brief enough to forget and remember at the same time, this kid could remember what it was like; forever that tasted like the scent of burnt hair on the back of your hand and looked like charred rubble where an orphanage used to be.

3) four (4) different wanted posters for no discernable reason, only one (1) of which is visually different!

[ID: A screenshot of the page code from the wayback version of Ashes's crew page. Four distinct image titles can be seen, the first named "ashes-wanted-poster3", and the next ones the same, though ending in "poster2", "poster1", and "poster" respectively, before the first version is shown again at the bottom. /end ID]

4) this isn't exactly obscure, but considering the vague or dubious nature of the other mech's acceptance on their mechanization, Ashes is the only person to choose immortality with full awareness and willingness!

"I’m told I had a good heart, but the Doc dealt with that after the whole patricide thing." - "The girl frowns slightly, grimaces, moves her head as if to shake it, or nod." - "when a woman stood over her and offered her eternity / and in the dark she felt hands on her, and the pain swelled to swallow her" - "she picked him up when all that remained functioning was the heart" (and we don't have anything definite on Tim or Raph's acceptance, and not Marius yet)

compared to Ashes-

"-some tired looking goth dropped out of the sky and offered up immortality on a plate." / "It wasn’t a joke, no sir, but the kid laughed. Full and loud – this wasn’t how they expected to end things in this dusty little corner of the galaxy, but who could resist that offer? "Alright then. Show me what you got.""

5) they need to even out their job as dispute-settling Quartermaster by creating an equal amount of chaos!

[ID: A series of 3 tweets, all made by The Mechanisms, @TheMechanisms. The first tweet is dated March 21st, 2013, reading: Please note: there will be no autotune in the final album recording. Do not listen to Ashes. -JdV

The second is dated September 21st, 2011, reading: //on't touch that thing, Ashes! It activates all the frequency tranmi//

The final tweet is dated May 30th, 2012, reading: Just installed a new control panel on the Aurora. Looks lovely, all shiny dials and blinking lights. I give it a day before Ashes breaks it. /end ID]

aaand that's all! remember to crush that like button and pummel that subscribe button and ring that bell and whisper a tremulous "happy birthday" to the night sky on Monday!

[csmeaner]

Bro you cannot sit there and tell you think ANY of the admins in Scarfoxes have the brain cells OR mental capacity to remember a single fucking image posted almost a year prior to their design being created and sold. That’s being way too generous with Staff’s capabilities. Those cunts can’t even remember shit from a day ago let alone almost an entire fucking YEAR. I don’t believe even for a second that Dragon-Eternal ripped off that design and that’s not me defending staff. They’re too fucking stupid to retain any memory of something that long.

Someone on the bulletin pointed out that Laneycore wasn’t even active in the discord, and I checked the post history and they were right. If that ripoff Mikufox was being posted constantly or they had more art of that fire form then I could see it being an inspiration or ripoff but with the current circumstances? Hell no. Staff isn’t that good and Laney’s accusations of Dragon saving the image when it was posted are ludicrous. Who the hell does Laney think they are that someone would be assed enough to right click and save one shitty piece of art from them? Oh, Dragon-Eternal reacted to it at the time? Uh oh! Guess staff isn’t allowed to react to any image posted ever because it means they’re STEALING IT.

How far up your own fucking ass does your head have to be to think like that? And claiming that their fox is that popular, well-known, and liked like it isn’t a fucking ripoff design? Because Chuchy apparently has no creativity and had to rip off other sources themself and then shits on others for potentially doing the same thing? I’ve never heard of OR seen Laneycore before this fiasco and tbh I blocked them after reading through the bulletin and their comments because they seem like an annoying egotistical cunt. I also didn’t see many people talking about their fox in the discord outside of Laneycore themself, and haven’t seen it talked about anywhere else I frequent either so really, how popular is it actually? Seems like Laney’s status as a popular artist (if they even are one?) has gone to their head.

I know the entire point of the vent/callout was the staff’s unprofessionalism but Laney has no solid proof in their case that Dragon ACTUALLY ripped off their art piece for that design. The accusations they came in with were fucking ridiculous for not having proof to back it up and even a good moderation team would struggle in that situation. And looking at the two designs myself I’m sorry to say that I don’t see the issue. Two designs using green fire is hardly enough grounds to call plagiarism or copying when the coloration and elements in both pieces don’t even match up. Nothing about the two designs is similar other than the appearance of the color of the fire, and even that’s different when you look at the hex codes. I also don’t understand why Laneycore waited over a month to complain and why they didn’t go to Dragon with their issue first since Dragon was the artist of the piece.

Both parties behaved poorly here. I will never side with SF staff, but I can’t side with Laneycore here either because they’re also in the wrong. Demanding an entire palette change or hue shift just because a piece has similar colors to your own art is WAY too entitled and nobody gets away with that shit when they try it. Nobody owns a palette or a theme or idea, and ragging on staff because they handled your proofless accusations poorly is stupid as fuck. Nobody was going to come out of this situation a winner.

Fuck SF staff, especially with Dragon’s vague ass counter journal and every other time the SF staff have done shit to piss people off (DARCI), but really fuck Laneycore too. All of them can eat shit.

post related (links to updated post even tho i think this one was made before it was edited)

what happens when an insufferable force meets a dismissive object. like you can't even root for anyone in this im just happy this is a huge blow to scarfox in general

[alolowrites]

The Nightly Adventures of a Lost Shopper

Summary: Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks. 

Author’s Note: Soooooo, it’s almost been a month since my last story 😅 Work life and gym life really are keeping me busy. Anyways, I was inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr and like always, I had to run with this stupid idea lmao.  Please enjoy! 

Genre: Mafia!AU (if you squint lol) Warnings: Mentions of blood (just a smudge really); reader having no self-control when it comes to grocery shopping loll  Word Count: 1.6K+

You stand underneath a flickering streetlight, swiveling your head left and right as though you’re checking for some car to drive by. Everything is so eerily quiet that a squeaky noise makes you jump on the spot. You crane your neck up and sigh—it’s just a lonely traffic light swinging mindlessly in the breeze.

The yellow light blinks nonstop, unaware if it’s broken or maybe it does, and the thing really doesn’t care anymore. You don’t blame the poor traffic light; the streets are more dead than a groundskeeper working the midnight shift at the local cemetery. At least the worker knows where they are.

You, on the other hand, don’t and admit defeat. “Damnit, I’m lost.”

A hiss escapes your lips, and you grip the grocery bags that weigh like a stack of bricks. In hindsight, you should have created a shopping list. There’s a reason why you can’t be trusted with buying your groceries without some plan. Now you’re standing at an empty corner all alone in the middle of nowhere, dealing with two screaming arms and muttering a curse at your dead phone with the awful battery life.

“Alright, let’s just go this way,” you mutter and trudge forward, praying that your bags don’t tear open. You can only handle one problem at a time. Yet, your life is anything but simple. The universe always has something up its sleeve for you, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your bags might be intact, and there aren’t any dark clouds threatening to rain on your parade, but you do hear loud grunts in the far distance. They cut through the deafening silence almost instantly. You quirk an eyebrow and waddle closer, curiosity getting the best of you.  

Big mistake.

In front of you is a man screaming in agony, crouched over as he endures powerful punches from the red beast towering over him. The blows never stop, each one more brutal and vicious than the last. No shred of mercy given despite the desperate pleads howling into the deep night. You watch helplessly as the final punch is thrown. The sheer force alone breaks the man’s ribs so hard that a sharp pop echoes throughout the narrow alley.

The red-haired guy tugs his personal punching bag and growls, “You ready to talk now?”

“Yes-s.”

“Good, so where’s the money you owe us?”

“At a secret hideout,” he rasps, blood dripping out his swollen mouth. “I-I can take you there a-and give you the money-y. I promise!”

He gets dropped like an old sack. “Drag him to the car.”

“Got it, Big Red.”

Said man finally turns around, and your heart stops. His bright red eyes land on you, blinking in surprise. You stare back at him, wondering if you can just crawl into the disgusting dumpster and hide there. But you don’t move a muscle nor say a word, too shocked at what you’ve just witnessed.

Oh my god, am I an accomplice? You grip the bags tighter in your hands, and his eyes glance at them before looking at you again. Eventually, you mentally slap yourself out of your stupor, blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry!” You stumble backward, legs shaking for dear life. “I-I didn’t see anything! I’m just—gah!”

You spin on your heel, wobbling out of there before who knows what could happen to you. Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks.

“Hey, wait!”

You freeze at the sound of his voice—it’s rough and commanding but not too intimidating. His footsteps falter, and you quietly count to ten before turning around, your bags rustling behind your legs. The man (Big Red was it?) stares at you, almost like he’s figuring out where you fit in this bizarre puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Meanwhile, your eyes bounce between him and the barely conscious punching bag that’s being dragged to the black SUV, leaving a trail of red droplets in its wake. You swallow a tiny gulp; this is all too much.  

“Listen, I swear I didn’t see anything,” you exclaim, jumping on the defense. Seconds later, you wince at your mistake. “Okay, that’s a lie, b-but I promise I won’t say a word! I mean, not like I can call the cops on you since my phone is dead—”

“Huh? Wait a sec—”

“—which is honestly terrible since I’m lost! Do you know how long I’ve been walking all night? I’ll tell you: an eternity! And my arms feel like they’re about to fall apart any second now because these bags,” you shake them like a pair of maracas, “ are heavy!”

“Hey—”

At this point, you start airing out all your grievances in one go.

“I think there’s a pebble inside my left shoe, rolling around like it owns the place. My house keys keep pinching me against my hip, and one of my shoelaces feels so loose that it’s probably untied, waiting for me to trip.” Suddenly, the stress becomes overwhelming that your lips quiver. “It’s super late right now. I’m all alone and scared and—and,” you thrash the bags while wailing, “and my ice cream is melting!”

You inhale sharply like a person reaching the water’s surface after a deep dive. Your face is flushed, and your heart beats a mile per second, the adrenaline soaring through your veins as you finish your explosive rant. Eventually, you calm down and remember who is standing in front of you. Big Red looks on in astonishment, his mouth gaping like a fish.

...I can’t believe I just did that.

“Oh, god. I...I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, ducking your head and closing your eyes as a feeble attempt to protect yourself. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” You bravely peek at Big Red, who sports a concerned look. He cautiously steps forward with his hands raised. “I don’t wanna hurt you, trust me.”

You snap your head up in disbelief. “Y-You don’t?”

“Of course not,” he says, giving you a gentle smile that washes some of your fears away. Big Red takes another step closer. “Why would you think that I’d hurt you?”

You give him a ridiculous stare. “No offense, but you did beat up that guy into a bloody pulp; I’m pretty sure he has no ribs left.”

Big Red laughs, catching you off guard. He jerks his thumb at the parked car and gives you a lopsided grin. “Oh, him? He’s just business. I would never harm an innocent civilian, though. It’s part of the code.”

“Part of the code?” You scrunch your eyebrows. Then it hits you. “Oh...Ohhh.”

Everything makes sense now. The suspicious, burly men with fancy suits. The rather gruesome violence in a random yet bare alleyway. The vague demand for money that’s owed. Yup, you walked into an unfortunate episode with the mafia; just your luck. You raise one finger, mouth ready to say something but then decide against it.

Big Red notices your hesitation, scratching behind his neck like a guilty puppy. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ with all the blood and violence and, well, you know…” He laughs awkwardly, making the corners of your lips quirk.

His voice is so soft and gentle that your breath hitches. It’s unbelievable that this is the same man who was growling like a wild beast before. The memory fades away as you judge his words, realizing that there isn’t any malicious intent behind them; he is honest and sincere.

Perhaps Big Red is right—maybe he won’t hurt you. If he did, he would have done it by now. Instead, he flashes a friendly grin that brightens the entire block, unlike those deadbeat street lights. The grin alone is enough to make you relax and crack a small smile at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, tapping one finger on your grocery bag that miraculously hasn’t broken yet. Stepping back, you start making your exit. “I guess I’ll leave you to finish your, um, business.”

“Whoa, hold on!” Big Red squeezes your shoulder, stopping you mid-way. Without warning, he tugs the bags out of your grasp. You jump as his massive hands momentarily brush along your skin, making you fumble over your words like an idiot. Big Red then shouts over his shoulder to his buddies. “Go on without me, guys. I gotta help this sweet peanut here get back home.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Sweet peanut? Get back home? Him carrying your grocery bags?

“Please, you really don’t need to—”

“I want to,” he cuts you off, his warm eyes and boyish grin leaving you speechless. Big Red adjusts the bags without breaking a single sweat. “Listen, you’ve been through a lot tonight; let me take you back home.”

You gawk at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!” He puffs out his chest and gives you a wink. “Besides, you won’t be scared or alone when you’re with me.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

“I guess I won’t,” you chuckle, bowing your head slightly. “Thank you, Big Red.”

“Kirishima.”

“What?”

“My name is Kirishima,” he repeats, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “But-t Big Red is fine, too.”

You share your name and cheekily joke, “But Sweet Peanut is fine, too.”

Kirishima’s face lights up like the stars scattered across the night sky, absolutely smitten with you to the bone. He purposefully takes the longest route back to your house, hoping to spend as much time with you as possible. Luckily, you don’t mind—he is charming and sweet.

Guess it wasn’t so bad getting lost after all.

As always, thanks for reading! 

[alternativemiraculous]

A rather long explanation of why I don't like the Bee. Aka why I think making clones would be a better power.

Aaaah. The Bee. That nice yellow comb. Such a nice design I have to say. I remember that time, years ago, when I was still a newbie, when we didn't even know the Fox was a necklace... what a time.

When there were only seven Miraculouses, theories were vastly common. People looked up symbolism and made theories or just decided cool abilities to write with. Then Sapotis, in Season 2, changed the picture. The Zodiacs were revealed and people lost interest because instead of (then) four unknown Miraculous, there were like fifteen to do research for. I understand why some people use common abilities for Miraculouses tho, it's perfectly fine! It's just, I prefer more complex abilities.

I'm a writer, I've been writing Miraculous things for four years. And you all realise how much I like writing about the Miraculouses.

Yeah, so the Bee, there were many theories. I did have a theory that it would be paralysation, but not in a venom sense. It would've been crystalised honey and it could only paralyse an arm or a leg or something. I didn't like it that much so I started searching. Some people gave her flying, building things or even mind-controlling; but what I liked was this one: cloning.

Why?

It makes sense. Bees, along with ants and wasps, are known for their social structure. Bees in particular have some "roles", and they're known for that. What comes to mind is the concept of coordination, at least for me. Worker bees, abundance, collaboration, all that. A cloning power would require someone to have lots of spatial vision, body control and coordination, especially considering my headcanon where the Bee's clones replicate the main Bee's moves.

It made sense. Back when Sapotis was released, many of us noticed something: Marinette's first idea wasn't using the Fox. It was using the Bee. I admit it was such a vague thought, tho. "If the Sapotis clone themselves, maybe Marinette thought about a cloning Miraculous right before realising it would take too much time?".

It is versatile enough for me to write. My criteria for Miracupowers is that they can't make fights too easy. Cloning can facilitate many things, but it can be useless, misused, not needed, and very hard to control. And, most importantly, you can do many things with it. Distract someone? Yeah. Block a street? Probably. Fight support? Totally. Someone has to do a thing in two different places? Oddly specific, but it totally can happen.

So yeah, my version of the Bee functions like the Double Cherry from Mario 3D World. I admit I took ideas from that concept. I find it nice to write and versatile enough to make fights interesting.

But then, the actual Bee appeared. And I hate it. So much.

For me, it doesn't make sense. Since when are bees associated with subjection? However, if we look at the French concept, this makes more sense... kinda. In French, it is the Miraculous of Domination. Queen bees are associated with domination. But I don't really think domination and paralyzing go in hand. It's just... I don't like paralyzation for the Bee, especially since I'd prefer worker bees instead. And, as many have noted, domination works better with wasps! And the new Bee holder is wasp-coded. Canon Bee should be the Wasp Miraculous.

Why tf did Marinette think of one (1) paralyzing opportunity to fight an entire army of Sapotis? If someone has an idea then please tell me because I literally do not understand why they made Marinette doubt there.

It makes fights too easy. Bee totally paralyzes someone for five minutes... and, I guess, and adult user can paralyze eternally? This is totally OP and, unlike the Cat, it doesn't have any consequence. Cat is totally OP, but at least it cannot be abused like that because... people die. But the Bee totally can. Just bring the Bee. Paralyze the Akuma. Boom. No conflict. Unless very specific situations like Kagami's last Akuma which used a tweak of the same power. What do you do with paralysation? You paralyse things... and that's all? Is there any fight application aside from paralysing the villain?

I will never never never work with the canon Bee lmao. I find it so unoriginal and unfitting.

So my Bee represents Cooperation and for someone to be a good holder, they have to have a very developed spatial vision and body coordination to operate properly with their clones, as they imitate anything they do. So they should be a fast thinker and have strong visualization abilities in order to move the clones properly and learn how to fight with them. I think someone like Max would be a good Bee, because he has an amazing maths capability and probably, or at least I headcanon, lots of physics knowledge. So he could plan fastly how to move in order to execute his plan (overall Max is a very nice holder, I think). Or maybe someone like Nath, who is used to drawing movement so he probably has a developed spatial intelligence. And probably sporty people are good, but they'd have to have a strong concentration so maybe Kim and Alix are rather funny. So yeah, Bee!Max and Bee!Nath can work, at least with how I headcanon them both.

Alt!Bee is probably my most solid Miraculous and I feel like I will never change the cloning idea lmao. So yeah miss me with the Rat having it :)

By the way, I hate the Rat too! Why does it have two abilities? Multiplication, which is its concept, AND shrinking. I understand why, don't get me wrong, it's just that Multiplication and reduction could perfectly be different things. And I hate how clones do whatever they want. Does the holder control them? If so, how? Is there a limited number of clones? I headcanon four clones (because Miraculouses are 5-themed, which all the five minutes shit, so 4 clones + holder makes a team of 5) that imitate the holder's movements. I really would like some clarification, especially on the controlling part lmao.

So yeah, I think my rant ends here?

If you've read all of this, I love you. Please comment something. I'm begging you.

[imagine-darksiders]

Yooo, so I know a long time ago, you wrote a scenario where I think death and Draven were trying to help the human with her period. She was having bad cramps and needed pads and such. Do you still have that story? Lol, I’ve been looking through the tags, but can’t seem to find it (I’m also on my period, so I was reminded of the story and how good it was lol)

Oh yeah! The format was all weird on the old post, but hopefully it’s righted itself on this one.

War: The youngest rider of the apocalypse was slowly coming to learn that humans are far tougher than he’d initially considered. Specifically those humans who have a uterus.

“Oh, come on! Shit. There’s got to be some around here.”

War jerks his head to the side when yet another empty and slightly singed cardboard box goes sailing past his head. He raises a snowy eyebrow down at the offending object as it thuds softly against a shelf of mismatched bottles. Upon inspection, some of the oddly coloured containers have words like ‘shampoo’, ‘conditioner’ and the like. Truly, humans are bewildering.

The horseman’s other eyebrow rises to join its twin as he turns to peer down at you curiously.

“Y/n?” he pipes up, “What are you doing?”

The deep, rumbling voice of your travelling companion doesn’t disturb you from your search aside from tossing your head over a shoulder to look back at him and grumble, “Just looking for something. Won’t be a minute.”

War frown and tilts his hooded head to one side. You’d been ‘just looking for something’ in every single human supermarket you’d come across for the past two days. Something is clearly wrong, but no matter how much he probes, you seem reluctant to divulge anything to him.

Another small box bounces uselessly off his chest and he throws it a cursory scowl before stepping up behind you. He’s about to protest your vague answer when suddenly, you hiss and double over, clutching at your stomach and letting out a string of breathless expletives under your breath.

That in itself would be cause enough to alarm the hulking horseman. But what really rankles him, is that when you’d bent over, he caught a flash of something highly concerning and terribly familiar.

“Y/N!” the horseman barks, raising his hands calmingly, “Don’t move.”

You freeze in your spot, panic suddenly shooting up from your stomach and into your chest.

“Oh god. What? What is it!? Is there something on me? War? What’s wrong!?”

Honestly, you expected him to pull some kind of hideously mutated bug from your shoulder. What you didn’t expect, was for him to huff at you and press his enormous hand on your back, keeping you in place and growling, “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d been wounded?” equal parts frustrated and concerned.

At his exclamation, you pale and shoot a glance back at him before you spot where his gaze is directed. With a curse, you stand up straight and slip out from beneath his hand, twisting yourself painfully around to see if-

“Damn it,” you seethe, “I really liked these trousers.”

War allows his mouth to drop open in a wide gape. Here you are, a small, frail little human, losing precious lifeblood and in obvious pain, but the object of your concern is none other than your clothing. He shakes his head and steps closer to you again. 

“If you are injured, allow me to-”

“Hey! Woah there!” you shout, jumping back from the approaching horseman and swatting his hovering hands away, “I’m not injured, I’m just….you know… “

Scowl deepening, War grunts at you questioningly and continues his advance. It takes you a second to realise that he does not, in fact, know.

“Wait….You don’t…” Your face falls incredulously with a hint of mild agony thrown in the mix as a fresh wave of cramps suddenly thrums in your abdomen.

You really do not have the time to explain anatomy to a clueless horseman.

You wave your hands dismissively in the air. “Okay, look. I’ll explain what’s going on, but I really need you to help me find a full box of these.” One of the box-projectiles is held up in front of the horseman’s face. He squints at the bright, eye-catching writing on the side and his lips twist around the foreign word.

“Tampons?”

You click your fingers and point at him excitedly. “That’s the one.” 

War casts his gaze around for a moment, then, his eyes land on something on the very top shelf, set far back from the edge. He reaches out and takes it up delicately in his large, gauntleted hand then pouts down at it and gives it a gentle shake. Definitely full.

The horseman passes the box down to you and waits with bated breath as you inspect his find. He almost blanches when you suddenly cry out.

“YES! YES, WAR! These are-” You clutch the prized possessions to your chest and beam up at him, “-These are perfect. Thank you!”

His chest swells with pride.

“Alright,” you shove the tampons into your rucksack and place your hands on your hips, “Ready for code red. I’ll need to find a bathroom soon.” 

“Code red?” War squints in confusion and pulls his lips back, exposing his teeth when he remembers that, essentially, you are still bleeding. Humming, you grimace up at his befuddled expression.

“Riiiight, I still owe you an explanation, don’t I?”

He nods urgently.

“Okay, I’ll explain while we try to find some Ibuprofen,” you rumble, placing a hand on your back and wincing at the ache there. War’s vibrant eyes catch the look of discomfort on your face and he immediately starts to pick up boxes, peering down at the faded little words that he doesn’t recognise. “Eye-eyeboop….?” he trails off and stares down at you apologetically. You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing.

“Come on, it won’t be here, it’ll be in the pharmaceuticals.” Placing your delicate hand on his own, metal arm, you steer the giant horseman out of the isle and launch into what’s sure to be a painful explanation.

That night, your period hit you full force. It alarmed War to no end when you’d suddenly shot up from your seated position next to the fire you’d built and went hurtling behind a rusted transit van whilst shouting, “I’m alright! Don’t follow me, I’ll be right back!”

Naturally, War had gotten up to follow after you, but another scream of, “Don’t you dare come around this van!” had him freezing in place and pacing impatiently.

After only a minute or so, you return, sporting a miserable expression and an exhausted gait.

You collapse on the ground once again, turning to look up at War when he thuds down next to you.

“Code…code red?” he asks, testing the unfamiliar phrase on his tongue. You simply nod and pull your rucksack out from underneath you, rustling through it until you find a bottle of half-drunk water and a small, white painkiller. War was the one to find it, in the end. Only after you’d all but fallen down into a weeping heap before you even made it to the medical supplies. He’d….admittedly lost his cool a bit and started to frantically scour the shelves for the odd pills whilst you sobbed miserably.

In the end, he hadn’t allowed you to walk back to the camp.

Now, you couldn’t be more thankful to the Red Rider if you’d tried. He looks on edge, unsure of himself for once, and thoroughly out of sorts. He wouldn’t admit it to you, but he hated the fact that you were hurt and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when your head suddenly rests against his arm and you sigh tiredly.

“This sucks. First the end of the world and now this.”

Your hands fall on your stomach and begin to massage it. “Thanks for your help, War.”

He grunts in reply, raising his arm so that you fall against his side instead, then he allows it to fall back to the ground, pinning you against him slightly.

“You should rest over the coming days,” he rumbles.

Your eyes flicker up to him, “War, no. I can’t ask you to put your revenge quest on hold for me.”

“The Destroyer can wait,” the horseman argues softly, “If you bleed out-”

“War, I told you, I’m not going to bleed out,” you scoff.  He simply grumbles quietly, but otherwise doesn’t respond.

For close to an hour, you both sit and stare into the fire. War is as alert as ever, ears pricked and hand resting close to Chaos Eater, just in case. You, however, begin to feel your eyes droop. The painkillers have finally begun to work and the distinct lack of pain coupled with the horseman’s warm half-embrace is enough to tempt you closer to sleep.

Reluctantly, you make to stand up, hoping to get to your bedroll before you collapse, but you’re surprised when War suddenly tightens his hold on you and shakes his head. Surprised, but too tired to argue, you thump back down into the nook at his side and rest your head back against the broad chest.

War offers no explanation for his sudden clinginess, nor do you ask for one. Instead, you simply smile up at him, which he doesn’t return, choosing to furrow his brow at you and demand, “Sleep.”

You’re only too happy to oblige.

Death and Draven: Well it had to happen eventually. It had been a little under a month since you’d literally come crashing down upon the eldest horseman’s head, that fateful day after the apocalypse. But really? The Eternal throne? Certainly not the best location for a period to strike. Still, as you’d said -

It had to happen eventually.

Death stalks across the courtyard towards the Chancellor, who sneers at the approaching horseman. You, however, manage to make it about halfway around the training circle that Draven and his spectre apprentices occupy before you’re suddenly hit with the sensation of getting sucker-punched in the gut.

“Holy shiiiiiit,” you whine loudly, “Death?”

The horseman pauses mid stride, tossing an irritable look over his shoulder, but the irate glare quickly fades into an uneasy frown as he takes in the washed-out pallor of your face. He elects to ignore the Chancellor’s barked question, instead turning on his heel and making his way back across the courtyard.

Behind you, a gruff voice asks you if you’re alright. Then, a large, spectral hand lands on your shoulder and before you know it, Draven is looming at your back with his brow bones knitted together, concerned. It suddenly dawns on you that the undead warrior used to be a human himself. Perhaps if anyone were to understand, it would be him. You cast the approaching horseman a wary glance and take note of how many residents of the Eternal Throne have stopped what they’re doing to watch. You cower self-consciously backwards into Draven’s chest and whisper up to him. “So, you know that….thing, that happens to a woman every month or so?” Trailing off, you crane your neck backwards to look up at the undead. He casts you a quizzical look for a moment, tilting his head to the side. All it takes is an expectant raise of your eyebrows and suddenly, it hits him.

“Oh…OH!” The Blademaster’s loose jaw nearly unhinges in disbelief. “You mean, right now, you’re…?”

You nod desperately as Death finally joins the both of you. If you’d been paying proper attention to the horseman and not the excruciating pain in your abdomen, you might have noticed how he bristles when Draven wraps a protective arm around your shoulders and leans close to your ear to whisper something.

“Undercroft?” the man murmurs.

You sigh with relief and affirm, “Undercroft.”

Draven hums before giving you a gentle squeeze and nudging you towards Death.

“Take Y/n down into the Undercroft,” he tells the horseman, who looks as though he’s about to object to being ordered around by the undead, but Draven continues, “S'in the kid’s best interest. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he turns to fix a ghostly eye on the onlookers.

“Don’t recall telling you lot to stop training!” he barks fiercely. “G'wan! Get back to it!”

Death replaces Draven’s arm with one of his own, draping it around your shoulders and smirking when the other undead all fall over themselves trying to pretend they hadn’t been gawking at you.

“Would you care to tell me what’s going on?” the horseman mutters in a hushed tone. You open your mouth to reply but bite your tongue when a stab of fresh pain lances through your stomach. So instead, you groan and hobble towards the undercroft with a highly confused Death in tow.

—---

Down in the storage room beneath the Dead King’s throne room, the horseman gently guides you to sit down on a pile of mouldy old cloth. It smells like the dead, but then again, that isn’t exactly unusual in this realm. Besides, right now, it’s the most comfortable place in the universe.

You briefly bring Death up to speed on your anatomy and what’s going on, and when you do, you’re surprised to see him violently smack his open palm against the side of his head, hissing to himself, “Of course, how could I have forgotten. Idiot.”

As it turns out, Death is all too aware of this particular plight.

He mumbles an apology and slumps down onto the rags beside you.

“Is there…” he hesitates, coughing before asking, “…anything I can do?”

You swing your head towards him slowly and blink, smiling a tired smile.

“Got any painkillers in your Mary Poppins bag?”

He snorts. This isn’t the first time you’d likened him to this ‘Mary Poppins’ character.

Unfortunately for you, he shrugs. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”

“Oh well,” you say with a wince. “Can’t have everything, I guess.”

The horseman beside you hums in agreement, then turns to face you properly, shifting around on his knees.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You meet his gaze with a bewildered frown. But, hesitantly, you gesture to your entire stomach. “All over. Head, back, stomach mostly.”

There’s a responding hum, then a large, cold hand is placed firmly over your stomach and starts to rub in small, gentle circles.  

Of course, you flinch away, mostly due to the supernatural chill of his skin, but when you recognise that he’s actually trying to be considerate, you fall still and watch him, astonished.

The horseman doesn’t meet your curious eyes in favour of staring down at your stomach in mock concentration until there’s the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs.

As if it’s become a natural reflex, Death suddenly throws his arm out in front of you and whips his head around to the source of the noise but he relaxes the moment he sees it’s only Draven.

“How’re you doing?” the warrior asks when he spots you and the horseman sitting at the back of the storage room.

A quick glance at Death, then you look back to Draven and smile up at him.

“Better now, thanks. Where’ve you been?”

The pain in your stomach flares up again, causing you to curl in on yourself a little more and snap your legs shut for fear that your trousers could be stained without you realising it. Draven shoots you a look of sympathy, replying, “Went to see the old goat. Thought he might have something that can help.”

Death’s hand returns to your abdomen and begins its gentle, circling motions once again. Meanwhile, you groan and stretch yourself out, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“And?” you grumble.

In response, the Blademaster holds up a familiar packet, so familiar, you could almost weep. You honestly thought you’d seen the last of them since leaving Earth.

“He gave me these,” he grimaces, “Not like any clouts I’ve ever seen, but Ostegoth assured me they were all the rage back on Earth.”

A giggle stirs in you and bursts out before you can stop it. He looks so utterly out of place. If you were a little less tactful, you’d tell him he looked adorable.

But instead, you offer him a grateful smile and hold out your hand to receive the blessed packet of sanitary towels.

“Draven, you are a Godsend. Thank you.”

The Blademaster ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly with a calloused hand. “Dunno about that, I’m just sorry I couldn’t find something to help with the pain,” he laments.

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckle and throw your thumb over at Death, “got a horseman for that.”

Said horseman huffs. “I can always stop,” he threatens, lifting his hand slightly.

“Actually,” you shift forwards, getting ready to begrudgingly stand up, “You might have to stop, for now. I need to put one of these on.” You shake the packet in your hand and Death follows you up. He moves to stand next to Draven and they both just stand there, watching you curiously. Peering at them, you clear your throat pointedly and in an instant, both Blademaster and horseman jump, spinning around to avert their eyes and give you some much-appreciated privacy.

You can’t help but to laugh through the pain and shake your head amusedly. Gazing down at the sanitary towels in your hand, you make a mental note to thank Ostegoth profusely and ask him how he managed to get his hands on them at all. You may still be in pain, craving something sugary and wanting to just scream and cry at the same time, but at least you won’t have to worry about leaking. Draven assures you that you can take out any of your frustrations on him, if you’d like while Death says that he can always ‘lend a hand’ should you need it. You smile widely at their backs, glad that they’re so understanding.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: hidden side 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: chigasaki itaru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.4k words

𝐚𝐧: Thank you for the request ♡ Lowkey based off similar experiences from school lol ~♪ I had so many different ideas, but I wanted to write this one for a while so here we go! P.S, happy belated birthday @starryneve​ :> ♡

Normally he’d be able to withstand not opening his phone every few minutes— he’d always make sure to clear all his AP, LP, SP, BP, whatever P before heading to work. Stamina bonuses were never a problem too, either he’d head to the comfort room or log-in during lunch break.

However, events were simultaneously running right now and he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna rank in the top 1%, no, 0.1%.

Itaru discreetly looked around the office, and as soon as the coast was clear he opened up his desk drawer. His phone was stored inside, his team of expensive waifus auto-battling against the enemies for this event.

They weren’t doing bad at all, but he trusted himself a little more than the AI.

As he went over the best skills to use on the final boss, he heard a knock against the divider separating his desk from his co-workers.

“Code red, Chigasaki-san.” You muttered, volume low enough so only he’d be able to hear you.

Yikes, a red so early in the day? His boss must want something done immediately.

He hastily shut the drawer, sighing in relief that the metal filing cabinet barely made any noise.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully as he watched his boss approach from the corner of his eye, already looking agitated with a word yet to be spoken.

“Chigasaki, I need you to work on a new project,” his boss drawled on with the details; Itaru’s ears somehow being able to pick up on the necessary information despite all the words blurring in his head. Something about a presentation being needed and closing a deal— he’ll just check his email for specifics.

He continued to nod, pretending to absorb everything when in reality he was just looking forward to finishing the battle and getting his rewards.

However, hearing your name halted his movements. As you peaked over from your desk, Itaru could tell even you looked a little caught off-guard at the sudden mention.

“Yes, sir?” you questioned, swiveling your chair to face the two men.

“Since you’ve dealt with GeneSys before, I’m assigning both you and Chigasaki as the heads,” he explained, “there shouldn’t be a problem with this arrangement, right?”

“No, sir,” you replied.

“Not at all. We’ll start on the project as soon as possible,” he sent off his boss with a polite smile as the both of you watched his back disappear.

The silence restored in the room, you let out a quiet laugh to break the tension. “Honestly, thank god I’m partnered with you,” you sighed in relief, before humming thoughtfully “although I might get some envious stares for a couple of days.”

He pursed his lips.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said, but by the twinkle in your eyes, he could tell you knew he wasn’t being truthful.

Not that he minded. It would be an understatement to say he was pleased you were the one assigned to help him; if he could set a favourite co-worker, it’d probably be you. Not only were you dependable with work, but you didn’t bother him needlessly either. Even so, the two of you weren’t exactly friends, at least not until a month ago.

“Thanks for saving me. If he found out I was using my phone…” he trailed off as you shook your head understandingly.

“It’s fine, Chigasaki-san. After all, you’ve saved me a bunch of times as well,” you reminded him, “so what were you doing this time?”

Oh crap, he probably should get back to the game. He shouldn’t keep his waifus waiting, right?

“Oh, just messaging my troupe mates. They wanted to know what time I’d be home for practice,” he lied, pulling the drawer open and quickly selecting the skills and moves to beat up the final boss.

After collecting his rewards, he saw the little red exclamation point by the bento box icon. Lunchtime stamina bonus time~

“I didn’t realise it was 12 already,” he mentioned off-handedly, missing the way you jolted up for a second before pulling open your file drawer as well.

“Should probably have lunch in a while,” you said, unknowingly opening the same game Itaru was playing. “Want to eat lunch together? I’ll go over my previous experience with GeneSys Tech Corp.”

“Sure. The faster we get this over with, the better.”

‘So I could get back to my games in peace,’ the both of you thought.

Corporate slaves needed more rights. The project wasn’t so difficult that he’d collapse in exhaustion, but he was definitely frustrated with all the demands that needed fulfilling.

Should he game to destress? Ah, but he once he starts he might not be able to stop-

Itaru’s phone screen lit up, and he would have thought it was a game notification if it wasn’t for the ringtone blaring. As soon as he saw your name, he wondered if you somehow picked up on the fact that he was planning on slacking off taking a break.

“Good evening,” you greeted him, voice calm and not at all angry— right, he can strike off the ‘my co-worker has a 6th sense?’ theory. “Sorry to disturb you, just felt like checking in. How’s work going from your side?”

He looked at the graph currently shown on his desktop, already feeling a headache incoming. “Not too bad, could be better,” Itaru answered vaguely, not wanting to give you a bad impression.

He couldn’t figure out whether you believed him or not, the only tell being the hum you let out.

“Same boat, then. Seriously, for a company whose most relevant success is a video game in the 90s…”

Itaru immediately perked up, pressed at the mention of the game. “Right? Then again, what do you expect from them after that total disappointment of a sequel that-“ he suddenly stopped.

If he said any more he totally could’ve been in trouble just there.

“Oh, how’d you know about the video game? GeneSys rebranded themselves a couple years ago, so I didn’t think you’d know about it,” you questioned him, leaving Itaru to scramble for the best excuse he could think of.

Yeah, he’s not about to take the risk and assume you knew the game because you’ve played it before.

“Did some research on the company’s past endeavours,” he began, sounding as nonchalant as he possibly could, “I suppose I got a bit invested.”

That was one way to put it. He still remembered being upset as a teenager that the long-awaited sequel was a total cash-grab.

“Pfft,” you let out a small laugh, and for a moment Itaru felt frantic— did you somehow figure him out? He wouldn’t put it past the you who caught him using his phone, when no one else had, a month ago.

“This oddly passionate side to the princely Chigasaki Itaru-san is really nice.”

He was eternally grateful to whatever higher being (beings?) there was that this conversation was taking place over the phone. Despite the air conditioning, his face began to warm like his phone would overheat after playing for too long.

Seriously, all you said was that side of him was nice— not that you knew the full extent— so why did he feel like a cliche otome MC? Wasn’t he past the stage of getting flustered over stuff like this?

“Chigasaki-san, are you still there?” you called out, and Itaru calmed himself down to the best of his abilities before answering.

“Yeah, sorry. Connection got cut for a bit. You were saying?”

If a smile had a sound, he was definitely hearing it right now. “Oh nothing~ I was just thinking that your fans would be so jealous if I told them I got to see a hidden side of their prince just now,” you teased.

Probably not. It’s not exactly the definition of charming, not even urban dictionary worthy, but he’ll indulge you.

He didn’t even bother covering up the huff that escaped him. “And who knew my dependable and quiet project partner was so chatty? Keeping a guy up this late and distracting him from work?”

It was your turn to be silent, and before he could apologise you beat him to it.

“I didn’t realise it was so late! Sorry, I wanted to chat away the stress,” you explained, “should probably stop disturbing you, right?”

He looked at the time. He’s not sure what he’s doing exactly, but he doesn’t need to go in-game until the reset at midnight— might as well refill his irl stamina too, right? Well, if he could be the bento box that helped you refill your energy, why not?

… Yeah, that sounded better in his head.

“I mean, we could probably talk about work on call… or,” he paused for dramatic effect, “we could just talk.”

Itaru’s equally as relieved as you when you breathe a sigh of relief. Oh thank god, he didn’t want to actually talk about work. It was only the first day of the project, both of you had time to kill. Probably.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re gonna end up sniffing out my secrets?”

He snickered at your suggestion. “Then I’m not the co-worker you should be worried about then,” before you could question who he possibly meant, he continued, “though since you got to see a quote, hidden side of me, unquote, shouldn’t I know more about you?”

“Hmmm? Like what?” you asked.

“Like what you even do on your phone anyway? You’re on your phone just as much as me,” as he uttered those words you were voiceless for a split second, not unlike the momentary silence committed by Itaru minutes ago.

You tittered, your awkwardness not going unnoticed. “Mostly reading e-books, nothing too special.”

Okay, but the way you made it sound gave off the impression of it being fan fiction or something. Not that he’d judge, just a little surprising for you he guessed.

“Oh? What’s it about?”

His suspicion died down quickly enough as soon as you went off about the plot and characters of the story you were reading. He made a noise every now and then to let you know he was still listening, moving to his bed as he slipped on his headphones.

As you ranted about some complicated love triangle he figured would be popular in TV dramas and reverse harem routes, the more he found it undeniable that he enjoyed seeing this side of you, too.

He felt the tension of the workday slip off his system, your voice washing it away. Who knows? Maybe you’d consider a career in streaming or ASMR or something.

A couple of minutes pass by, and Itaru’s wordless responses died down after a while.

“Chigasaki-san?” you asked gently, not wanting to disrupt him should your suspicions be correct. When he didn’t respond, you smiled to yourself. Well, midnight just struck after all.

“Good night, sweet dreams,” you whispered before ending the call.

Imagine finding out from a 17-year old brat that his ranking dipped because he fell asleep listening to his co-worker’s voice while waiting for the reset. He was a little upset at having to spend diamonds just to climb back up the leaderboard, but at least he’s in the top 0.1% again. It was nothing a bunch of grinding couldn’t fix.

What he was mortified about, however, was falling asleep in call. He was the one who suggested staying in the call in the first place, yet he dozed off on you. You didn’t send him an angry text or anything, but he was still prepared to press an f in the chat for himself.

Itaru found that you were already sat at your desk by the time he arrived, prodding at the phone inside your drawer. While it was mostly hidden, if he looked close enough he’d probably be able to see what you were doing.

… Not that he was going to, of course. You were mutuals in this we-secretly-use-our-phones-at-work tendency, he wasn’t going to betray you now! Still, he was a little curious. A peek over the shoulder wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Chigasaki-san, good morning! You looked like you rested well~”

Mission failed. We’ll get ‘em next time.

“Aha, my apologies. I suppose I was more tired than usual,” he paused, feeling something off— by the way you narrowed your eyes slightly at something behind him he could tell people were probably eavesdropping.

“Don’t worry! It was getting too late to discuss the upcoming project anyway,” you replied, putting emphasis to deter any rumours. Though you weren’t shouting by any means, the sudden volume definitely got you the response you wanted by the upwards pull of your lips. “We can continue working on it now that you’re here.”

As he sat down, turning his chair to face you, Itaru was unable to mask the small grin he sported on his face. “Very cool of you. So you have this side to you as well?”

“I’ve always wanted to try out a scene like that! Though I always imagined myself more on the MC’s side than the ML’s.”

“Hm? MC? ML?” he asked, feigning ignorance to the terms used. Not that those terms were limited to use in games, but still it was a teensy bit suspicious.

“Oh? Uh, MC for main character and ML for male lead,” you explained to him, not knowing that he already knew what they stood for. “Reviews for novels use those terms a lot, so I guess I picked up on them.”

… damn you right, though.

“Didn’t peg you for an office romance lover,” Itaru said, watching you shrug your shoulders.

“What can I say? I’m a versatile person with many interests~” you grinned, the sudden flash of your teeth a little blinding.

Unexpectedly all it took was one late-night phone call for you to be more comfortable around him; he finds himself feeling much of the same. Still, weren’t you getting a little bolder with your vague responses?

Well, if his dating simulators taught him anything, it was clear that you were begging for a response. For an unathletic man, his heart rate increased steadily like a man on a morning jog— the anticipation similar to what he felt when a game continued to throw him pleasant surprises.

“Really? What else are you interested in, then?” he asked, keeping his voice low so that only the two of you could hear each other. On the outside, the two of you probably (hopefully) looked like you were discussing work; at worst, conspiring a business scheme together— the glint in both of your eyes said otherwise.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” you laughed quietly, almost tricking Itaru into believing you wouldn’t say any more. “For starters, I’m interested in you,”

He’s, well, more than a little dumbfounded. Shellshocked might be the appropriate word for it. Seriously, who told you it was okay to be so direct? Illegal, absolutely illegal. Someone arrest you already.

Still, his face is as calm and relaxed as ever; you wouldn’t have noticed anything was wrong if not for the colour beginning to dust his cheeks.

“What specifically about me?” He could be digging himself a deeper hole, but all the same, he could use this to turn things around.

You rolled your eyes at him, as though the answer was obvious. “Everything, pretty much— though especially your, let’s call it the non-princely persona. I’m onto you, Chigasaki-san~”

He resisted the urge to laugh, pushing down the bubbling feelings of excitement that threatened to leave him.

“Not if I expose you first, sweetheart~” he threatened jokingly.

Thus began a game that would end sooner than both of you expected.

“Chigasaki-san, is it alright if we end our planning session early today?” you asked him, picking up your mug and placing it between your lips. He found himself mirroring you, drinking his coffee as well before responding.

“Sure. You have something you need to do?” He asked curiously, the dip in his smile showing the slightest disappointment on his features.

Work was still stressful as always but your presence, especially over the past week, had made things bearable if not enjoyable at points.

“Yeah. I have to pick up something from a store and I don’t wanna rush before closing time,” you explained, setting the now-empty ceramic down. “Thank you for the drink, Chigasaki-san. It’s easier to work with no one to bother us, you know?”

“Don’t mention it. You treated me yesterday, so it’s my turn now,” he waved off, shutting his laptop to begin packing up his things. “Need me to drive you to… wherever?”

The two of you exited the coffee shop, the cool breeze hitting your faces as the two of you descended the stairs. As you turned to greet him farewell he fought to keep his hand still as he looked at your wind-blown hair, slightly unruly but endearing at the same time.

“If I didn’t know you better I’d say you just wanted to be around me a little longer,” a soft, airy laugh escaping your throat. A smile touched the corners of his mouth and played in the laugh lines beside his eyes.

“Who’s to say you’re wrong, though?” he watched the red creep from your cheeks to your neck, half reveling in his success and half wondering if it went any further. He’s only a little dismayed that you hastily wished him goodbye and ran off to who knows where, but there was always tomorrow.

By the time you enter the game shop you’ve calmed down, for the most part, hair still a little disheveled but otherwise alright. Did playing around and teasing him finally come to bite you in the ass?

Ugh, that felt like a moment in otome games where the MC decides to tease the ML and the comeback has them all flustered and they run away.

Okay, that’s exactly what happened.

Seriously, you were an adult, what were you doing acting like a teenager? Did the dating simulators infect your brain or something?

You browsed through the new figurines to distract yourself, waiting for the inventory manager to retrieve the game you pre-ordered a while back. Once you and Itaru Chigasaki finished this deal with GeneSys you were going to immediately put in all your free hours into playing the game.

From the corner of your eye, you could see a familiar character, his figurine hidden a couple rows back.

“Damn, haven’t seen you in a while,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing the figurine. Shitty sequels aside, the OG game was totally fun. Maybe it was due for a replay of the game? You could probably dig up the cartridge somewhere in your room.

Distracted by your nostalgia, you wouldn’t have noticed him if it wasn’t for the narrow space causing you two to bump into each other.

“Ah, sorry…” you apologized for blocking the way, about to put back the figurine and move on until you heard your name.

Shit, you knew that voice all too well.

“Chigasaki-san?!” you exclaimed, taking in his widened eyes and knowing your expression wasn’t too far off from his own.

Once the initial wore off, rationality and relief took place. To think you were hiding the extent of your, uh, gaming obsession when in reality he wasn’t too far off, as far as you could tell by the sleek, limited-edition controller he was holding.

Yeah, he might even be worse than you.

“When I implied wanting to spend more time with you, I didn’t think it’d be like this,” he said, a good-natured laugh leaving him. Despite your original embarrassment, you followed suit soon enough.

“I guess we both ended up seeing each other’s secret pastimes at the same time, huh?” you replied, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I was right though,” you began, watching Itaru’s eyebrow quirk upwards.

“Right about what?”

“Liking this hidden side of you,” you smiled in delight as he looked at you uncontrollably fond, finally getting to fix your hair with his free hand.

He’ll ask you out properly some other time, but for now…

“Just the hidden side of me?” he teased, his hand sliding from the top of your head to poke your cheek. “Meanwhile here I am, liking all of you.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes in faux exasperation. “I like all of you, too.”

want to order again?

[maxineswritingcenter]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Sam Ending

(Y/N) felt warm as she started to wake up. But that comfortable warm got hotter and hotter until she couldn't stand it. She stood up, feeling her lungs ache as she breathed in the muggy air. She was not where she passed out. She was in a dark place, brimstone and lava rock surrounded her. Was this Hell? Did she die? She felt vaguely at her side but there wasn't a wound there. No, she must have been sent here on accident, she wasn't being tortured. She was safe, or safe as you can be. She looked to her right and found a staircase. If she remembered correctly, that was the path towards the fake cage that Rowena had conjured to hold Lucifer when we thought his ego would be enough to destroy Amara.

She found the bottom, after walking what seemed like an eternity. This looked like it had all back then. Rowena's magic spellbook was still on the alter piece, the cage still stood. Lucifer was still in there and so was Sam.

"Sam!" She called, rushing forward. Sam looked at her and held his hand out.

"Stop!" He shouted, "Don't get any closer."

Lucifer came to the edge of the cage, looking through the bars at her, "Well looky here, if it isn't my favorite little huntress. How are you, doll? Still thinkin' about me, huh?" She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an answer so she was brought back to Sam, "How do I get you out?"

"The book. If you could read Rowena's spell, it'll send him back." He said.

"Sam, I can't read the codex, it's coded so only Rowena can read it." She said, watching the devil pace out of the corner of her eye.

"Shame." Lucifer said, "But that just leaves Sammy and I to finish our business. He's gonna say yes, or I kill him."

She shook her head, "You're bluffing."

"Oh, she speaks." Lucifer smirked.

She continued, "You can't kill Sam, he's your true vessel. You need him whether you like it or not."

He gasped in mock horror, "Oh no, my only true vessel?" He held his face then rolled his eyes, against her will she was moved closer to the cage by his will.

"Don't!" Sam yelled. Lucifer waved at him vaguely. He brought his hand out and touched her face. She couldn't move, she could feel his burning, icy touch.

"As it turns out, there is a fail safe for vessels. It's a system of checks and balances. If one vessel doesn't comply, I could take another. And, between you and me, sweetheart, I like what I see."

She glared, "Never." Lucifer smirked, pulling his hand away.

"Are you sure about that? Because I could just snap my fingers and Sammy would go," he mimicked explosion noises and brought his hands out.

"No!" She shouted.

Sam looked at her, "Get out of here!"

"I can't leave you here. Not with him!" She said, watching Lucifer walk away from the bars and towards Sam.

"Hey!" She called, "What are you doing?!"

"No use for him anymore. I'll just be doing some clean up." Lucifer said, grabbing Sam by the neck and lifting him up. Sam choking and grunting, desperately clawing at Lucifer's hand.

(Y/N) ran up to the bars, grabbing them and shaking them.

"STOP!" She cried, YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"

"That's the point." He smirked, snapping Sam's neck.

"NO!" She reached out.

-

"Hey." Dean said, sitting on the side of the bed, "Can you hear us?" She didn't respond, just shook her head.

"No... No..." She mumbled.

"We're here. It's okay now." Sam said calmly.

"No!" She shouted, sitting up, eyes wide, "Sammy!" She practically lunged herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She gripped onto his shirt with her fists, making sure he was real and alive. Relief washed over her as she felt him breath and heard his heartbeat against her ear.

Sam looked at his brother, chuckling softly, rubbing her back.

-

"So... We're soulmates?" (Y/N) asked, trying to process everything they had just told her.

"Yeah, ain't it convenient?" Dean asked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Sam nodded from his spot on the bed. He smiled lightly.

"I think I'm gonna go on a walk." She stood up quickly, not stopping when Sam called her name as she closed the door behind her.

The dream was one thing... She guessed that was her soulmate journey that they talked about. But it felt so real. It felt like her heart shattered, she felt so helpless. But she made the right choice. She knew Sam would never want the burden of Lucifer on anybody. They always found a different way. They always keep fighting, no matter what. She walked for a while, not really in any direction. Just walking back and forth along the front side walk of the motel. She almost didn't notice that Sam was walking with her, almost.

"Hey, I know this is a lot. But I don't think you'll get anywhere wearing a moat into the sidewalk." Sam joked. She stopped and was hit by how sore her feet were.

"You're probably right." She shoved her hands in her pockets. Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not the ideal situation. I was hoping to do this earlier when you didn't almost die for it to happen but..." He paused and cleared his throat, "(Y/N)-"

"Are you asking me out?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at the taller man.

His eyes widened and he choked on his words, "Oh uh-uh, yeah." He let out a nervous sigh, "Yeah, I was-am!"

(Y/N) gnawed nervously at her lip. She did really, really like Sam. This could be a blessing in disguise.

"Sure. I'd love to." She looked down at herself, "I gotta shower first."

"Oh yeah, uh, take all the time you need." Sam smiled.

-

Sam had taken her to a little place in the park, in was nearly sunset. The sky gave the world a warm glow that filled their hearts. Sam had made a little picnic of sandwiches, two cupcakes and some wine. It was an odd combination but he made due with what they had.

They were laying on the blanket, glasses forgotten, just passing the bottle back and forth.

"I was going to ask you to do this before the case but uh, you gotta do what you gotta do." He took a long swig from the bottle. Feeling bold, (Y/N) moved a little closer so that she could press her side up against his.

"It's perfect, Sam. Just because it's you." She smiled, biting her lip. Sam looked down at her and she help but stare. The light shines in his eyes just right to bring out the brown in his hazel eyes.

Maybe it was the wine talking....but....

"Come here." She grabbed the collar of his flannel, pulling his lips to hers.

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

Cause mama I'm in love with a criminal~

Just kidding. Apparently the bar tender was being a dick.

This is the Sam ending for Crazy Little Thing! To read the Dean ending, click here!

Here is the series masterlist!

Taglist (send an ask to be tagged):

@happy-little-winchester

@hobby27

@somebodyto-love

@beanie-beebo

@vicmc624

@lilulo-12

@ria132love

@teenwaywardasgardian

@samros95

@calaofnoldor

Crazy Little Thing Taglist:

@sammykb1994

@lilcutekittykat

@jtownraindancer

@netaelex32

@the-worlds-saltiest-meatloaf

@fairestsiren

[kurogabae]

TSUBASA: TRAINWRECK CHRONICLES

And How Bee Train is Single-Handedly Propagating Cancel Culture in This the Year of Our Lord 2020

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 – PART 4 -- PART 5 

[[ join me on PillowFort. i have free invite codes if you need an account ]]

So last post was all filler episodes and we're well into season two of this, and I cannot stress this enough, two season anime. The only canon arc we've had was Piffle so far and it was poorly handled and out of order. Surely, absolutely surely, we are in for a canon arc. Shara perhaps? Skip right to Le Court? We all know they'd never dare touch Tokyo. How are they going to pad out the rest of the season?

Why another filler. A bad filler. The dreaded filler that goes against pretty much all of Fai's everything.

It's "A Date With a Wizard" and Kurogane isn't the one getting the date. If you haven't watched or heard of this episode before, buckle up kids. It's a doozy. And big spoiler warnings ahead.

Fort City Bit AKA Fai Dates His Own Fucking Mom (but like an AU version so it's okay I guess???):

You read that right. Fai goes on a date with this world's version of Chii, who was an artificial being he modeled after his dead mother. I could end the rant here but oh, there is so much to this. So much. It's only one episode long but it feels like an eternity.

The premise for magic use in this world is that:

Everyone has magic and that magic is specialized

Your career path is based on your magic's specialization. Like in MLP with cutie marks. And everyone is Fine with this.

Everyone recharges their magic via the sun, which is risen by their king

The king is chosen yearly after everyone in the country has the same fucking dream one night

The whole country runs on magic, to the point that if there is no magic there is no food, no power, no anything. But that's fine, because every day they get recharged by the sun. Right? WRONG! Because the current king is being a depressed little shit and refuses to raise the sun, effectively dooming the country to a slow death. Neat.

BUT BEFORE ALL OF THAT! The episode opens with Fai having a nightmare about Ashura looming like he's auditioning for a role in Attack on Titan. Vague and menacing, which is literally all we know about Ashura because we know nothing about Fai's past. And we never will. At least not in anime-land. No one knows anything. The manga isn't pulling this fakey flashback shit, so why is the anime? I don't know, but I hate it!

Anyway, the family gets the low down from Touya and Yukito - who still do not recognize Sakura and that upsets me because of the implications that there is no Sakura in this universe. (Sidenote: Kurogane recognizes them, even though he's never met them in the anime so far so honestly, just fuck everything.) While Touya is feeding them a frankly lavish meal that he's magiced up he explained their king problems. This leads to my next issue - if you're so worried about running out of magic why are you using it so flippantly and in such an extra ass way? Can you not make normal food? Does it only exist in magic form? Maybe just summon some soup? Does all food cost the same amount of mana? THIS MAGIC SYSTEM IS BAD!

So, back to the whole the king is too sad to raise the sun which powers everyone's magic which is now beginning to run low. Another problem I have. You get a recharge on your magic everyday. They have not gotten ANY recharges for, and I'm quoting here, months. They change kings every year. So even on the low end of things we're looking at 3-4 months before anyone got concerned about the king just. Not raising the sun. Personally, I would have gotten worried after a few days, a week at most. No one wanted to go and find out like "Hey your highness, why no sun? What's got you down?"

That, however, would be logical. This is a place of magic and whimsy! Not logic. Fai is asked to use his magic to figure out what is wrong with their king. Predictably, he tells them they have a better chance of meeting god, so everyone gets thrown in jail. Because refusing to solve a country's weird problems is illegal. Not that jail has ever stopped them before. Not with Kurogane and his muscles around. And while I am always up for watching Kurogane break things I do have to wonder - why are they not just warping free? Mokona said there was no feather. No one said anything about being magically held back. And yet, they are running through the castle, endangering themselves and the children!!!

Obviously this is For Plot Reasons, and I use the words "plot" and "reasons" loosely here.

Somehow the kitties and puppies get separated and Fai and Sakura end up surrounded by guards. Does Fai finally fight? Does he open that can of whoop ass we all know he's been saving? No. He leaps into the air and takes flight like some sort of stork. And while Fai's current cocky attitude is refreshing, he's working on some sort of idiot bimbo in a horror movie logic of "to escape the building I must do upstairs". This is not a man made to last on his own.

And, like Shrek to Fiona, the stairs lead him to the highest room in the tallest tower. Fai, then, promptly loses his shit as if he's not fully aware that doubles exist across the multiverse. Like, yeah, it would be a shock and anyone would be freaked out at the sudden surprise of it all, but Fai acts like he thinks he's stepped back into Celes. Like an idiot. He's better than this.

Now, we learn more things about this messed up king situation. Not only does everyone have a dream every year electing the new monarch, but the new king gets their memory erased for the whole year so that they can "rule with a pure heart" or some shit. Which seems like a baaaad fucking way to run.... anything. At all. Ever. Might as well pick up a fresh baby and put it in charge. It's bad. And it gets worse.

Chii is sad, but she wants to hang out with Fai and it's the first time she's shown any interest in doing anything but being Sad so her babysitter spirits are all like "Oh that's neat!" And Fai takes this is his chance to just... run off for a night on the town with her? They literally vanish and leave Sakura ALONE IN THE CASTLE WITH THE SAME SPIRITS WHO JAILED THEM. In what fucking universe????

Look, they are trying so so so so so so hard to sell this FaiChii shit. Fai leaves Sakura alone in a castle where they have just busted out of jail, he has no idea where or how Kurogane and Syaoran are, he's clearly uncomfortable around Chii as she reminds him of what he's running from, and, oh yeah, she's a copy of his dead mother he created in another world in order to comfort him and his dead brother as a child. Everything is Fine. Let's go get tea.

I'm gonna rapid fire some S tier bullshit:

no one knows where Chii has taken Fai - why is there no way to track your baby-brained king?

Fai leaves with Chii happily and cheerily, again, leaving Sakura behind and alone - who is this man because it isn't Fai

the only clue they have to Fai and Chii's location is that they are no longer on castle grounds, yet somehow Syaoran knows Exactly Where to Look - because sure why not?

Chii doesn't know how to drink???? - does this happen with every king? do they have to be potty trained too? omg they really are babies this is a terribly way to run a country!!!!!!

teaching someone basic life functions is not romantic but Bee Train sure wants us to think it is

"I want to stay with Fai forever and always." - at least he panics at commitment still... and probably incest

“I should be thanking you. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way.” - What? Uncomfortably reminded of your past and why your life is just shy of a living hell? Who are you? You are not Fai

Kurogane and Syaoran show up to save Fai and Chii, who have been surrounded by guards (I think, I can't remember exactly but I'm pretty sure they're there to take her back to the castle and her Sad Room). Fai apparently won't fight in front of Chii but whatever at this point.

It comes out that Chii is an artificial soul/being (like the Chii in Celes) and because of that she cannot leave the town or she DIES and that means the king dies and I guess they don't have a back up plan for that. Unsurprising but bad. Still, Chii begs Fai to take her away and show her the world and Fai like... hesitates? Thinks about it? Considers it?!?!? I dunno but he doesn't automatically say "Uh no, you'll die and also I have other shit to do, bye" and that's dumb for a lot of reasons.

Eventually he tells her no and convinces her to bring the sun back and be happy because she'll be able to remember him or some shit (you know, unless they take those memories too!) and  they all say goodbye. And I couldn't be more thankful.

Honestly, the real MVP here is Kurogane for not just losing his shit at all of this like I have. He's a better man than I.

Tune in next time as I continue to scream, in vain, at god.

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 – PART 4 -- PART 5

[shadestriders]

@necroarchy // Deathlord & The Butcher

She had killed him.

Rellinth had resisted any contact from Raern for months now, not even bothering to open her letters before tossing them from Acherus to the lands below. Even if she could provide a valid reason for him to meet with her, he had been too angry, too enraged to even risk an encounter with her. It was actually Alleria’s last missive that resulted in him reading the letter that led to his demise. 

A meeting in Dalaran. To discuss concerning new developments with White Lady, Raern’s note had said. It had even been encrypted in their father’s code. Rellinth had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe Raern was trying to seek refuge from Sylvanas’s Horde. That his sister sought a place among the Ebon Blade.

Hope fails.

Rellinth tried to recall the meeting... how Raern had acted as they walked the streets of Dalaran. She had claimed standing in one place would make it easier for others to eavesdrop. She had looked... paranoid? Eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He had thought she might have found herself in over her head. That she might need him.

Lies.

Raern had stabbed him in the side, sliding her poisoned blade through minute gaps in his plate. How long had she studied it? How many times had they met when she lived, solely so she could map the kinks in his armor? A potent toxin that spread through his body like Sylvanas’s blight. Perhaps it had been distilled from it. His body had locked up and collapsed in a dark alley. As his vision faded, he locked eyes with his sister. “Rest in the Eternal Sun, brother.”

Fuck Belore. It could rot.

Searing pain all too familiar raged across his form. Like the dragon’s fire that had decimated Quel’thalas. It crawled under his skin and into sinew, frying already seared nerve endings. Necromantic magics dragged him back from the endless void. Rellinth knew it was pointless to resist, to scramble and clutch at the lands Beyond. It hadn’t worked the first time. It would not work the second. 

Rellinth opened his eyes without a sound, different than his first unholy resurrection that had left him howling. Pain of the flesh was nothing to the searing brand of betrayal. It would fade, anyway, with his next taste of blood. The part of his conscience that had held him back from succumbing to hunger had been scorched away. Now, his hunger reigned supreme.

His crimson eyes scanned the sight before him, inclining his head in gratitude (false though it was) toward Zoen. “Clearly, my meeting went poorly.” Rellinth vaguely remembered telling someone that he meant to meet with his sister, though he couldn’t recall who. He had intended to have an answer for Raern, if she sought refuge in the Ebon Blade. Banshees did seem to come at a premium nowadays. “My sister will not be joining us.”

Rellinth sat upright on the stone block he had been deposited on. His stiff and so utterly dry limbs made the task more arduous than he would have preferred. Rolling his joints meticulously, he checked for any glaring flaws in his functionality. His saronite plate had been stripped from his torso. A new dark green mark had emerged in his scarred and desiccated flesh, just under his right rib. Good. Best I not forget.

Pushing himself off of the ‘table’, Rellinth noted Arthas’ presence in the room. Bitter irony caused the corner of his lip to curl. The Butcher had bore witness to both of his resurrections now. He inclined his head toward the king as well, before looking back to Zoen. “Point me toward my armor and blade and I’ll trouble you no further. I have a mighty thirst to quench.”

[oculusius]

Desk Jockey

“I want that report on my desk at 6 AM tomorrow or your ass is on the street.”

I look up from my keyboard, from the sickeningly modern, blank desk to the even worse face of my branch manager. Picture what you’d expect the person saying this to look like, and you’re probably right. Tall, dark hair combed back, slicked back with just enough gel to not be disgusting. Attractive, but only conventionally, because it hides his fetid interior. The rotten, wriggling insides of the kind of guy who relishes other’s misery, especially when he’s snorting high grade blow on the weekends. Though he’d probably prefer orphan’s tears (But that’s a story for another time).

I’ll do my best, you fucking cretin.

I mumble out some garbled excuse. I won’t even tell you what I said because I forget, or rather, it was so insignificant that I never committed it to memory in the first place. “Sorry Eric,” (He’s one of the ‘hip’ bosses that makes us call him by his first name), “Won’t happen again”, Please don’t take my healthcare away I will literally suck your dick to keep it. He shakes his head and walks away. We’re the last ones in the office, one of the tallest buildings in our shitty, Midwestern town; all glass and steel like some gaudy San Francisco startup. The only lights still on are in the lobby; besides that the only other illumination is from the sickeningly crisp glow emanating from my monitor. As soon as the elevator doors close behind Eric, I grasp my hair in my hands; it’s drenched in sweat and I’m balding already, despite being in my late twenties. Flakes of dandruff are appearing on my scalp, but by the time I get home from work I’m too damn tired to remember to get that special shampoo. Stress related? Probably. Did I have time to fix it? Fuck no.

I swear to God you motherfucker I’ll name you when I eat a fucking bullet you shit fuck…

Stop. The more rational voice in my head. Finish this shit in the next—5 hours? Shit, it’s already 1 AM! I’ll smash bottles and get proper wasted when I’m finished. And when the following day is over, seeing as I’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Fuck. I take two caffeine pills from the nondescript tin in my top drawer.

Alright. I need to get the excel sheet from that old email inbox the intern left when he quit (not that I blame him). To do that, I need to go through my inbox and find that time I CC’ed him about scheduling that conference call. But to get into my inbox, I need to reset my password because company policy is to change passwords every 3 weeks, and it can’t be a past password…

Alright. One step at a time.

 It’s two hours later. I found the file, finally. I feel like I crossed the fucking Rubicon with no limbs to get here. Now, to get the shit I need from it and send it to Eric. I hope he chokes on it. While bleeding. From every orifice, and then some. I open the file, and I’ve never been so goddamn happy to see the sickening green of excel. Document recovery—what’s that? Fuck it, I’ll deal with it later. I ctrl f the account name. Beads of sweat are dripping off my forehead. Outside, it’s still the vaguely pinkish black of night in any big city. I might actually get some sleep tonight…

WHY IS THERE A FUCKING HYPERLINK HERE?

Oh boy, this better not cost me my job. I get sent to a greyish webpage, the kind of soulless portal that screams ‘high finance’. A nondescript login page for “Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management LLC”. I roll my eyes. Management occasionally threw us these shitty platforms because their friends from way back developed them, and they wanted to help them out. Because God forbid we use Citibank.

There’s no login, but there’s a support number on the bottom of the page. Maybe if I call, they can help me? It’s worth a shot. I mean, I had nothing but time, and if it actually worked and saved my job, I would fly all the way to India or some shit to kiss that phone technician on the lips. Alright. God, when I was an undergrad did I ever imagine this would be my waking life (or lack thereof?) I should’ve joined the military. Better to be blown up overseas then mentally scarred over here.

4-887-612-393: 24/7 Live Support

I call from my office phone, in the hopes that it’ll lend credence to the claim that I fucking need this login. The phone rings for what seems like half an hour, but I can tell from the clock on the wall that it hasn’t been a single, godforsaken minute. Maybe I’d died and gone to purgatory? Seemed believable enough—although, I wasn’t sure what I’d done in a past life to deserve this. Maybe I was a Mongol slavedriver, and…

“Hello, this is ZenDesk, my name is Robert. How may I help you today?” My crisis of existential spiraling instantly, mercifully, shatters. I put on a cheery voice.

“Hi, I work at [company name]. I really need to find something for my boss, and in this accounts payable excel file, it says that I’m supposed to login to a ‘Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management?’ I have all my company info if you need it, I was just never told we used this firm before.”

A beat passes. I hope he heard the desperation in my voice, because if I had a guardian angel, it’d be on the other end of that phone line. Why did I tell him I never heard of this place? He doesn’t care! He isn’t paid to care!

“Of course, sir. Just a moment please. What’s your name sir?”

That thin veneer of politeness again.

“Uh, Keith Sanders. I also have my company email, if you can send the password there…”

“OK sir, what’s the address?”

I spell it out for him. My fingers are digging into the faux-leather of the chair. I’m starting to sweat. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucking hosed…

I tell him the address, and soon I have the URL to reset the Kleene-Rosser password. Surprisingly, my company email works for the username. Lucky guess I suppose? I thank him, truly from the bottom of my heart, and wait for the page to load.

According to the web page, the site was some kind of file storage service. Besides a few nondescript tabs on the top leading to “Home”, “Support”, etc. there’s nothing but a grey background set behind a very basic file directory.

[company_name]/Accounts/Accounts_Payable/2019/May/.

There it is! So deceptively close. 05.19.19.xcl

When I try to open it, I hear the most awful of noises: the Windows 10 error sound, impossibly loud. File corrupted. WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DO YOU CORRUPT A FUCKING EXCEL FILE? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS SIDEWAYS?

I dig my fingertips into my temples. I can feel the faint outline of an engorged vein on the side of my head. I imagine it, an angry, vibrant purple, the shooting representation of my immense, earth-shattering frustration.

It was as if every cog in the infernal machine that was my work place was designed specifically to drive me fucking bananas. Like my life was some cosmic joke to see how much I would endure before going postal, or at least smashing my monitor. Jump out an office window, strapped with speakers blaring “FUCK THIS PLACE” over and over again, even when they’re scraping me off the pavement with a comically large spatula. Every little thing piled atop one another to form the worst shit tsunami eternally suspended above my head. Every wriggling, squealing fucking cell in my brain…

Alright, let’s think of solutions. Eric wanted the file, and if it was corrupted, I’d just tell him the truth: that it’s how I found it. Man, why did I drive myself up the wall earlier? So stupid… I log into my email. Actually, I don’t. As soon as I hit enter in the URL bar, I get that fucking google “no internet” error dinosaur. At this point, I try to keep rolling with the punches. Alright, network diagnostics, here we go. After what feels like centuries, after windows resets the router, etc. I finally get an answer. Sort of. An error code. I had two hours left before I was unemployed. I take another caffeine pill and keep going, determined to see this shit through to the end.

Hidden on the fifth page of the search results is my answer. It’s on an obscure, early 2000s web forum that had a grand total of 2 users online, probably bots. A post from a literal decade ago has my same issue, and one of the commenters mentions he had the same thing. Apparently, it’s a hardware issue with the router. Despite being woefully underqualified to deal with IT issues, I have no other choice. No fucking way Eric will believe that the internet cut out 2 hours before my deadline. I find the tech support number, and pray that the information is up to date and that they won’t have to send a technician out to fix it.

As the phone rings, I ponder my situation. I was unlucky enough to find what I needed right as the Wi-Fi died, and it was probably one of those issues that fixes itself in an hour anyway. There it is again; I can almost see the shadowy gears of the universe working against me, trying to crush my psyche beneath their teeth into bits of mental scrap. When I finally get a response, I’m caught off guard. This guy seems American. His voice is a bit hoarse, and I picture him as the fat comic book guy from the Simpsons, gut and all.

“----- tech support. How can I help you?”

I don’t like the way his voice trails off every word, leaving a breathy wisp behind like the tail of a comet. It makes me want to shudder.

“Yeah, uh—“

My mind blanks for a minute. I’ve been derailed, and it takes an agonizing few seconds for me to decide what I want to say.

“I was trying to email my boss, and—“again with the unnecessary details “I got this error code, and I saw online that it was an issue with the router.”

“Uh huh.” He sounds skeptical. And disapproving. I imagine he’s wrinkled that gob of cartilage clinging to his face he calls a nose. “What’s the model number?” He finally asks.

I read off the name, and he laughs. He fucking laughs. Is my suffering amusing him? Arousing him?

I have a clearer image of this guy now. Pervading my mind, filling the gaps in my brain, covering my synaptic gaps with fucking cement. He’s grossly overweight, in some dark room somewhere. He smells like BO and he is sweaty milky beads off his forehead that are landing into his keyboard and congealing. The scent is odious, like a corpse coated in mayonnaise and left in a tomb for five millennia, except it’s still wet.

“Sir?” That subtle tone of annoyance again. “Do you understand me, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Would you mind repeating that? I was just—talking to someone.” Idiot he can tell you weren’t.

I write down his instructions, but first he pontificates about some issue with a chip in the router or some shit. Apparently I have to call the manufacturer? And they can help me dust it off or some such?

He’s fleshy and sickeningly soft, like a malformed, hairless puppy. That shirt’s been pasted to his damp stomach longer than you’ve been on Earth. It’s just a crude impersonation of the kind of people that run this industry. And you’re just his plaything, to be antagonized and fucked with until…

As soon as my attention is re-centered, I say “Alright thanks bye” without even knowing what he was rambling about before. He laughs. No, cackles. I can practically smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath. I slam the receiver down. It was starting to stick to my face with sweat and I really wanted to switch to my cell anyway. Peeling it away was orgasmic.

I examine the napkin I had scribbled on. I’d written it down in a haze, and it almost felt like I was reading someone else’s handwriting. Was that a 5, or a 6, or what? Doesn’t matter. I plug in the numbers, to some obscure fucking company I know nothing about. There’s like 12 digits, not like any number I’ve ever dialed. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the worst fucking mistake of my life, worse than taking on that debt to go to college or that time I puked on grandma’s casket at the funeral. Light years away, I imagine, some metaphysical blade was eagerly, sexually, preparing to scoop out my insides and flay them across time and space, flicking its imaginary tongue back and forth in anticipation.

I had expected that infuriating error code, but instead, I feel it. All of it. The other side is cold, and every hair on my body stands right on edge.

“Hello?”

The phone’s definitely connected.

“Hello?!”

This time it seems to echo. I’d opened a door, a beaming ray of light into a place that hasn’t been graced by it in eons.

“Is this Infolink appliances?” I gulp suddenly. My throat is impossibly dry. Everything that made me me, my identity, my memories, my interests… were spilling out into space, into an impossible void far blacker than even the darkest of nights. Please. Like my brain was a plastic bag full of air, but now it’s been punctured. It’s getting sucked out like a breached spaceship, and my body is curling around the now torturous void. I am a husk.

I drop the phone on the ground, and the screen cracks. But I’m far beyond caring about that screen now. The spiritual, inky black is billowing out of the phone like an endless wave going out in every direction. And there’s something else. A raucous laughter, and sneering, they’re laughing so hard somewhere backstage that their mouths, or whatever they call those fucking gullets, are overflowing with sickening white foam with streaks of yellow bile. Dark silhouettes that have been eagerly waiting this whole time for this horrible climax. I’d played my part. Everything else was out of my hands now.