#i was also severely anemic and used to pass out a lot

[jedi-bird]

Mother in law called me fat today. I'm literally done helping anyone in this family ever again.

[villainsally]

Hi there I’m here to infodump

Had two options, chose to go with my OC world

so there’s several continents but the one we focus on is home to the Highlands (mountainous region occupied by nomadic tribes of fauns and such, elves, and other various independent, ungoverned trail-towns (survive mainly on imports from down the mountainside, and are stationed along the common trails used to pass across the mountains)), the Willowweather kingdom (ruled by a mainly human royal family, has elven blood mixed in. Mainly exports textiles and artistic goods, as well as sea based trades as they border the sea for a good while!), the ArcadiaSong kingdom (a relatively small kingdom governed by a council of varying leadership of demihumans, werecreatures, humans, and minor populations of stone-orcs! Known for their detailed craftsmanship and musical talents, as well as being a historically passive nation), and the Wintercry Kingdom (where our story takes place! A farm based kingdom currently trying to cull a rebellion formed after the king got greedy about his taxes, and retaliated to protests with an overkill of violence. Home to a handful or elves, and a lot of humans, werecreatures, and demihumans!) there’s also a land just nicknamed “the twisted forest” which is thick foresty region that is home to the few remaining dragons and packs of werecreatures (commonly werewolves, wereavians, and werelions!). quick terminology:

Werecreatures - human-ish people with the arcane ability to transform into a specific creature (ex: Vixie, a werefox, is a young girl with fox ears, a more pointed face with an upturned nose, oddly structured legs, and a bushy red fox tail, can transform into a red fox)

demihumans - offspring of humans and werecreatures. Humanoids that retain animalistic characteristics, but lack the ability to transform. Large grouping, including those with just fur coated arms to more extreme cases, like a full set of functional wings. (Does not include aquatic types!!!)

Demi-aquatics - same as demihumans but the offspring of aquatic werecreatures and humans!

highlanders- literally any resident of the Highlands!

so the King Wintercry pissed off his citizens, and they got angry and fought back. The king has had a rough past, currently on his second wife after the first died delivering one of our main characters, Princess Sapphire. To secure a better standing, him and King Willowweather decided it was in the best interest of both kingdoms to have the youngest Willowweather Prince, August, and Princess Sapphire betrothed. Oh, also, Sapphire is highly anemic and has bad joint issues. The two got along surprisingly well, but before their parents could ship the two off to some estate, Princess Sapphire was kidnapped by the infamous rebels. With the help of Saph’s maidservant, a demihuman sparrow woman named Ava, a small and mute werewolf literally just named “Dog”, and a ex-General they don’t know is an ex-General, they set out to find Princess Sapphire. Eventually we meet Mary, a vampire man who was spying for the royals, who has had his fangs removed. Dog sneaks into the rebel base- well, moreover is let in by three too-trusting rebels, and gets the princess. The ex general gets away with Dog and the Princess, but is forced to leave Ava behind. Ava is being a bit brainwashed by rebels while Sapphire has to recover from captivity and somehow solve a bunch of other issues. Oh also everyone wants the king dead. Even his two most recent heirs, a son and a daughter. So yeah-

it’s me and my friend’s roleplay world but I love them so much AAAAAMXKSJKAKSJW

They are so cool. I am listening like a little kid being told a bedtime story (which might be accurate as I am eepy)

[lilyblackdrawside]

So in the middle of Gensou Shoujo Taisen is the Silent Sinner in Blue arc. This briefly follows a part of the titular manga where Remilia Scarlet decides to visit the moon because she’s bored and absolutely no shenanigans ensue and nobody gets hurt. Everyone had a good time.

In GST you get a few more people than actually go in the manga, but it’s still kind of an anemic roster if you ask me. It consists of three stages, the first of which just has you fighting a bunch of military lunar rabbits who aren’t a threat. That one’s a warm-up.

The second stage pits you against Yorihime. You’re meant to lose here and in the story, you do lose. Even if you beat her. This is because she kicks everyone’s ass without breaking a sweat in the manga nothing at all actually happens in the manga. So Yorihime is set up to be very difficult to beat. How? Well, mostly by being largely unhittable, having attacks that you pretty much can’t dodge and dealing enough damage to twoshot your tankiest units and oneshotting everyone else. However, when you do land a hit on her she’s not actually that sturdy.

This is what we call good odds versus her. Reimu is equipped with some accuracy boosting gear, Marisa is pretty much fully upgraded and has heavily increased accuracy and evasion due to being near death and from Friendship with Reimu. She’s also not in danmaku, so no extra evasion penalties apply.

In fact, she’s so accurate that at some point she just starts styling on you about it:

Elly here doesn’t get much from being at low health, she really is just dying. Not that she could take that hit even at full health if she wasn’t under Grit.

To pass the stage you just have to clear her first health bar and then wait out the rest, which isn’t too bad. But with clever use of Seishin skills to bypass her evasion and accuracy (Almost everyone gets Strike and/or Flash or can be functionally accurate with Focus) you can take her out reasonably well. Oh also she takes two turns per turn, three on her last Spellcard.

And then there’s the third and last stage. The worst one:

This doesn’t look too bad on first sight, but there are a lot more enemies that spawn in with each turn. Your main goal is to get the Seirensen all the way to that white border within 8 turns. The secondary bonus objective is to get everyone else across first. And all that actually isn’t that bad if all you want to do is just get outta there. But you see that all the way to the left. You see her there: Yorihime. I gotta kill her again. I just have to. Well, she still packs two turns per turn, but thankfully her accuracy is a bit lower this time (if you beat her on the previous stage anyway) and she doesn’t have any extra Spellcards. So you beat her. She just goes back to full health. You can’t get rid of her and her danmaku heavily reduces your movement range, so once you’re in, you’re in for good. There’s almost noone who could even outrun her with her two turns anyway. Aside from Yorihime, there are also several high value rabbits who carry extra cash that I want. And I just have to kill every enemy on every map. I just gotta. Also doesn’t help that I never put any investment into the ship. It’s always at minimum level because I simply do not want to use it, so it’s frail and can’t retaliate in a meaningful way. This is probably the least troublesome part though. I’ve tried many times to get every kill and also the secondary objective, but I just can’t do it, so this is the only stage where I give it up. There’s an actual reason to beating Yorihime again aside from the satisfaction of it and that is that she drops an item that’s useless on disc 3 but turns into one of the best pieces of equipment once you reach disc 4.

Also yes we’re “flying” through “space” don’t pay attention to it. It still counts as Sky terrain.

[caffeinated-rants]

It just keeps getting worse

Nothing can ever go smoothy, can it? I hate how insurances work here in the US. My deductible fucking resets at the beginning of the year and I once again am at ground zero, unable to afford any future progress that can be made towards getting a handle on my anemia. This time, though, I also cannot afford a new medication that I need for keep my IBS-C under control.

I have had to send a lengthy email to my work's HR department, and this time included the Tribal Chairman in on it, because I need HELP.

I am utterly frustrated, stressed, and worried about my health now. If you want to read the lengthy email I sent, I have copy/pastes it under the cut.

"Hello,

I'm sorry to continue bugging you about insurance issues, but I have a lot going on and am trying to do anything I can to still be able to keep track of my health at this time. Because this also weighs on my mother, who I rely on for transportation to all medical appointments, I have CC'd her in this email alongside Rayna so that she is aware of what I am trying to discuss.

As of the beginning of the year, I know that my deductible reset to 0. At this time, having that reset has utterly screwed me over in terms of my healthcare at this time. I was scheduled for an endoscopy this coming Monday in order to assist in figuring out why I am severely anemic, but due to the deductible resetting my co-pay up front is $4,000 and I cannot afford that. My medications have also been affected, as gastroenterology has put me on Linzess to control my IBS. Due to my deductible resetting, the co-pay cost of this medication is $500. I am now at a point where I'm going to be forced to halt any further progress on getting my health back to normal, which poses the dangerous possibility that it will once again tank downward because of this.

If there is any possible way that I can make insurance changes before open enrollment, I really would be grateful. Currently I have the HSA High Deductible Plan with Blue Sheild. My deductible is $3,800.

When I spoke with Jimmy back in December due to the situation between Blue Sheild and Adventist Health, he proposed that it was possible to make an emergency change in benefits before the two parties came to an agreement. We discussed the possibility of moving down to the Low Deductible Plan and I promptly put in a Qualifying Event request at his direction in hopes of getting this to happen. Weeks passed and I heard nothing from Jimmy, whether it be because of people in HR leaving the company or because this happened at the same time as the holiday season. During the time I waited, I sent at least 3 to 4 polite emails asking for an update that went unresponsive (again, be it due to those in HR leaving or because of the holidays season, if not both). When I finally was able to hear back, after finally hitting a point where I was getting frustrated and sent an email that indicated this, I was told that legal did not consider my situation to be a Qualifying Event and that I would need to wait until the next open enrollment in May for changes to take effect in June.

This is legitimately forcing me to halt any further progress on getting my physical health back up to par. At this rate, I have already had to cancel my refill on Linzess because I cannot afford a $500 co-pay for a necessary medication. I am still trying to work something out with Foothill Specialty's Gastro department so that I can still go through with the endoscopy on Monday, but again I cannot afford $4,000 up front for this. And yes, these costs are AFTER my insurance has covered their portion of the cost. When speaking with Gastro, they tried to see if I could do $1,000 up front, which again I cannot afford. I told them I could do $200 up front and then $200 a month thereafter until the total cost is paid off, to which they said they would sent it to their higher ups to seek approval for this, but did inform me that they honestly do not think that my compromise will be accepted "due to how low it is". Due to this, I may have to cancel this needed procedure that I need to continue with getting a handle on my anemia. The whole point of the endoscopy is to check and see if there is any internal bleeding in my GI track, as well as to take a biopsy to test for conditions that cause mal-absorptions in iron.

I need to be able to bump down to a lower deductible. As it stands now, with my current plan, I have to halt any and all future progress on bettering my physical health, which again, puts me at the dangerous possibility of my health (mainly the anemia) worsening once again. I already have had to have iron infusions due to how severe the anemia is, and I'm thankful that happened before my deductible reset, because I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise.

I am begging you at this point, really. I need to be able to bump down to a lower deductible sooner rather than later with the health issues I have going on. I cannot allow these costs to pile up, as I already am trying to pay off my surgery fees from this past August. Please, if there is any way that I can make changes in my benefits without having to wait for May to come around, and then June for those changes to take effect, I would be beyond grateful.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Thank you."

[demonogeny]

Oktigi headcanons

About random things

1. Hematophage (blood sucking) parasites have some useful ways of locating food and I headcanon that Oktigi seek some of these signals instinctively like warmth, that could be potentially cute. They also instinctively grab onto and wrap around things so they are very cuddly for sleepy time (if you're not afraid).

2. They can taste through their suckers like octopuses do, if they touch you with an arm and recoil you need to shower.

3. They need to hidrate as they seem at least partially aquatic so they come back home to do so at the end of the day.

4. I am undecided how they sleep, if they are semi-aquatic they could sleep in something that has water? a water bed?, fountain? a little fancy plate with water?? A small fancy tank?? Just a normal cushioned bed but small???

5. The way they wrap around their host all day unfortunately ends with that host being a drooled on.

6. Let's say you want to pet your nice friendly Oktigi partner to sleep, the best place is all across the top and above the eyes, the sides are risky and more sensitive, do not touch under, like a cat.

7. You need to do them favors of all sorts, they will refuse to do things themselves for as minimal effort as they take, they are lazy, very lazy.

8. They don't like being in their actual bodies away from their hosts for too long as they are naked, defenseless, tiny and rather useless.

9. Host bodies, just like any possesion and property are symbols of status and other Oktigi will judge what and who you're wearing.

10. They live about 80-100 years nowdays. They tend to be unhealthy as anyone in an industrialized society ends up being, but they are healthier than other industrialists since they mainly use up someone else's body more than their own.

11. Reproduction requires way more nutrition and thus a whole lot more blood feeding like in many earth hematophage parasites.

About their diet and feeding

Lorne said they are blood sucking parasites and I have two elaborations on this. They are either obligatory hematophages and they feed their host well enough so that then they can suck their blood right after. Or they are facultative hematophages and aside from blood they can feed on other things, so they do go out to fancy and costly dinners where they eat barely anything anyways.

They would need to feed little amounts but several times to keep themselves from going hungry while not letting that nice host body of theirs simply go anemic and go to waste, also to let time pass between feedings and make them short because I would suppose that as any hematofage they inject anticoagulants and they don't want their host bleeding out on their nice suit and also just dying. But an Oktigi getting greedy with blood and killing their host accidentally does happen, especially to younger ones, for that reason they do switch bodies every now and then, some have quite a few different ones.

About their parasitism

We see Sekto hijack the motor functions of his host and move fluidly as if natively and Lorne said Oktigi obtain the knowledge of their host so unlike mind controlling parasites from earth that control would technically come from something beyond enzimatic and hormonal control, knowledge and memory are simply firing patterns in the neuronal array so that's electrical synapsis and to control the body of the host that well he'd have to in fact hijack the central nervous system and everything and control the celular signaling pathways of all systems, so my headcannon is that Sekto would have to have an organ or appendage inside his "maw" that can penetrate and connect "like a usb port" to the brain of the host and inside it there would be an extension of his neurons (think of how neurons extend across an irl octopus arms) and that would incredibly only theoretically pass signals from one to the other as in a single network (let's ignore morphology and everything esle entirely).

Now the true sci-fi comes in and all I can say is that to me it works like in Avatar where the blue people have those weird tendrils that they can interconnect with eachother and other creatures and thus make a "bond" across their minds to the extent that one can feel and perceive through the other in a bizarre mind melding way, I remember @ohfugecannada theorizing about a peaceful symbiotic shared state of consciousness between the Oktigi and host that is born out of a lot of trust and it seems to me that's possible this way, that would be a very bizarre and intimate thing to experience, very interesting. But most Oktigi aren't about that life, I don't know if they are biologically obligate parasites or facultative ones but as a sapient species at least they are socially required to if they want to stand a chance in life, so that connection would somehow include a mechanism that can suppress the host's mind, how? Idk tbh but I guess it would be like when you inhibit the receptors that affect certain areas of the brain and sort of shut them down, but you would need most to still be active at least partially control it. All this on a living organism, I saw mentioned they can parasite dead ones and there I have no idea because cellular destruction would definitely be an issue since there would be no neural network to work with and no way to transport signals through the bloodstream. Anyways that's my headcannon on how the parasitosis by an Oktigi kinda works, there is 0% need to explain this but i like theorizing.

About their reproduction and life cycle

They're the kind of parasite that doesn't go through change of phases in their life cycle, they are born like that and just grow with age. They lay eggs and there's many of them but few make it since the start. There isn't much of a parental care whatsoever and they're less social than Glukkons. I don't see them as a superspecies but idk Lorne loves those. They have dioecy but between females and males there's little to no sexual dymorphism.

[maximumsunshine]

Thought you might appreciate this story.

So I have a really bad history with blood draws to the point that just thinking about needles can induce a panic attack, and I had to get my annual blood panel done today. A lot of the fear is because I pass out when I get my blood drawn, which causes my brain to go into full-blown panic mode, and also because years ago when I went in for my routine physical, they called me to say I was severely anemic and needed to go to the ER, and I didn't even realize I was sick. So now I have to get my blood checked regularly so that doesn't happen again, and now blood draw days are just one long, drawn-out anxiety attack from draw to hearing the results.

The draw itself went surprisingly well today though! I didn't faint, didn't have a major panic attack, got in and got out without too much of an issue, so I was pretty proud of myself. I've been dealing with residual anxiety all day still, but nothing awful.

Then I got the call from the nurse. I'm anemic again (mildly, not severely), which sent me into a spiral that's lasted several hours now because my brain still hears "you're anemic" and goes off the deep end. They had sent me my results on the patient portal, and since I was already deep in the panic spiral, I got on to reassure myself that it wasn't as bad as it was last time. And it's not; it just barely counted as low, and definitely isn't anything dangerous, especially compared to what it used to be.

But while I was on there, I noticed that my chloride and carbon dioxide levels were off; just barely, but definitely not in the "normal" range. And since I was already in the spiral, I had to look up why this was even though I knew full well it was a bad idea.

And what I found was that, when the chloride levels are high and the carbon dioxide levels are low, especially at the not at all significant levels mine were at, it points to respiratory alkalosis. Which is most commonly caused by hyperventilation, typically caused by anxiety or panic.

My panel results said I was having a panic attack.

I shouldn't be laughing but oh man have I been there.

My thing is vitals. My pulse and boood pressure show my panic over getting my vitals checked. Granted they are a bit high anyway, but my resting pulse isn't usually fucking 120.

Anyway, I can't imagine being scared of needles and making it to this point in my journey. It helps that 1) my mom is a professional vampire and 2) I was like 12 when I landed in the ER and got my first blood draw and was in so much pain and so out of it that I barely registered what had happened and by the time I did it was over so it just wasn't a big deal my first go and from that moment on it was nothing to freak out about.

Also. Anemia isn't a big deal like as long as vitamins can help. If vitamins are keeping you up above an 11 or even 10, you're 100% fine. Like I promise you. Sometimes people just need help with some extra iron.

So here is what I want you to do. Grab a crockpot and cram it full of roast (or stew beef), red potatoes, a chopped onion, and some seasoning of your choice, and enjoy some extra iron. Liquids and shit too plus if it's stew you need to thicken it. Eat. Enjoy! For the rest of your life, steak, stew, and roast isn't a special treat to be earned, it's a means of survival!

You'll be ok. Panic is a thing that happens. I'm not going to invalidate it. But, you will be ok. I promise.

[emersonfreepress]

Breakfast with Jack & Vincent

What: Anything about Jack and Vi!

When: Summer before 12th grade

Word count: 858

commissioned by @cekorax

“You’re really not talking to me?”

Vincent doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to since he opts to walk around the kitchen island, taking the longer, less convenient route back to the stove and successfully avoiding even the briefest eye contact.

“I’m...” Jack stops himself with a light huff, then spoons cereal into his mouth to cover it. He wants to say sorry for getting Vince in trouble again, but he promised he wouldn’t anymore. Gavin asked him not to before him and Mom left for their brunch date.

So now they both get to suffer.

As if to revel in that suffering, the bane of their co-existence marches into the kitchen after a pause and a luxurious stretch. King, Vincent’s Bengal kitten, pads after his owner without a care in the world or so much as a glance at Jack.

“What are you making?” Jack can’t help but try again.

Vincent ignores him.

Several more minutes pass of Jack trying to find entertainment in the back of the French Toast Crunch box, but he quickly ends up surreptitiously watching Vincent prep his breakfast instead. The flour is out which had gained his immediate interest. Vince never messes with baking stuff. Oh, unless—

“Are you making pancakes?”

Ignored again. He finally decides he’s going to give up for real this time… until the unmistakable smell of burning batter reaches his nose. Accompanied by the familiar sound of Vincent’s quiet swearing. Oh, boy. Should he say something? Every time he opens his mouth, it just seems to make things worse. Hopefully, he hasn’t added extra baking powder again. Maybe he could just check things out…?

Sneaky. Jack is operating with such stealth right now. The sink is close enough to the stove that he’s able to sneak a peek at Vincent’s work. There’s a lot of batter. He watches him flip over the pancake with thinly veiled interest and immediately sees the issue.

“God—Damn it.”

“Oh… It’s pale.” And burnt around the edges and in the middle somehow.

Vincent’s head snaps to him with so much ferocity, it threatens to make Jack’s own neck hurt. He offers a nervous smile and takes half a step away.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Vincent remarks, every ounce of the annoyance on his face leaking into his tone. “I have eyes.”

“Right, sorry.” Vincent moves to throw this failed pancake out which lets Jack notice the open recipe book on the counter next to a plate of distinctly anemic, though not burned, rejects. King stands on his forelegs, propped up against the counter, his attention focused on this precarious pile of pancakes, tail swishing. Jack quietly nudges the plate a safer distance from the edge. That tiny thing has a reach. Hm… “Um, you might want to raise the fire a bit? Instead of leaving them in for longer.”

Vince sighs over the trash. Then, after a tortured pause, he drags his feet back over to the stove.

“I can’t do that,” Vince mumbles, staring at his yellow pancakes. “They always come out like that. No matter what I do.” He pores over the simple recipe again, probably for the third or fourth time. “They never brown if I up the heat; they just burn.”

“But if they aren’t browning, they’re probably undercooked,” Jack says, as gently as he can. Vincent doesn’t reply but Jack’s mind churns as he stares at the pancakes. They don’t look undercooked… Might as well try one.

“Hey.” Vincent admonishes Jack but the taller boy doesn’t register it.

“Wait a sec. Vince—”

“Vincent.”

“These are perfect!” Jack takes another bite. “Better than perfect, oh my God.”

Vincent sighs, irritated.

“Don’t give me that, Goodnight. They don’t even look like pancakes, they look like…”

“Sunshine.”

Vincent throws him a flat look.

“Like what?”

“Yeah! Because they’re light and fluffy but also crispy at the edge, like—man, these don’t even need butter! You can just go straight to syrup.”

Vincent stares at Jack for a prolonged moment, then looks away, rubbing his arm.

“That’s only because if I don’t use a lot of butter they burn on the outside before they cook inside…” He turns the stove off, an uncomfortable look on his face. “That’s probably why they come out looking weird.”

“But they don’t look weird! They’re cute.” Jack beams, holding up what’s left of the pancake he snatched. By now, Toast has trotted into the kitchen—which makes sense for the butter-loving retriever. “And they taste great, that’s the best part.”

Vincent crosses his arms for a second before quickly uncrossing them. He stands there awkwardly for another moment before opting to get another plate out.

“Well. If you like them, just have some.” He practically shoves the plate into Jack’s chest. “I’m fed up with getting it wrong over and over.”

“I can have some?” He’s not hungry anymore but he definitely has room for these.

“Yeah, just…” Vincent mumbles something to himself. Jack smiles.

“Thanks. You know, you could call them angelcakes instead.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, or sunshinecakes?”

“I said stop it.”

“Shut. Up, Jack.”

Jack gasps. “Suncakes??”

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 7 - The Qualifiers (Part 3)

After this chapter I have officially finished 50% of this book...yeah that’s right after 2 years I have finished half of this book...

Next chapter is pretty long, we might be staying there for a while folks

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. A “one-two finish” refers to members of the same team winning first and second place 

Previous | Next

When Kakeru reached the finish line, he was handed a water bottle by a staff member and ordered to move; if he stayed near the finish line, he would become an obstacle to the later runners.

He wondered how the others were doing. He was worried, so he lingered under the trees next to the finish line to check on the situation. There was another cheer, and he caught a glimpse of a Kansei uniform on the other side of the crowd—it was Kiyose.

“Haiji-san!” Kakeru shouted and leapt out onto the pathway that the runners who finished passed through to get to the lawn. Kiyose was crouching. Startled, Kakeru ran over to him.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t seem to be breathing too much. The runners who finished in the top rankings had that ability; they were able to run the race at their own pace and with ease. There was no way they would be gasping for breath and unable to move after reaching the finish line. “It’s your leg, right?” Kakeru judged after checking Kiyose’s breathing.

In order to lessen the burden on his muscles even just a little bit, Kakeru poured water from the bottle onto Kiyose’s shin. After Kakeru lent him a hand, Kiyose stood up and started walking with a slight limp in his right leg.

“Kakeru, good work.”

Kiyose’s first words were words of appreciation towards Kakeru. Is this really the right time for that? Kakeru felt like crying.

“Yes.”

 When he hung his head, Kiyose laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Let’s go cheer on the others.”

“But, we should cool your leg imme—”

“It’s not a problem. Let’s go.”

Kiyose slipped into a gap between the spectators. Kakeru followed him, saying, “Excuse me.”

At the finish line, there was a close race for eightieth place. Since the results were decided by the combined times of ten people, everyone was desperate.

“It’s the twins, it’s the twins!”

Kakeru spotted Kansei uniforms in the tight group. On the other side of the course, Hanako was jumping up and down.

Jouta and Jouji both gritted their teeth and crossed the finish line. After them, Yuki, Musa, Nico-chan and Shindou finished in the eightieth to ninetieth places. King fought bravely and finished in one hundred and twenty-third place.

“Good. That’s a good pace,” Kiyose murmured. Prince, however, was nowhere to be seen. Among the regular schools, there were more and more that had all ten people finish the race.

“It’s not looking good for us at this rate.”

Kakeru stamped his foot. He almost wanted to run one more time himself. Is he here yet? Is he here yet? Then, from behind the trees, where Kakeru had been staring as if in prayer, Prince appeared.

“He’s staggering…” Kiyose furrowed his brow. Prince had already passed his limits, and his eyes were unfocused.

“Prince-san, run! The finish line is right in front of you!” Kakeru shouted, trying to at least guide him by ear.

“I know that.” Prince struggled forward, fighting the nausea that was rising up. Sweat was flowing from him and his fingers were unpleasantly cold. Where did the blood go? Prince vaguely wondered. My face is probably pale as a sheet of paper right now.

He was clearly anemic, but he couldn’t collapse here. There were twenty meters until the finish line. If Prince stopped running, Kansei, which only had ten people, would be eliminated from the qualifiers. If Hakone was a no-go for them because of him, his collection of books would surely be burned. He had to avoid that.

Prince summoned up all of his willpower. As soon as he did that, his stomach squeezed, and he finally felt an unendurable nausea.

He no longer cared about the several hundred people watching him. As Prince ran, he threw up with all his might. He could hear the female spectators along the route letting out cries of “Kyaa!”

“This is no time for throwing up! Run!” Kiyose’s angry voice rang out.

Are you a demon or something? This is why I hate sports clubs. Prince cursed at him in his head, wiping his dirty mouth with his hand. Of course, he had no intention of stopping his feet. He wondered why he was doing sports, something he wasn’t good at. He wondered why he had been doing all this running practice like an idiot.

It was to participate in the Hakone Ekiden.

Because I thought it would be nice to share in you guys’ muscle-headed dream for once…!

Prince crossed the finish line in one hundred and seventy-sixth place and lost consciousness on the spot.

Everyone in Chikusei-sou had fallen flat in their encampment on the lawn. Less than half of them had the energy to even check their wristwatches for their times after finishing. Yuki had given up on the attempt to clearly grasp the ten’s combined times.

The tallying and calculation of intercollegiate points took up more time than expected, so the results were to be announced at around eleven o’clock. They had to wait at least another hour after all the competitors had finished running.

“We’re in a delicate position.” Kiyose calmly calculated while icing his shin. “When averaging our positions, we’re probably in the mid-eighties. That’s borderline.”

“Depending on the intercollegiate points of the schools that are also borderline…”

Nico-chan glared at the sky with a difficult look on his face.

“It’s possible we won’t qualify,” Yuki said.

Oh no, the twins moaned. Shindou and Musa were quiet, looking like they were praying to their respective ancestors and patron gods. King was plucking at the grass. Prince didn’t so much as twitch, still lying facedown on the grass. Hanako and the shopping district people, who were surrounding them, were unable to give any careless encouragement, and could only wait for the results.

Kakeru suddenly looked at Kiyose’s hands; the ice they had brought in the cooler box was melting in the plastic bag.

“I’ll go get some ice. Maybe they’ll give us some at that store over there.” Wanting to escape from this oppressive atmosphere, Kakeru stood up. Musa seemed to feel the same way.

“I shall go as well,” he said and followed him.

They cut across the lawn and headed for the store with the red roof. It was easy to tell which schools were confident that they would qualify by the expressions on the runners’ faces; it was the borderline schools, like Kansei, that were exuding a sense of high tension, but the schools that had clearly ranked lower were generally calmly waiting for the results to be announced. Among them, there were teams that were happily picking at the multi-tiered bento boxes made by their female managers.

There are all sorts of people, Kakeru thought. For those people, their goal was to make it to the qualifiers. They knew the outcome from the beginning, so when they were finished running, they made it into a picnic-like event and enjoyed themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, but we’re different, he felt.

I don’t want it to end the qualifiers. I want to see even greater heights. I want to be an even faster and stronger team and compete in the Hakone Ekiden. That’s what I’ve been training for, and that’s what I’m going to keep training for.

“I wonder what will happen, Kakeru,” Musa spoke to him worriedly.

“We can get to Hakone,” Kakeru assured him. Burning magma was gushing up from the pit of his stomach. Everyone had run the qualifiers with all their might today; there was no way they could lose.

Musa’s eyes widened at his forceful words.

“Kakeru, you seem to have gotten stronger somehow.”

“That’s not true.” Kakeru shook his head. “We ran pretty hard, didn’t we? So I just think we’ll be okay.”

Musa nodded. “You are correct. We are going to Hakone. All together.”

When Musa said it, it sounded like the happy ending of a fairy tale, or a reliable prophecy.

When Kakeru and Musa asked for some ice, the shopkeeper readily gave them some. Since they came empty-handed, the shopkeeper put the ice into a paper cup. “We were careless,” Musa said. A group of spectators walked by behind him.

“Another black runner. It’s pretty unfair to bring in foreign students.”

“With a bunch of guys like that, then Japanese runners won’t be able to compete.”

Musa’s face stiffened at the whispered comments that they intentionally let him hear, and Kakeru was about to turn around and object.

“It’s fine, Kakeru,” Musa stopped him. “I have heard a lot of comments like that today alone.”

“We can’t let them say something so one-sided!” Kakeru still tried to chase after the spectators that were getting further away, but Musa seized his arm.

“We must not get into quarrels. They are talking about foreign students who came here because of their talent in athletics. I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed of myself. They don’t seem to be able to tell the difference, but my legs are not fast. I am just a foreign student with no talent to be envious of.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Kakeru was indignant. ���You, me, the people who took first and second place today, we all ran the same course. And yet…”

He didn’t know how to say it, but Kakeru was frustrated. He felt like Musa, who he lived with, Kakeru himself, and the international students from other schools he had never exchanged a word with were all being insulted. That’s right, I can’t express it well, but it’s an insult to everyone who’s taking running seriously. Kakeru squared his shoulders.

“It’s just as Kurahara said,” someone said. When he turned around, he saw a lanky man with a shiny and round head. “But let it go. They’re amateurs who don’t know what running is.”

Kakeru and Musa watched as the man bought oolong tea at the store. Kakeru had seen him before. Without letting his guard down, he searched his memory in a panic. I recognize this shiny head.

“Rokudou’s Fujioka! …san,” Kakeru deduced the answer.

Rokudou University had won the Hakone Ekiden several years in a row. This was their captain, Fujioka Kazuma. Kakeru had only met him at the TSU meet in the spring, but he wondered why someone like him would come to the qualifiers.

“I’m here to observe our opponents,” Fujioka said, perhaps reading Kakeru’s question. “Kansei has become quite strong. It looks like you’re going to make it to Hakone.”

Fujioka had the complacency and presence of a champion.

“Thanks to everyone’s hard work.” Kakeru’s natural competitive spirit reared its head, and he answered back proudly. Fujioka let his gaze collide with Kakeru’s, not taking a step back, and then looked at Musa.

“You shouldn’t care about people like that. It’s a ridiculous opinion.”

“Which part of it is ridiculous?”

Kakeru stopped Fujioka, who was about to leave while drinking his tea. The way the spectators talked about Musa made him angry. However, he couldn’t figure out exactly why he was angry, but Fujioka seemed to know what was causing this annoyance.

“Please tell me,” Kakeru pleaded.

Fujioka stopped and stared at Kakeru with interest. “Alright then,” he said and turned to Kakeru and Musa again.

“There are at least two ridiculous parts. One is the reasoning that it is unfair to include foreign students in the team because Japanese runners can’t compete with them. So what about the Olympics then? What we’re doing is a competition, not a kindergarten field day where we all hold hands and one-two finish. (1) It is natural that there would be individual differences in physical ability. But on top of that, sports are about equality and fairness. They have no idea what it means to compete on the same field in the same sport.”  

Musa was silent, attentively listening to Fujioka’s words. Kakeru was just simply overwhelmed by Fujioka’s quiet analysis.

“Their other misunderstanding is thinking that winning is good,” Fujioka continued. “If a Japanese athlete takes first place, if they get a gold medal, is that all that matters? I firmly believe that isn’t true. That shouldn’t be the essence of competition. Even if I win first place, it isn’t a victory if I felt that I lost to myself. Things like times and rankings change rapidly from competition to competition. Who decides who’s the best in the world? It isn’t because of that, but because we have unchanging goals and ideals within us that we continue to run.”

That’s right. Kakeru felt his hazy, pent-up feelings clear up. I got stuck on these things and they made me angry. Fujioka’s amazing. What Kakeru felt and wanted to say were extremely easily untangled and put into words.

“You haven’t changed at all, Fujioka.”

Before they knew it, Kiyose was standing behind Kakeru and Musa.

“An outsider said something unnecessary.” Fujioka bowed to Kiyose in a stoic manner and left this time.

“No, you were helpful.” When Kiyose said that, Fujioka turned his head over his shoulder and a corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the lineup.”

“Well, I suppose.”

“I’ll be waiting at Hakone.”

With a resolute attitude befitting a champion until the end, Fujioka disappeared between the trees. It’s like he said “I’ll be waiting in nirvana,” or something. I wonder if he’s not going to wait to see the results announced even though he came all the way here, Kakeru thought, but he hurriedly bowed towards Fujioka’s back.

Musa also said, “Thank you very much,” and bowed deeply. Fujioka’s words had energized Kakeru and Musa, like dispelling thunderclouds.

“I came after you guys because you left without taking the bag.” Kiyose lifted the plastic bag.

“Sorry,” Kakeru said and accepted the bag, then transferred the ice he got from the shopkeeper to it. Kiyose was already walking without dragging his leg.

“Is he called Fujioka-san? He is an amazing person.” Musa seemed deeply impressed.

“I guess that means you need emotional strength and wisdom in the true sense to continue winning Hakone,” Kiyose laughed a little. “Well, he’s always been strangely calm; as a high school student his nickname was ‘Trainee Monk’. It's a bit unpleasant, isn’t it?”

Kakeru and Musa looked at each other and nodded, saying, “That’s true.”

Spectators and runners were beginning to gather at the large display board near the finish line.

“It’s almost time for the announcement.”

“Let’s go.”

Musa jogged back to Kansei’s encampment. Kakeru matched Kiyose’s pace as they made their way across the lawn. He was curious to see what the results would be, but they had come this far and there was nothing they could do about it now. What occupied Kakeru’s mind at the moment was Fujioka’s figure.

The power to change thoughts into words. An eye that calmly analyzed the hesitation, anger, and fear within you.

Fujioka was strong. His running speed was extraordinary, but the mental strength that supported it was incredible. When I was just running recklessly, Fujioka must have been analyzing himself in his fast-moving head and pursuing running on a deeper and higher level.

Kakeru felt both battered and inspired with a strange kind of excitement.

What I’m lacking are words. All I do is let my hazy feelings stay hazy. But I can’t do that from now on. I’ll be as fast as, no, even faster than Fujioka. In order to do that, I need to know my running self.

That was definitely the “strength” Kiyose had spoken of.

“I feel like I’m starting to get it,” Kakeru murmured.

“Is that so.” Kiyose seemed satisfied.

A student in a gakuran carrying a megaphone climbed onto the stage. He reverently opened the memo with the results of the qualifiers. He was a student member of the administration committee from the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto, which organized the Hakone Ekiden. His assistant, a female student, stood by the display board while the gathered people listened attentively with anticipation and anxiety.

“We will now announce the qualifying schools for the Tokyo-Hakone Round Trip University Ekiden Race. First place, Tokyo Sport University.”

The TSU crowd gave a loud cheer. Kakeru saw Sakaki being given a spank of joy by his senior. The TSU runners hadn’t come apart, reaching the finish line in a good position together; it was a victory of total strength that displayed the depth and closeness of the runners.

The female student pulled out the first place card on the display board. The name “Tokyo Sport University” and the total time of ten people were written in the first place column: ten hours nine minutes and twelve seconds. The average place for the ten runners was forty-ninth place.

“As I thought, it was a pretty fast-paced race,” Kiyose groaned in a low voice. The expression on his face showed that they were in a difficult situation to qualify. Kakeru curled his hands into fists.

“Second place,” the announcer dispassionately read the memo aloud. “Koufu Academy University.”

Cheers erupted from another corner. “Hmph,” King sniffed.

“That announcer is putting the perfect pause between ranking and the school name.”

“Don’t act all important, get on with it,” Prince, who had finally come back to life, immediately complained.

“Aah crap, my heart feels like it’s gonna explode.” The twins and Hanako were huddled together, quivering like young birds that had fallen from their nest.

The announcement had proceeded to fifth place, but Kansei’s name was not called. Up to this point, all the schools had been Hakone regulars; if they couldn’t get into sixth place, the seventh to ninth places were likely to be different from the total time order of the qualifiers because of the intercollegiate points involved.

“Sixth place.”

“Please please please!”

“Kansei, Kansei!”

Their desperate prayers were in vain, and the announcer said, “Saikyo University.”

“Aah!”

“Are we done? Are we done?”

Nico-chan and Yuki looked up at the sky. Kiyose was staring at the display board in silence. The glint in his eyes suggested that he was looking through the white cards that still hid the seventh to ninth place columns.

“In accordance with the rules, seventh place and below are determined by subtracting each school’s intercollegiate points from their total times. Seventh place, Jonan Cultural University.”

Kakeru felt like he was losing the strength in his legs, but he managed to hold on. They still had a chance. There were two more participation slots to be filled. He felt a pain in his right shoulder, and he looked to see Shindou’s fingers digging into it. Musa’s face was half-buried in Shindou’s arms, and he was mumbling something in his mother tongue.

It’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. Kakeru stretched out his arm and gently patted Shindou and Musa’s backs.

“Eighth place, Kansei University.”

He thought he misheard. King leapt upon them. Kiyose raised his arms to the sky with a rare full-faced smile. Shindou and Musa weakly sat down on the grass. Nico-chan and Yuki high-fived each other, and Hanako and the twins screamed as they slapped Kakeru all over his body.

While being mobbed, Kakeru looked. At the display board, where the words “Kansei University” shined brilliantly. At Prince, who shed a single tear outside the circle.

We did it. The truth finally reached his brain. We are going to be in the Hakone Ekiden.

The next thing Kakeru knew, he was bellowing from the pit of his stomach.

Kansei University’s total time was ten hours sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds. The ten’s average place was eighty-sixth place.

Jonan Cultural University, in seventh place, had the actual time of ten hours seventeen minutes and three seconds. The intercollegiate points put them ahead of Kansei. The school that just barely passed in ninth place was Shinsei University.

Their time was ten hours seventeen minutes and eighteen seconds. Kakeru looked up at the time written on the display board and exhaled with relief and joy. Kansei University had successfully obtained their ticket to Hakone on their first attempt. And they even finished in ten hours and sixteen minutes, which was good enough for seventh place.

There were cries of surprise everywhere.

“Kansei actually did it.”

“And I heard they only have ten people on their team.”

“That’s the school where the third place and sixth place guys came from, right? I already learned their uniforms.”

“Me too. It’s black with silver lines. It’s kind of cool.”

As they were cleaning up their encampment on the lawn, they were asked to give a few words to the close coverage cameras, but Kakeru’s mind was dizzy and lacking oxygen. He was more tired than when he was running and his feet were unsteady.

We've only passed the qualifiers; the actual race is next January. The Hakone Ekiden is in approximately seventy-five days. Even though he told himself that, happiness filled his chest.

Kiyose once said this: “Hakone isn’t a mountain in a mirage.” That really was true. The residents of Chikusei-sou had finally reached the point where they could see the mountain as a real entity.

While feeling excited, Kakeru swiftly folded the plastic sheet. Jouta and Jouji were sitting on the grass. They were frowning for some reason as they peered at the notes of the results they had copied from the display board.

“What’s wrong?” Kakeru called to them. The twins looked up at him.

“Haiji-san said we’re going to the top,” Jouta muttered.

“Mm? Did he?” Kakeru responded lightly, but Jouta wasn’t convinced.

“He did say that. But, this time…”

“What about it?” Kakeru put down the plastic sheet and crouched down next to the twins. “Let’s clean this up quickly and go home. I’m sure we’ll have a party tonight.”

“Kakeru, doesn’t ‘top’ mean winning?” Jouji asked with a grim face. “Our total time is ten hours sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds. TSU, who qualified in first place, has a time of ten hours nine minutes and twelve seconds; that’s a difference of seven and a half minutes. And yet, this is still the qualifiers, right? So, how fast do the runners of the schools that win Hakone run twenty kilometers?”

“If we practice, can we get to that level by New Year’s?” Jouta asked him seriously. “Hey, what do you think, Kakeru?”

Kakeru couldn’t answer anything.

Previous | Next

[henlp]

Most anime is bad.

It's fair to say anime's success in the West, starting in the 80s-90s but gaining mass recognition and appeal in the 2000s, mostly comes from a wide range of premises for stories told, and how emotional payoffs are (for the most part) earned by the writing, be it hype moments, shocking scenes, or the often-expected bittersweet finale.

However, in spite of these positives, it's very frequent that the story for an anime/manga/novel/game/etc. ends up being bad; and for the longest time, I couldn't figure out exactly why. Even a decade ago, when I was far more lenient and forgiving to the content I consumed (because I had yet to achieve the jaded, joyless state I find myself in <current year>), I could tell something was amiss.

Think I first took notice of this when the era of the Big Three was coming to an end, with One Piece carrying on as Fairy Tail instead took the shovel to the head. Alongside Bleach and Naruto, these three manga series all suffered major issues in their final arcs, so blatant that it became too difficult to accept. Something stank in Denmark Japan, and it made no sense why these (supposedly) good series where floundering as they neared the finish line.

A few years later, with more media under my belt, out came Black Clover. Both my weeb cousin and a good friend had spoken highly of the series, alongside many of the places I used to check for animus, so I watched the OVA... and hated it. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the pilot for the story, mind you, at that point it was only the screeching from the protagonist that bothered me. When the series proper began, I made the conscious effort to try and power through in spite of the awful first impression, to see what the hype had been about... and I still wasn't seeing it. In fact, the story's erratic and hyperactive pacing, alongside its cheap animation, made it almost impossible for me to watch. Only by virtue of the previously aforementioned hype moments on occasion and the catchy OPs did I stick around long enough for the story to get interesting and for me to have any investment in the characters. It didn't get good, but it had at least become tolerable. Lucky for me AND it, I was still at a point where I wouldn't drop shows as easily.

It wasn't looking good for my outlook in regards to japanese entertainment. Even if I would end up consuming more anime than any western shows (at least animes don't fucking despise their audiences), my eye kept getting more critical, and I kept getting less adventurous, due to several shows disappointing. But I still couldn't figure out why this was. If anime and manga were appealing to me still, why was I less inclined to give 'em a pass, why was I more and more dissatisfied. And then I got my answer in 2021, thanks to two shows: Jujutsu Kaisen and the second anime adaptation of Shaman King.

A story's quality can generally be quantified based on three things: characters, world, and plot. Each informs the other two, and a good story never has one of these working against the others. But it can also happen that all three work in their own right, but not in tandem. A fourth, rarely-considered factor for evaluating story is EXECUTION. So when it comes to anime, manga, novels, games, etc, the problem usually is in execution. You could argue that there are different cultural sensibilities for storytelling in Japan, or corporate factors interjecting themselves in the process; but that would be an explanation, not an excuse. And nowadays, enough japanese creators quote some of their influences as not just being other japanese creators, but also creators from around the globe (past and present). There's not this magical bubble keeping the Land of the Rising Sun ignorant of other types of storytelling and development processes.

So how did I arrive at this conclusion thanks to Jujutsu Kaisen and Shaman King 2021? Both shows suffer terribly when it comes to execution of their stories, although in different ways:

-With Jujutsu Kaisen (at least the anime, I've not read the whole manga), there were several instances where I found myself asking "Did I miss an episode or something?", because you frequently had characters reacting and conducting themselves with one another as if there was a deluge of development between them off-screen. No better example than EmoBangs McGee, who becomes BFFs with the protagonist in less than 5min, later having a fight that was probably meant to be very heart-wrenching, except there was no development for their relation (and powers), so it made no sense for them to act in that fashion (if this is different in the manga, by all means let me know);

-With Shaman King 2021, meanwhile, I was well-familiarized with the characters, the world, and the plot. I knew the main elements of the story, I had in fact rewatched the show in the past decade, and in spite of filler content and Black Sabbath cameos, still remembered it strongly. But as I am watching the new show, the word that comes to mind is "cheap": cheap animation and rushed pacing. Maybe this is due to certain events, or the studio trying to rush past the initial stages of the story, but still. All it had to do was clear the filler, give each scene and character the love and care they needed to make their moments the best they could, and let it go from there. It's been twelve years since FMA Brotherhood, if you're going to be a greedy bitch and redo an anime adaptation, there's no excuse for it to be of such low quality.

As you can see, both failed in execution, with the latter in its new adaptation and the former (possibly) in its original format. When I realized this, suddenly the fog dissipated, and I could see why all those stories had failed: Bleach failed because its power creep and character conflicts were executed horribly; Naruto's atrocious pacing (in both manga and anime) was done solely to extend the story needlessly; Fairy Tail's final arcs (although not only that) dropped the ball because Hiro Mashima was actively trying to ensure there were no sad elements to the story or the end of his characters' arcs; Black Clover‘s poor execution came in how its first few arcs play out, trying to speed up through the world-building, which left most characters too anemic and underdeveloped until far later into the story.

But of course, this is an issue that exists in far more IPs than just the ones I’ve mentioned so far and others of the same caliber. It happens with the cream of the crop as well: Boku no Hero Academia's more recent decisions have been executed very poorly, when they were just a single step away from being done very well; post-timeskip One Piece has relied too heavily on characters having skills and forms that we aren't familiarized with, and fights that don't resolve in a smart fashion, but due to nakama power fueling Luffy; season fucking 2 of One-Punch Man is the poster child for terrible execution of anime adaptations, considering the original webcomic, the manga, and season 1. This issue is (almost) everywhere, and yeah, I get it: anime and manga are produced through such a hellish process, that a lot of times the authors or production staff don't have the time to go through their stories to make sure everything's on the up-and-up. Yusuke Murata is not exactly a common example, of someone that's allowed to go back to both redraw and rewrite entire chapters; and I am somewhat glad that, at least when it comes to JUMP, they seem to be getting slightly more lenient with the talent and their teams if it means better results in the long run.

However, the issue persists. I neither know nor think that anything can be resolved even if the extremely demanding workload of manga/anime production were to be alleviated (we've had plenty of examples in the West, of media that has all the time and money in the world, still imploding and salting the earth around it), but at the very least, it can be something that creators who are not under those retraints to take into account, so as not to make those same mistakes.

Do not try to subvert conversations that SHOULD be happening, just because in anime there's a stereotype of scenes where everything stops in its tracks just so characters can have a conversation, be it executed well or poorly (an aspect I'd wager stems from when the source material is manga or a novel). Don't think that because a character's power level let's them blow up the moon from orbit, that immersion can't be broken if you don't justify how they might struggle against another on the same tier. Be wary of the very common issue with 'Wanime' (Western animation using the anime style), where creators completely put aside depth for spectacle, to the point that it becomes indistinguishable from a parody show such as Megas XLR.

Always remember, execution is the be-all and end-all to every character development, emotional payoff, hype moment, world building, and plot progression. Think about every scene, and if it actually informs the audience of what should be happening. If it doesn't, then you'll have to try and fix it before, not after. And if you can't do it (which is fine, most of us are fucking dumbasses), now you understand why even a lot of shonen action series have a bunch of slice-of-life, semi-filler scenes interjected in-between big events, so that you can have context and weight to what will transpire.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Fun Of His Own

A resurrected Xue Yang, his memory wiped clean, is Xiao Xingchen’s prisoner.

Too bad he doesn’t know it yet.

 Inspired by @xuesongxiao‘s Halloween prompts

Read on Ao3! Rated T

******

The young man opens his eyes to a blurred world.

A dark gray blur of sky is just visible through his burning eyes, rain pattering down on his face. Blurred orange light gleams a little way off, with dark blurs on either side—buildings? Trees? Rocks?—and a dark human-shaped blur sitting beside the orange light.

The young man rolls onto his side, trying to blink away the blurriness, but it’s like rubbing his eyeballs with dirt.

Where is he?

More importantly, who is he?

He lies there in the—forest? Is he lying in a forest?—and struggles to remember something—anything.

Nothing.

He tries to move again, using his right arm to brace himself, and his whole body hurts but the pain in his right arm is agony, overwhelming him. The dark gray of the sky whirls around to merge with the fiery orange, and the shadowy blurs swallow him up.

* * *

It’s evening when he next opens his eyes, but he can’t tell how much time has passed.

He sits up. He's in a courtyard, hemmed by dilapidated buildings that are strangely familiar. Everything is gray or brown, the sky cloudy, the ground damp. Scattered around the courtyard are—

He scrambles back. The courtyard is studded with coffins. Lacquered black coffins, plain wooden coffins, engraved coffins, stone coffins—

“You’re awake,” says a voice.

The young man on the ground whirls around at the sudden voice, falling back on his palms. His right elbow gives away under his weight and he falls on his back with a cry.

A young male cultivator dressed in simple gray and black robes stands over him. He is tall but very slender, almost fragile, with a wide, expressive mouth and skin as clear and pale as an infant's. Gleaming in his hand is a sword with a white hilt as delicately-molded as the cultivator’s face.

“Who are you?” demands the young man when the cultivator just stands there with his sleeves and skirts flowing around him in the chill breeze that’s sprung up. The breeze smells of rain, and the young man is seized by a sudden insane fear that he’ll be left to die in the rain, as if he’s made of metal and can rust.

His hair, he suddenly notices, is wet. Has he been lying out here all this time?

“Who are you?” the cultivator asks in return. His voice is surprisingly deep coming from someone as thin and anemic-looking as he is. “Can you remember anything?”

“I’m—” The young man’s tries to sit up. “I—I don’t know.” It hurts to speak. He feels something on his chin. Blood. “How did I get here?”

“Now isn’t the time to discuss that,” says the cultivator. He smiles gently. Everything about him is gentle, from the graceful way he moves to the softness of his deep voice. He returns his sword to the sheath on his back and kneels before the young man, dabs at the blood dribbling from his tongue and dripping from his chin. “You may call me Xiao Xingchen.”

“What—what’s my name? How long has it been?”

“Just a few days.” Xiao Xingchen brushes his knuckles across the young man’s forehead as if testing him for fever, tracing it down his cheek and brushing away the fresh blood running from the corner of the young man’s mouth. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, friend.”

The young man suddenly realizes he’s near-naked, dressed in scraps of damp, boody black-and-green rags and covered in mud and dirt. Xiao Xingchen helps him to his feet. He’s stronger than he looks, fingers unintentionally pressing hard on the young man’s tender right arm and sending stabs of agony down to his fingertips. Looping the young man’s arm around his neck, he carefully half-carries him around the run-down house the courtyard belongs to.

Above the front door hangs a sign half-faded with age and sun and rain:

Coffin House.

The house has only one livable room, containing a rough-hewn table and benches, shelves, two open coffins, and a single bed. Xiao Xingchen seats him on a bench and bathes him with a damp cloth. The young man is too dazed to feel shame at being treated as a child, at having his limbs maneuvered like a big doll. He feels as if he should be taking some kind of offense, but he has no strength to summon the emotion.

He’s of average or slightly below-average size, he sees by glancing down at his limbs, but wiry—a man of action, whatever that action may be. The limbs themselves are covered in scars beneath the dirt (Tooth marks? he wonders. Was I attacked by wild dogs?) with a thick faded gash in his stomach being particularly noticeable and, bizarrely, a ragged pink line circling where his right arm connects to his shoulder, where his pain is worst. The little finger on his left hand is mottled with bruises and scars around the base and feels like metal spike has been rammed deep into his hand.

As his unfocused eyes drift past his scars, thin lines of blood begin to drip from the fresher-looking of his scars, sealed as they seem to be. Xiao Xingchen gently mops the blood away, binding his wounds with strips of linen.

How could I have forgotten where I got these wounds? he thinks, but that’s as far as his thoughts go. It’s simply too exhausting to do more than sit there, pliant under Xiao Xingchen’s thin white hands, staring with drooping lids at the flickering candle on the table.

Xiao Xingchen helps the young man onto the bed, straightening his arms and legs as if setting a fresh corpse in a coffin.

He covers him with a black cloak and smoothes the straw-filled pillow. “Rest here while I prepare dinner, my friend,” he says, the first thing he’s said since the courtyard.

You know my name, the young man wants to say. You brought me here, you healed me; why? but instead he sinks back into unconsciousness.

It’s morning when he awakes, pale sunlight streaming through the gaping holes in the sagging ceiling and the torn paper covering the windows. Xiao Xingchen is already awake, setting two steaming bowls on the table.

He smiles when he sees the young man’s eyes open. His smile is soft, like everything else about him, showing no teeth, as if he thinks even the smallest flash of canine would be too threatening.

“I hope you like congee,” Xiao Xingchen says. “Do you need help, or—”

But the young man is already out of bed, tottering over the table. Lost memory or not, he’s sure he was never the kind of person to readily accept help. He sinks onto the bench opposite Xiao Xingchen and looks down into the watery porridge. His memories only go back a day or so, but he’s certain he’s never had less appetite even though he should be ravenous.

Xiao Xingchen raises his bowl to the young man in a kind of toast and begins to eat.

The young man hesitates before picking up his chopsticks. Suspicion, it seems, is part of his nature, but he tells himself that had the gray-clothed cultivator wanted to kill him, he had days to do so. Poison would be a waste of time.

He also had days to move you inside out of the rain, another voice whispers. His thoughts are sharper today, no longer clouded by pain and shock, though he still can’t remember further back than waking up in the rain several days before. And didn’t.

Xiao Xingchen smiles gently at him, as if overhearing his thoughts, and his smile is so pacific the young man is almost ashamed of himself.

Another emotion he’s unused to, he unconsciously knows, but there’s something about Xiao Xingchen that makes him instinctively trust him, instinctively want to get in his good graces despite any little whispers in his mind.

It’s this last instinct that spurs him to ask if he can help clean up after the meal, but Xiao Xingchen offers a laugh in response, as if he can’t believe the young man made the offer, and rinses the bowls and chopsticks himself.

The laugh tickles something in the young man’s mind, but the tickle fades before he can so much as try to scratch it.

“How did I get here?” he asks again after the meal. Xiao Xingchen is sitting on the stairs outside the Coffin House, polishing his sword. The pale yellow sunlight blinds the young man as he steps out of the dim house, and for a moment, as his vision is scorched, he sees a flash of gracefully swirling white robes—

“I brought you here,” says Xiao Xingchen calmly, scattering the vision.

“Why?”

“It seemed fitting.”

“Fitting how?” It still hurts to talk, but the young man has a rag ready to catch any dribbling blood from his oozing tongue. There’s a half-healed hole in his tongue, as if something had once been attached to it. “Why here, in this awful place?”

Xiao Xingchen looks up for the first time. “The happiest years of your life were spent in this awful place,” he says, very calmly.

“I don’t think I had any happy years.”

Xiao Xingchen’s eyebrow twitches slightly. “Your memory has returned?”

A flash of confusion. “No—no. I just got that impression.”

“Well, they were happy,” says Xiao Xingchen. “You had…fun.”

“Was it fun?” The words pop into the young man’s head, but he can’t pin them to a person or place. “Yes, of course it was fun!”

And then the words are gone altogether.

There’s an pregnant moment, as if there’s a lot more for Xiao Xingchen to say if he wants. The young man waits, and then, when it becomes apparent the cultivator has said all he means to say, sits down beside him. Closer than a stranger should sit, he realizes after he sits, but it’s too late to move without making things awkward. Instead he casually leans back on his left arm and drags his right arm through his loose black hair. The movement sends a stab of pain from his shoulder straight down into his scarred gut, and he gives a muffled grunt and tries to straighten his arm but can’t.

“Here,” says Xiao Xingchen. He sets down his sword and gently straightens the young man’s locked right arm. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help—”

“Hush.” He seats himself on one of the steps behind the young man and, still with his exquisite gentleness, combs the young man’s thick black hair with his fingers.

Another flash of memory, but it’s extinguished as quickly as the last one.

Carefully, Xiao Xingchen fixes the young man’s hair into an intricate bundle atop the young man’s head, with two long tendrils framing his face and majority flowing down his back like a curtain of the finest black silk.

“There,” he says. “Now you look more like yourself.”

“If you would only give me my name—”

“Too much all at once will only do permanent harm,” chides Xiao Xingchen. Something in his voice makes the young man thinks he’s trying to convince himself as much as the young man. “We can’t risk shocking your system, my friend.”

The young man ducks his head with feigned submission. I’m perceptive, at least, he thinks, tucking away this new hint as to who is. Smart enough not to push an issue when it’s not to my advantage.

What his advantage is, he isn’t sure. But he can wait. Patience, he instinctively knows, is one of his virtues.

Perhaps your only virtue, comes one of the whispers in his ear.

Lies! yells another voice in his ear. Lies! Lies! Lie!

He’s not sure whom the voice is addressing, and he’s busy trying to figure it out when Xiao Xingchen relents.

“This might jog your memory,” sighs the cultivator, rising. He helps the young man up and leads him to the well. Set beside it is a bucket of water. “This is why I brought you back, after all."

"...Back?"

Xiao Xingchen blinks, then relaxes into a soft smile. "Brought you here, I mean."

The young man examines his pale reflection in the bucket. He’s good-looking, he’s not surprised to see, though in a completely different way from the delicate beauty of the Xiao Xingchen. He looks younger than he actually is, he somehow knows, almost baby-faced, but the face is that of a stranger.

Xiao Xingchen is watching him closely. The young man shakes his head.

“We have time,” says Xiao Xingchen, smiling again, as if wanting to ensure that the young man doesn’t blame himself for the failure of his memory. He lays his hand on the young man’s bad arm. “Come. Let me help you.”

They sit on the porch steps the rest of the day. Xiao Xingchen finishes polishing his sword, produces reeds out of seeming nowhere, and weaves a basket. The young man sits beside him on the steps, listening as the town comes to life around them.

He could have sworn they were alone up till now, but he must have been mistaken. The Coffin House has been long abandoned, that much is obvious, but the front courtyard is still used to craft coffins for the town and surrounding villages, the finished products being stored in the courtyard behind the house. Idly, he watches the workmen at work in the courtyard, watches as the townspeople pass by the gates of the front courtyard. The young man calls out a greeting to one of the workmen who pass near him, but is ignored, and talking hurts too much to try again. The streets are bustling, the town having come back to life since—

Since what? Why is he surprised to see the town having risen from its—

From its what? Ashes? No, the buildings are too old to have been recently been rebuilt. From its—its dust—? No, that makes no sense, but his mind is suddenly filled with billowing brown dust—

He closes his eyes, focusing on that thought, straining to dive after that flickering thought, but it’s gone like an eel disappearing into the mud.

Xiao Xingchen lays his hand on his wrist. “Are you hungry, my friend?”

The young man opens his eyes. “Not at all.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “You must keep up your strength if your wounds are to heal.”

The young man had almost resolved to let Xiao Xingchen explain things in his own time, still oddly reluctant to irritate the mysterious cultivator, but he can’t help but blurt, “But how did I get those wounds?”

There’s a touch of sadness if Xiao Xingchen’s fine black eyes. He hesitates long enough that the young man thinks he’s not going to answer, going to tell him the cultivator’s silence is for his own good, but then Xiao Xingchen speaks.

“Fighting a friend,” he says.

“Fighting a friend?”

There’s more than a touch of sadness in Xiao Xingchen’s eyes now, something the cultivator seems to realize and resent, by the swift change of expression that follows.

“I suppose you can call him that,” he says sardonically, getting to his feet. The bitterness suits him, somehow, but the young man is oddly certain that it never suited him in the past. “You're playing with your hair again.”

The young man lowers his hand from where he was playing with the long tendrils framing his face, opens his mouth to ask another question, but Xiao Xingchen has risen. “The past is the past,” says the cultivator. “Come. Let's go find our supper.”

The young man does his best to keep up with Xiao Xingchen, who seems to take it for granted that his wounds wouldn’t affect his ability to walk. He drags himself along after Xiao Xingchen, who seems to float almost ethereally through the streets, and—did this happen once before?—it feels familiar—

“Potatoes!” calls a vendor, startling him out of his thoughts. “Radishes! Turnips!”

Neither of them have money, as it turns out. Holding a finger to his lips, Xiao Xingchen sweeps a dozen potatoes and radishes off the table and into his basket, gliding off down the street before anyone notices.

The young man hurries after him. He has an idea, though he’s not sure where it comes from, that this is out of character for Xiao Xingchen, and feels an inexplicable sense of bone-deep glee at the thought that he is the catalyst for this. Xiao Xingchen, it’s obvious, would have been satisfied living on watery congee.

Supper that night, and breakfast and dinner for the next few days, consists of boiled potatoes floating in unsalted congee, along with thin shaves of radish. The young man makes himself very witty on the topic of the plain food, but that’s more to amuse Xiao Xingchen than anything else. He sleeps poorly, woken by pain and the tormented little sounds Xiao Xingchen makes in his sleep, but he's getting stronger.

“Still no memory?” Xiao Xingchen asks on the fourth afternoon since the young man has woken. They’re returning from the market, basket full of vegetables.

“Nothing,” the young man lies. Somehow he can’t bring himself to mention the flashes of memory. He’d almost prefer not to have them at all. Something tells him he could use a fresh slate, while another voice, the unhinged voice that’s been growing in strength, hisses, He knows who I am! He knows what happened to me, he must have a sinister reason for not telling me! and fills his mind with thoughts of the gray-clothed cultivator being pierced by a dozen blades, of having his eyes ripped from his sockets—maybe then he’d speak! Maybe then he’d tell him the truth—

Gaping eye sockets. Why did his mind go there?

He lies in bed that night and stares up at the sagging ceiling, turning it all over in his mind. It’s not that the savagery of the image has shocked him. The gruesome pictures feel welcome, if anything. Comfortable. As if his mind is settling into familiar grooves. But there is something about the missing eyes in particular—

Xiao Xingchen is outside, fetching water from the well to clean the young man’s wounds, when it begins to rain. It patters musically down on the thatched roof, gusting in through the gaps and soaking the straw of the two coffin-beds.

It doesn’t even occur to the young man to push Xiao Xingchen’s coffin bed out of the way. After all, his bed is dry.

Xiao Xingchen says nothing when he returns, just smiles as he bathes the young man’s bleeding scars as they listen to the wind whistle through the gaps in the Coffin House.

The young man doesn’t quite know what to make of Xiao Xingchen’s smile. For absolutely no reason, tonight it stirs him with a vague unease. If anything, the young man has gone out of his way to make him smile these past few days. So far the majority of his new life has been spent sitting on the steps of Coffin House, watching the villagers go by, or strolling through the town, all the while talking more than his fair share. He’s grown accustomed to the nail-like pain in his tongue and dribbling blood, and has amused himself by keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

Xiao Xingchen has been receptive, his mobile lips twitching appreciatively at the young man’s observations. Each twitch has sent a spurt of pleasure through the young man.

Well, I am witty, the young man thinks as Xiao Xingchen finishes tightening the last bandage. But out of the jumbled impressions of the man he used to be, he’s somehow aware that he’s not used to giving people joy, at least to those who aren’t tall thin young men with expressive lips and exquisitely delicate features that could have been carved from jade.

People like—

Xiao Xingchen tosses the bucket of bloody water out the front door and stands there, framed in the white curtain of pouring rain. The young man climbs back into bed, huddled under Xiao Xingchen’s cloak.

He normally falls asleep quickly, worn out by his daily blood loss, but tonight something keeps him awake. From under half-closed eyelids he watches Xiao Xingchen, watches the damp breeze ruffle his smooth black hair and rustle his gray robes around him like seaweed gently moving in the ocean current. Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes, lifting his face to the rain, filling his lungs with the wet chilly air, then closes the door and goes to his coffin bed. He reaches inside, feels the dampness of the straw, says something the young man can’t hear.

Hesitating, Xiao Xingchen turns and approaches the bed.

“My friend?” he whispers. “If it’s all right with you—”

The young man doesn’t speak, but he rolls over slightly. Xiao Xingchen removes his only slightly damp outer robes and drapes them over the bed for warmth before crawling in beside the young man.

The cultivator’s body gives off more heat than one would expect from someone so anemic-looking, but this is one more thing the young man somehow already knew. He lies very still as Xiao Xingchen settles in beside him, not sure if he should pretend to be asleep or not. He wonders if Xiao Xingchen is going to have another nightmare tonight, if it will wake him, if he'll be expected to do anything about it. Somehow he knows he wouldn't know how to comfort someone.

They lie like that for a long time before Xiao Xingchen speaks again.

“Today, at the market,” he says. “That boy.”

The young man doesn’t respond. There had been a young boy in the marketplace that day, no more than six or seven, selling homemade toys made from twisted reeds and sticks. A wagon had driven by, splashing him and his wares with muddy water and ruining them.

“When he began to cry that his parents would beat him,” continues Xiao Xingchen, his voice little more than a murmur, “and I gave him our fruits and vegetables for him to give them instead of money…I had resolved the matter. Why did you then…”

“Did I what?” asks the young man, genuinely puzzled.

“Why did you then find the wagon driver and beat him so hard he lost three teeth?”

“Made more sense than for us to go without our supper,” says the young man, though in all honestly he’s yet to feel any hunger since he opened his eyes in the Coffin House courtyard. “We did nothing wrong. Why should we suffer for the crimes of another?”

Xiao Xingchen turns so that he’s looking at the young man. “He deserved it?” he says. “He didn’t splash the boy on purpose.”

“He should have been the one to pay, not you. He made us go without our dinner—”

“We stole more food.”

“He didn’t know that!” says the young man impatiently. Xiao Xingchen, as intelligent as he is, can be willfully obtuse. “That man robbed us of our dinner!”

Xiao Xingchen turns so that he’s no longer looking at the young man, instead watching the rain drip down into his coffin bed. “Is that the only reason? Avenging our lost supper?”

“Why else?”

“Had the boy’s tears nothing to do with it?”

It dawns on the young man that Xiao Xingchen, for whatever reason, wants him to say yes.

All right, then. For all the young man knows, he’s telling the truth when he shrugs, “He left the child to be beaten; he deserved a beating in turn.” He has a faint memory of a fist and a boot and whip somewhere in his past, though he himself can’t say whether that affected his behavior today.

Xiao Xingchen smiles slightly, not a happy smile, which is somehow concerning, and is silent. The young man wishes the cultivator hadn’t brought the incident up. Had Xiao Xingchen not been there, the wagon driver would have lost a lot more than a few teeth. But Xiao Xingchen had meddled in things that didn’t concern him, dragging him away from the scene, and he resents it. For reasons he still doesn’t understand, he doesn’t like resenting the cultivator.

“The look on your face as you beat him,” says Xiao Xingchen after so long the young man had assumed he’d fallen asleep. “That smile…”

The young man grins with as much wicked charm as he can muster. Lost, perhaps, in the near darkness, but grinning is almost a reflex, a habit, same as his hair-twirling and Xiao Xingchen’s basket-weaving. “Can I not smile anymore?”

“Forget it.” It’s impossible to tell if he’s pleased with the way conversation has ended, or if the young man has made a blunder. “Forget I mentioned it…”

It takes another week before the young man realizes that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t want him to regain his memories.

It hits him as he sits on the stairs one morning, letting Xiao Xingchen fix his hair as usual, watching the workmen labor and wondering if he should make another attempt at striking up a conversation with them or if it would be unwise to draw attention to their squatting in the Coffin House.

“Why don’t you go on night-hunts?” he asks Xiao Xingchen out of nowhere.

Xiao Xingchen fastens the young man’s hair into the last intricate braid. “I can’t leave you alone in your condition.”

“I can come with you. I’ll stay quiet; I’ll carry the sword for you…”

And, those words triggering something, he sits up and turns around at the very sudden clear memory of gazing at Xiao Xingchen in a time long past—a false memory, it must be; why would Xiao Xingchen blindfold himself?—but it’s something—

He’d turned too quickly for Xiao Xingchen to alter his expression. It’s one of anger mixed with grief, and the cultivator swiftly rises and gazes down at him with an uncharacteristic sharpness.

“Fine,” he says, as if to change the subject, stop the young man from tugging on that thread of memory. “We’ll go tonight.”

The young man takes their kitchen knife with him that night, their only other weapon aside for Xiao Xingchen’s beautiful white sword.

He jokes about it as they walk through the silent moonlit woods, jokes about using his knife to fix dinner for any demons they might meet, but though he knows he should feel ridiculous he instead feels completely unafraid. It’s not only that he trusts Xiao Xingchen’s skill; it’s as if, deep down, he knows he can take down a monster with just a vegetable knife.

But he’s promised Xiao Xingchen he won’t step in, and he doesn’t. He watches with fascination as Xiao Xingchen’s swift silver blade dismembers a demon-snake, severing the head with one graceful yet powerful stroke, as if trying to spare the beast pain.

Not how I would have done it, but neat.

Xiao Xingchen glances at him with an unreadable expression as he flicks the blood from his sword.

“Well?” he says shortly. “Any memories?”

The young man shakes his head, noticing a slight relaxing of tension in Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders that the cultivator fails to hide.

They spend the next day fixing the roof, and the rain, accepting their challenge, returns at sunset. After letting Xiao Xingchen clean and bind his wounds, the young man retreats to bed, sitting up wrapped in the cloak. Xiao Xingchen sits shivering at the table as he brushes his ornamental horsehair whisk. Black hair, with a long handle of reddish wood.

It’s the first time the young man has seen it, but he instinctively knows it doesn’t belong to the cultivator.

“Do you ride?” he asks casually, twisting his hair around a finger.

Xiao Xingchen stops his ministrations for the barest fraction of a second.

“There are no horses where I come from,” he says.

The young man holds his twirled hair in front of his face, studiously avoiding looking directly at the cultivator. This is the first hint of his own past offered by Xiao Xingchen. He’s curious, despite himself, and hopeful that it might lead to knowledge of his own past.

“No horses?” he says with a skeptical laugh, trying to goad Xiao Xingchen into revealing more. “Mules, then?”

“No animals of any kind,” says Xiao Xingchen. “Only birds.”

He steals a quick glance at the cultivator. “Only birds? Like in the realm of the immortals?”

A faint look of alarm crosses Xiao Xingchen’s face. “Of course not,” he says. “I merely meant…”

“A whisk for birds?” the young man laughs when it becomes apparent Xiao Xingchen isn’t going to say more. “I’d like to see that demon-bird!”

“It belonged to a friend,” says Xiao Xingchen in a low voice, as if to himself. “As do these robes, as do my…”

“Those gray robes don’t suit you,” says the young man. He associates Xiao Xingchen with white, for some reason, but doesn’t want to risk saying it out loud. He’s learned to hide these hints of resurfaced memory, amusing as it is to ruffle Xiao Xingchen’s half-admirable, half-maddening placidity.

Pain wrinkles Xiao Xingchen’s wide smooth forehead anyway. “I wear them to honor him,” he says, so quietly the young man has to strain to hear. “He spent his life gathering the spiritual cognition of—of someone close to me; his last act was to sacrifice himself in order—in order to…”

“To what?”

“Make up for something long past,” says Xiao Xingchen. “Something that was not his fault. My sacrifice was made willingly.”

“The past is the past,” says the young man, echoing what Xiao Xingchen has told him many times over the past weeks. He grins slightly to show just how much he doesn’t care about his own lost past.

“I don’t know that will ever be true.”

The young man feels a gust of anger at this lost friend. He isn’t sure if he’s jealous, or if he’s angry on Xiao Xingchen’s behalf, or just plain irritated to have their placid domesticity ruined by this faceless and completely inconsequential person.

“Well, we can make it true,” he says. “Damn everyone else!”

A hint of red rises in Xiao Xingchen’s eyes, as if blood is rimming his eyes, and with a shudder he steps out into the rain.

A chill creeps over the young man.

Blood. Blood tears.

Only ghosts or those touched by the supernatural cry in blood.

A rush of rage so pure and potent he could have ripped Xiao Xingchen’s scalp off he been within reach overwhelms him. He’s been lying to you all along! Is he a demon?? You ought to go out after him, beat the truth out of him—

He makes it no more than three steps before collapsing under a sudden burst of agony. He curses, a sizzling tangle of filth that feels at home on his tongue, fingers scrabbling on the floorboards. He used to have a higher pain tolerance, he knows it—

He finds himself laughing for no reason as he drags himself towards the door, but the pain in his right arm is so overpowering, and the pain in his left hand is so numbing when he tries to compensate by shifting his weight, that he passes out right there on the damp dirty floor.

A vague sensation of being lifted, of something brushing his forehead. A pale floating face, illuminated in the rain-filtered moonlight coming in through the window. A warm body beside his. A soft murmur: Stop trying to remember, I beg you…

I will, I swear, he says, not fully understanding what he’s promising in his haze, the agony washing away everything but the present moment. He rolls into the warmth, sleeping, for the first time since waking surrounded by coffins, without nightmares shredding his sleep.

Something has changed the next morning; he can feel it.

As always, Xiao Xingchen is up before him, preparing breakfast. He smiles when he sees the young man’s eyes open.

“I thought we might leave this place,” he says before he young man can open his mouth and demand an explanation of what manner of demonic beast Xiao Xingchen is. “Start fresh somewhere else.”

The young man seats himself at the table.

“Well?” asks Xiao Xingchen. There’s a hint of something in his voice that the young man can’t quite pin down. “Are you better this morning? We can wait until you’re recovered a bit more…”

“I’m fine,” the young man hears himself saying. It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s what comes out. “We’ll need some time to prepare.”

A subtle shift in Xiao Xingchen’s posture, a gentle smile. He’s pleased.

Suddenly the young man decides not to ask him about his bloody tears.

They’re leaving.

The words bring a strange comfort.

They’re leaving this place, never to come back. Leaving to start fresh, to stop whatever game they’re playing—who’s the one playing the game, the young man isn’t sure, but he abruptly wants nothing more than to stop whatever it is, and simply start over. Start new.

“We’ll go to the neighboring town this afternoon,” Xiao Xingchen tells him. “They have the better market to buy supplies. We can leave here for good first thing tomorrow.”

The young man gives a small nod.

After breakfast Xiao Xingchen heads out to see what he can find in Yi City before they head for the other town, forbidding the young man from accompanying him this time. The young man busies himself in searching the house for anything they can take with them. He knows the house like the back of his hand by this time, but it’s something to do. The bowls and chopsticks, of course, and the canteens…

He lays his selections on the table and pokes around the back of the room, bored without Xiao Xingchen. Under a rotting carpet of woven straw, he finds a handle.

He knows he shouldn’t pull it.

The voices in his head are unanimous on that point, even the one that had once dwelled placidly on gaping eye sockets.

You’re leaving tomorrow. Let it lie. Go boil the water for tonight’s supper; a surprise for Xiao Xingchen…

He pulls the trapdoor open.

Turn around! clamor the voices, like branches clattering against a shuttered window during a storm. You’re leaving tomorrow…tomorrow…

Tomorrow…

He grabs a candle and drops down into the darkness.

The cellar is larger than expected. Mostly beams holding up the floor of the house, but there are shelves there too, long-rotted provisions and stores and broken coffin-making tools.

In the center of the space is a large array taking up most of the floor. Red paint covered in what looks like fifty years of dust and grime and rodent droppings.

Carpeting the array, caked with their own thick layer of grime, are dozens and dozens of little jars.

He picks one up.

Put it down! shriek the voices. Put it down, there’s still time, you can still leave…

He pulls the stopper.

No! yells the voices. We told you not to!

He stands there, frozen, every nerve in his body on fire, until the door upstairs groans open.

“I’m back,” Xiao Xingchen calls. “Where are you?”

The creak of floorboards, coming to stop near the open trapdoor. Xiao Xingchen drops down through the gap, a smile on his face.

“There you are,” he says. “I brought you a surprise at the market. I was going to wait, but—” He extends his hand.

In his curved palm are two small paper-wrapped sweet.

The last fluttering shreds of memory weave themselves together, and the young man falls to his knees. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

“Are your wounds bothering you again?” asks Xiao Xingchen in concern, crouching before the young man. “Do you think you’ll be able to travel? I don’t feel right stealing medicine, but we can always…”

He trails off as he sees the little jars. His eyes fall on the open one in the young man’s hand, and he drops the paper-wrapped sweets in his suddenly-trembling hand as he reads the name painted on the side in red paint:

A-Qing.

Time stops. The young man remains kneeling before the cultivator, unmoving, staring at the jar in his hand, at the sweets scattered on the filthy floor.

"...You swore you wouldn't try to remember," says Xiao Xingchen.

A single tear trickles down his cheek. It spatters at his feet, a crimson spot in the dirt.

“Welcome back, Xue Yang,” he says, and presses down hard.

* * *

The cultivator’s hand comes down, solid and white in the gloom, and rests on the young man’s neck, deceptively strong fingers brushing a nerve.

Xue Yang wakes tied to the bed upstairs.

Scattered around the bed are the dozens of jars, each containing the tongue of one of his victims during the time he lived with Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing, kept fresh by the protective array in the cellar.

Xiao Xingchen stands beside the bed, clothed in white. From his belt hangs A-Qing’s jar, washed clean of all dust and grime.

He lies very still, opening his eyes only just enough to take in his surroundings.

On his face is a look Xue Yang wants to believe is sorrow.

Xue Yang opens his eyes fully, and Xiao Xingchen straightens up, features smooth again. There’s new look in fine black eyes, an unsettling look that wavers between being far too intense and far too blank at the same time.

“Now what?” asks Xue Yang, straining against the ropes. His arm blazes with agony, but barely notices. He grins, his old psychotic grin, the one that showed the world just how much he didn’t care.

Xiao Xingchen smiles down at Xue Yang, his usual soft smile of gentle amusement. He takes the bound young man’s left hand in one of his, a knife gleaming in the other, and extends Xue Yang’s bruised pinky.

[kelseyshljourney]

My HL (Hodgkin’s Lymphoma) Journey

“You have cancer”. I heard these words on a sunny July afternoon in 2020. July 23rd to be exact. I had a chest biopsy that was done that Tuesday, the 21st and anxiously waited for the results. I was not prepared to hear those words ever in my entire life nor is there anything that can prepare you for it. I was 6 months pregnant with my daughter, Madison, at the time so you can imagine the emotions I was feeling were heightened because of the pregnancy. Let me start at the beginning. Welcome to my cancer story.

My cancer journey started during my pregnancy with my aforementioned daughter. I found out I was pregnant with our first child in February 2020. I’ll make it clear that I had a wonderful pregnancy (cancer stuff put aside) and my daughter is happy, healthy, and living her best life. We were wonderfully blessed to be on this journey of pregnancy and enjoying every part of it. Although, I would not recommend being pregnant during a pandemic. Now being in 2021, there’s more that we know about COVID-19 but the beginning was rough. During the first trimester of pregnancy, my midwife brought up information about genetic testing that is available to pregnant moms for their babies that can be done through a simple blood test. It’s a carrier screening test that’s optional but does check to see if I am a carrier for 3 genetic abnormalities (Down Syndrome, Trisomy 18, and Trisomy 13). I almost didn’t do this blood test because whether or not I was a carrier for the 3 different abnormalities, it wouldn’t change the outcome of the pregnancy. If I ended up being a carrier, my husband, Rob, would also have to be carrier in order for it to be most likely passed down to our baby. I decided to do it because it was covered by my insurance and it was a quick visit to my clinic to get my blood drawn. No big deal.

I got the test done in April and then didn’t hear anything right away. I didn’t think much of it but I realized that I never got my results back on the test so I called my clinic to get my future appointments set up and then spoke directly with my midwife. She asked me if I heard anything from the lab about my results and I told her that I hadn’t. She ended up calling them and then called me right back. She said that my results came back as “inconclusive” as the lab could not determine if I was a carrier for any genetic abnormality because a lot of my DNA strands are incomplete with parts missing. My midwife said that out of her 30+ years of doing this job, she has never heard of this result before. Great. I was concerned about what this meant for the baby and concerned since my midwife didn’t know how to handle this. My care was transferred over to a Maternal & Fetal Medicine (M&FM) doctor who I saw for the rest of my pregnancy as I was now considered to be high risk. During this same week (the week of May 18th), I had a visit over the phone with a genetic counselor who told me that the result of the genetic test could be the cause of something as simple as being anemic (not getting enough iron) or something more serious like a tumor (whether benign or malignant). I was told that the least likely of it to be would be a tumor (I can laugh about this now but the irony). I also had a breast ultrasound at the hospital to make sure there were no lumps that could be causing this (there weren’t – I was clear).

At this point, I was feeling stressed but overall still feeling good and excited about my pregnancy despite this hiccup (or what I thought was just a hiccup). I had a few visits with the M&FM doctor and had more ultrasounds than a “normal” pregnancy so that they can check to make sure that Baby E was growing as she should and didn’t show any outward signs of a genetic disability. I had a lot of blood work done but it all came back clear and showing no signs of anything going wrong in my body. For a while, I felt like a test subject and with every test that was ordered and prick in my arm I was getting annoyed that I wasn’t getting to enjoy a “normal” pregnancy with all the visits that I had. I say “normal” because every pregnancy is different for every woman. When my doctor told me that the last thing she wanted to order for me was chest CT and an MRI to confirm there was not a tumor in my body, she promised she would let me enjoy my pregnancy and not order any more tests. I almost almost declined the MRI and CT because I felt like I didn’t want to go through that and be exposed to possible radiation and on top of that, I felt fine. God was really watching out for me and leading me in the direction to get the diagnostic tests done.

On July 8th, I had the MRI and CT done. I was with Rob when I got the call from my doctor that afternoon to go over the results. The MRI was unclear because of the baby moving but from what they could see, there was nothing that came up. However, the CT scan showed a mass in my chest that was the size of a distorted hockey puck; measuring at 7 ½ cm by 7cm by 2 cm and was located between my heart and my lung. I was watching Rob tear up and all I could say to him as soon as I hung up with my doctor was. “I’m going to be okay” over and over again. I think I was in complete shock over hearing that there is a tumor in my chest that could be cancer. We had my family over that night and I broke down several times throughout the night. I remember saying that I want to watch my child grow up (since we didn’t know the sex of the baby at the time) and I was scared that I wouldn’t have that chance. I went to bed that night thinking that I was going to die during the night because of the tumor. To be very clear, I wasn’t having suicidal thoughts or anything but when I was told that I have a tumor in my chest, the first thought that went through my mind was that I wouldn’t live to see the next day. This sounds dramatic as I’m writing this but it's the truth. In reality, I probably have had this tumor for a year, two years, or even longer. No one truly knows.

               Between finding out about the tumor and getting the chest biopsy done was about 2 weeks. I can tell you that it was the slowest 2 weeks of my life. During this time, Rob and I were busy packing and getting ready to move into our house. So on top of being in the middle of a pandemic, being pregnant, having a tumor in my chest (without knowing if it was cancer), we were moving too. These two weeks were filled with prayers and spending time with friends and family. I had many breakdowns but Rob helped by feeding me all my favorite foods (I was pregnant after all). We moved into our house on July 16th. It was a wonderful day and we are thankful for the friends and family that helped us move into our new space. It was an exhausting time but so worth it. As mentioned at the beginning of this, I had my chest biopsy on Tuesday, July 21st. They couldn’t put me under because I was pregnant but my midwife prescribed me something that would be safe to take while pregnant but will help calm me during the procedure. It was a surreal feeling laying on the procedure table seeing a needle sticking out my chest and moving with every breath I took. Without that medication, I would have probably freaked out since I knew that the needle was close to my heart and lung.

Me in post-op.

2 days later is when I got the call from my doctor telling me the life changing news: I have cancer. God works as wonderfully as he does because that day my mom and grandma happened to come over for lunch, a rare occurrence during the work week so they were there when I got the call. I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma (HL), which happens to be a very treatable cancer. My doctor told me that she has already been in contact with the oncology team at the hospital to have someone get a hold of me to get an appointment set-up right away. I called all of our family who came over to process the news with me. There were many tears shed between all of us and I couldn’t eat or drink anything because I was so stressed and worried about what this means for my future and Madison’s future. That night, I got a call from Dr. Anderson who became my oncologist during this journey. We met with him the following day at the hospital to go over my CT and MRI scan images and to go over treatment options. He discussed that the general treatment plan for HL was chemotherapy and possible radiation. He also discussed the staging (HL is staged from stage I to stage IV) but because I was pregnant, they were limited in what tests they could order to determine a true stage until after I give birth. For example, they would normally perform a PET scan to confirm where the cancer is in my body but weren’t able to because it’s not safe for the baby. I was originally stage I but borderline stage II because of the size of my cancer and they knew that because of the chest CT. One thing he suggested was to get a bone marrow biopsy done to confirm that the cancer hasn’t spread to my bone marrow (which is a common place for HL to be).

I can tell you now that doing the bone marrow biopsy rivals the pain of childbirth. I was 6 months pregnant when I had the bone marrow biopsy done and it is a very painful procedure. I had the biopsy done on August 5th and what they do is take two samples from my pelvic bone, a liquid sample and a solid sample. The thing is, they could only numb the area where the needle was inserted into my body but there was no way to numb my actual pelvic bone so that is where I felt the pain and it was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. I’ll be honest, I cried during it but I luckily had a wonderful nurse who held my hand and talked me through the pain the entire time. Fortunately, the results came back confirming that there was no cancer to be found in my bone marrow. I was still considered to be stage I at this point in my cancer journey but that changed once I gave birth. I’ll get into that a little later.

This was the day after. I was very sore. Peep at the zubaz.

Now that the bone marrow biopsy was done, we met again with Dr. Anderson to go over options. I had the choice of starting chemotherapy while still pregnant (it’s generally safe since I was in my third trimester) or wait until I give birth to start. It was a very heavy decision to make. On one hand if I were to start chemotherapy while still pregnant, there are possible negative side effects for the baby: low birth weight, preterm labor (which ended up happening anyway), mental issues, and fertility issues. On the other hand, if I wait to receive chemotherapy until after the birth, am I putting my health at risk and possibly getting worse with the cancer? Rob and I went back and forth, talked to our families about it, and prayed – a lot.

After a lot of thinking, I decided to wait until after the birth to start chemotherapy. I was feeling good overall and not feeling the “normal” symptoms of HL. I was considered asymptomatic (not showing any symptoms) but here are the common symptoms for HL:

·         Persistent fatigue

·         Night sweats

·         Fever

·         Unexplained weight loss

·         Severe itching

·         Painless swelling of lymph nodes in neck, armpits, or groin

I came to the conclusion that whatever decision I made was the right decision. I knew that I wanted to ride out the rest of my pregnancy without causing any possible disruption to my daughter and her growth. In lieu of receiving treatment during pregnancy, I had to go in for weekly blood work to make sure that everything was still coming back normal (for a pregnancy). My oncologist did order a blood test that checked inflammation in my body. This is called an erythrocyte sedimentation rate (ESR) and the number was already elevated because of pregnancy but also if it was higher than what my oncologist wanted, it would help determine that there might be something bad happening in my body. The number slowly increased as the weeks went on and as I got more and more pregnant. Fortunately, the number was still low enough to satisfy my oncology team. I also had an echocardiogram on July 27th and lung function test on August 3rd to get a baseline on where my heart and lungs were. Of course being pregnant means that my lung function test came back with skewed results than what would be normal. They get these baselines since the drugs that I will be receiving during chemotherapy can affect the heart and lungs negatively so they want to keep a close eye on it. They both came back fine, my heart is strong and my lungs were functioning as well as they could with the rest of my organs pressed into them (yay pregnancy).

               I had my last ultrasound for my daughter when I was 33 weeks pregnant and the last time that I would see the M&FM doctor as I would be seen every week until I gave birth with my midwife. Little did I know, I would be walking into the hospital on Sunday evening, September 13th because my water broke (I’ll never forget Rob’s face when they confirmed that my water broke – it was priceless!) A little worried but ready for anything, I was ready to give birth despite her being 6 weeks early. Since I was only 1cm dilated, the plan was to induce me the next morning and start the process of giving birth. Apparently my daughter Madison had a different plan because I spent the night dealing with veeerrry painful contractions before I got the epidural. Seriously, a game changer. When the doctors came in to check how I was doing with the epidural, they were surprised to find that I was 9cm dilated and told me that I was about to start pushing. Since I was without sleep and very tired and given the epidural, I was ready to do the damn thing. After an hour of pushing, Madison was born on September 14th at 6:51am! She spent 13 days in the NICU but was never needing any respiratory support at only being at 34 weeks but was healthy and happy.

               Once Madison was home from the hospital, it was time for me to get started with my official cancer journey. On September 29th, I had a PET scan done and this helped to confirm everything we knew but also showed something unexpected; there was another lymph node that lit up in my chest too. This put me officially in stage II HL. The treatment plan remained the same though; I were to receive a chemotherapy combination of drugs abbreviated ABVD (every letter represents a different chemo drug). This part is hard to write because even discussing these drugs makes me nauseous and queasy (something that I don’t think will go away anytime soon). The “A” in the “chemo cocktail” side effect is hair loss. Something that I have prepared myself for, or as much as I could, but nothing can prepare you for when it actually starts happening. I knew that the hair loss was temporary and I would rather be bald for a short time than have cancer for the rest of my life. We got together with some friends at the end of September interspersed so they can meet Madison and also to spend some time together before Rob and I made the decision to lock down our house from visitors. We also made the decision to limit our circle of people that we will see in the coming months. We did this because we knew that my health was going to decline because of chemo and also with the threat of COVID, my immune system couldn’t take the risk of getting sick. It was a very difficult decision since we thrive on social situations and we love hanging out with our friends and family but it was vital that we don’t see many people. This really affected my mental health as I rely on our friends to get me through hard times and this was hands down one of the hardest times that I will probably go through.

               Over the course of the next 6 months, I will experience the ups and downs (a lot more downs than ups) of receiving chemotherapy and the effect that this has on my body. I would never wish chemotherapy and the pain associated with it on anybody. I know that this was extremely tough on my family and friends to see me in such a state. Chemotherapy and the days after it are a nightmare that you can’t wake up from. It was my reality waking up every day and knowing that I still have cancer and have the possibility of getting really sick from it or something worse (don’t worry, I never got into a dark head space but I also needed to make sure I was realistic in all the possibilities). My only other experience with cancer is not a positive one. My sister in law, Beth, passed away from stage IV malignant melanoma on March 26th, 2017. From the time she was diagnosed to the time she passed away, it was about 6 months so you can imagine what was going through my mind when I was diagnosed with this horrible disease.  

               On Monday October 5th, I underwent outpatient surgery to get an implantable port that was put in my chest. This port is used for chemotherapy and is an alternative to having the nurses inserting a needle in my vein each chemo session because over time, the chemotherapy drugs can negatively affect strong veins. The port uses a special needle during chemotherapy to inject the drugs and connected to the port is a tube (I’m sure there’s a medical term but I’m not medically trained) that ran up to a main vein near my neck that was connected directly to my heart so that the drugs were dispersed quickly through my body. It was never painful during the time that I had it and I looked forward to the day when I would be able to get my port out because that means that I was cancer free and no longer receiving chemotherapy.

Also in post-op. Notice the 2 different spots where they cut open. The bottom cut is where the port rested.

On Thursday, October 8th, I had my first chemotherapy session. Luckily the hospital allowed one visitor to come with patients so Rob was fortunately able to come with me. My mom was staying with us for a few weeks to help with the transition of chemotherapy and making sure that someone was able to take care of Madison in case that I was not able to (thinking of this breaks my heart because I never wanted to be a position where I couldn’t take care of my own child). Rob and I showed up to the hospital early in the morning at about 8am and didn’t leave until a little after 3pm. It’s safe to say that it was a very long, draining, exhausting day. Not all chemotherapy sessions were this long but because it was my first one, there’s more that happens than normal. Walking into the oncology suite for the first time to get chemotherapy was nerve-wracking because I didn’t know what to expect. I also felt a lot of eyes on me from the other people also waiting to get chemotherapy and I knew they were looking at me because of my age. Most of them were a lot older. I did come across someone one time who was just a few years older than me (they usually ask date of birth when checking in so that’s how I knew) and I could tell it was his first time because he looked as nervous as I did during my first visit.

               At the hospital, they have both private rooms and a public space too. We were lucky enough to get a private room and it made things a little easier and helped to ease my anxiety knowing that if anything negative were to happen, I wouldn’t be in a public area where other people could witness it. The first nurse that I had was Jen and she was incredible. I’ll say that every nurse that I had were awesome. Anyways, they stared out each visit by taking blood work through my port. They want to make sure that I met the threshold with my blood work to be able to receive chemo because if I am below that threshold for what they are comfortable with, I would be deemed too sick to receive chemo and it would have to be delayed. Luckily I never got to that point but I came close a couple of times. They mainly check my hemoglobin and my white blood cell count but there’s a few other numbers they check as well. I then had a visit with my oncologist who walked me through what each drug’s side effects are. It also was an opportunity to ask questions. The main side effects entailed nausea, lack of appetite, headaches, fatigue, numbness in hands and feet, and night sweats. To help curb the nausea, there were “pre-meds” that were given to me before I received the chemo drugs that mainly were anti-nausea drugs.

Once my oncologist left, it was just me, Rob, and Jen. Jen started to give me one of the pre-med drugs called Emend. It’s an anti-nausea drug that was given to me through my port. Jen just started the drip from the IV bag when I started to feel my chest tighten and my face got flushed. I asked Jen if it was normal to feel this way and she stopped what she was doing immediately and told me that it’s not normal. She stopped the drip right away, pressed a button in the room, and then all of a sudden, it went from the 3 of us to about 7-8 people in the tiny room. There were nurses, helpers, and a pharmacist that came in the room. Someone was taking my vitals (heart rate, oxygen level, and temperature), while the nurses there checking my legs for swelling. As soon as she stopped the drip, the tightening in my chest went away and I was able to breathe normally. My vitals came back fine but my heart rate was through the roof because having that many people in the room spiked my anxiety and then there were people that were sticking their heads out of their rooms to see what was going on. It was slightly embarrassing because I felt fine and I don’t like being fussed over. The pharmacist explained that they will discontinue giving me the Emend but he also explained that this is not a common thing that occurs for most people so I most likely had an allergic reaction to the drug. Once everyone left my room, Jen gave me a huge dose of Benadryl to counteract the Emend so I ended up falling asleep for most of the session and I was in and out of consciousness so I don’t really remember much from my first session. I woke up periodically when Jen came in the room with the chemo drugs. I think Rob left the room for a little bit to get some food from the café and to stretch his legs.

The drug that always came first was the Adriamycin (A) which had to be administered by the nurse sitting next to me and slowly injecting it in a timely manner. The rest of the drugs, Bleomycin (B), Vinblastine (V), and Doxorubicin (D), were given via IV bags that were slowly administered over a period of time. When 3pm came around, I finished up my last drug and was able to leave. I went home and slept for a long time.

I received chemo every other week. I was considered to be toxic for the first 72 hours after, which means my bodily fluids should not be handled by anyone but me. Rob and I deemed our downstairs bathroom as the “chemo bathroom” so that’s what I used every time. After going to the bathroom, I have to put the toilet seat down and flush twice. If I vomited, I would need to be the one to clean it up but if someone were to help, they would need to wear a mask and gloves. Fortunately I never vomited during my cancer journey (mind over matter). For the rest of my chemo sessions, they were mostly uneventful. There was a point where the hospital changed their visitor policy and I was not able to bring Rob to the appointments so I had to go alone. This really took an effect on my mental health and negatively affected my health knowing that I would have to endure the sessions alone. I felt like my health declined during that time period so for a few months, I was going alone and sitting in the public area. I usually would bring our Nintendo Switch, read, or I would sit and watch Tik Toks. I would have a song in my head on how I was feeling that day so I would usually send the song to my family to let them know where my head space was at that day.

For those that are wondering, a chemo cycle is about a month long (28 days). In each cycle, there are 2 sessions. The plan was to do 2 cycles and then have a repeat PET scan done (which was the end of November) and then most likely 4 more cycles of chemo after that and then another PET scan (which was in March). As I mentioned earlier, one of the side effects from one of the chemo drugs is hair loss. My oncologist prepared me that I most likely will lose my hair. Easier said than done. I didn’t see any hair loss during my first cycle but I knew that it was only a matter of time. When I started my second cycle of chemo, that’s when it happened. It was the week of Halloween and I believe it was a Tuesday when I took a shower during the day. As mentioned before, my mom was living with us to take care of Madison and I am thankful that she was there. This is a vulnerable topic to discuss for me because even though I know the hair loss is temporary, our hair makes us part of who we are as people and you can’t convince me otherwise. When I started washing my hair, I pulled out a huge portion. I kept pulling out more and more hair and I broke down crying in the shower. I eventually made it out and showed my mom what happened. This was one of the toughest days of my journey. I ended up sleeping for about 6 hours after that because I was emotionally and mentally drained. That night, Rob bought me my favorite food from a hibachi place close by our house and that helped my spirits a little bit.

The rest of the week I avoided washing my hair when I took my showers because I wasn’t ready to go through that trauma again because despite pulling out a few handfuls, I still had plenty of hair on my head. I said at the beginning of the journey that I wasn’t planning on shaving my head and that I would just keep what hair I could but I changed my decision on that. On Halloween was when I became bald. I was prepared this time when I went to take a shower as I brought in a few shower beers and had loud music playing. I walked out of the bathroom and showed Rob, who was watching Madison, the hair that I pulled out and with tears in my eyes, I asked him if he could shave my head. I can tell you that afterwards, I didn’t feel sad, I felt liberated more than anything because this was my decision and not something that the cancer could take away from me. I was in pretty good spirits and spent the night playing board games with my brother and sister in law. We dressed Madison up as a Chipotle burrito even though she didn’t like that (she wasn’t in it long). I now am in possession of a few wigs and some hair wraps and hats. My family has never seen me without a hat or a wig on because being bald is the only physical trait that links me to cancer. I want them to always remember me with hair because this is already tough on them that I don’t want them to have that memory of me.

One thing that I didn’t mention earlier but with the Bleomycin (B), this was a drug that caused my loss of appetite, fatigue, and overall nausea after each chemo session. This drug is known to cause negative effects on the lungs so I was carefully monitored by getting lung function tests done. The last one that I did was at the end of my first cycle where they saw a slight drop in my lung function so they stopped giving me this drug so I was only getting AVD for the rest of my cycles. My oncologist explained that it’s better to have some of this drug in my regimen than not getting it at all and it’s about 50% of the time that it’s dropped at some point during the chemo journey. I overall felt better and got my appetite and some of my energy back. I started working out again and felt like I could get through the day without feeling like I needed a nap. I probably would have napped more if I didn’t have Madison at home but I wanted to give as much attention to her as possible. I’ve said this many times to my family, friends, and coworkers, but Madison will always be my dose of serotonin when I’m having a bad day.

After going through 2 successful chemo sessions, it was time to get another PET scan done. This happened on November 30th. I got the results of the scan 2 days later with Dr. Anderson. He explained that the chemo drugs are doing their job and he saw a huge improvement in the cancer that was found in my body. The mass in my chest also decreased in size. He showed me the scans and I was blown away with the difference. Seeing the cancer light up in my body gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes but also seeing the improvement gave me so much hope. The game plan after this visit was to go through 4 more cycles (about 4 months) of chemo and then do another PET scan.

On December 30th, I was starting my 4th cycle and I wasn’t scheduled for a visit with my oncology team that day. I had my routine bloodwork done and then I was sitting in a private room waiting for my pre-meds when my nurse for the day came in. She told me that it was taking longer to get the blood work back because my white blood cell count was so low that they had to individually count my white blood cells. Individually. Count. Meaning, I was almost at the threshold of being too sick to get chemo and inevitably delaying treatment. The nurse warned to be extra careful and to avoid leaving the house since I could not risk getting sick now. I only left the house to go to chemo at this point so I wasn’t seeing many people anyways. I remember calling my mom and telling her the news and breaking down crying because I was scared. It’s hard for me to admit that and I felt scared during this process more than I let on to my family and friends because I hate feeling vulnerable. I was able to still get treatment that day but I also didn’t feel very good during that visit. This happened one other time, which happened to be my last chemo session that I had.

One scary event that happened was when I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I was in the middle of my workday, Madison was being watched by my sister in law at my house, and I was in the kitchen walking back to my computer when I started having a hard time breathing. I sat down and tried to take a few calming breaths. I calmly told Briana that I wasn’t able to take a proper breath and I then told her that I’m going to call my oncology team to see what they would recommend. I spoke with a nurse who told me to come in right away. She said she spoke with my oncology team who recommended getting some tests done to see what is going on. I went to the hospital and had an EKG done and also a chest CT. My oncologist said the EKG came back fine and so did the CT. They thought possibly that I could have a blood clot but that wasn’t the case. They recommended taking it easy and to take some ibuprofen when I got home, which I did and I started to feel better and was able to take a deep breath again. This happened on February 2nd. I didn’t have that feeling ever again.

On March 10th, 2021 is when I completed my 6th and final chemo cycle. Despite having a low white blood cell count, I was in pretty high spirits hoping that this was going to be my last chemo session ever. I had the last PET scan on March 22nd and went over the results with Dr. Anderson on March 24th. I was a bundle of nerves and holding Rob’s hand when my oncologist walked into the room and what he started saying was ominous. He started out by saying that the scans look good but aren’t perfect (okay?) but they didn’t want to leave anything to chance (alright, what does that mean?) He proceeded to show us the recent scans and then did a side by side comparison and was showing us the improvement. He then started going over the follow-up protocol for when I would get future scans, visits, etc. I had to stop him and ask outright, “is there cancer left in my body??” and he laughed and said that he probably should have started out the visit by saying that I am cancer free. CANCER. FREE. Even typing this, I’m tearing up. I started crying tears of joy, relief, etc. He said that I am officially in remission and in 5 years I will be considered completely cured of cancer. I’ll be getting CT scans done once every year and visits and blood work done every 6 months.

Dr. Anderson explained that the mass in my chest decreased in size to the point that he’s comfortable with not recommending radiation. He said that I have the option of speaking with the radiation oncologists but that he doesn’t feel the need for me to get radiation done. He knew that I was very against getting radiation if I could avoid it but of course I would listen to medical advice if it was strongly recommended. This was a huge sigh of relief since radiation would take a toll on my body.  We left the hospital, I cried some more, and we went immediately to our families the life changing news. We spent the rest of the day at my parents house where Madison was and celebrated by popping a bottle of champagne and ordering sushi. I took the rest of the week off from work to relax and enjoy being cancer free. I got my port out on April 1st. It was such a wonderful and freeing feeling. I was looking forward to this day since I got it put in.

Again, post-op. I think my face says it all.

I can’t describe the feeling that when I check my next visit, it’s not until June. From May 2020 to March 2021, I’ve had a total of 47 visits that were cancer related (not even counting OBGYN visits). To provide a comparison before 2020, I would maybe have 4 visits during the year. We slowly have been spending more time with friends that we haven’t seen since before starting chemo and it’s been an amazing feeling. I’m looking forward to my hair growing back (and my eyebrows which slowly disappeared). If anyone asks me what my future plans are, I tell them that I plan to travel this year and focus on being a cancer free 27 year old. I’m also hoping that by sharing my story, it helps to spread awareness to the fact that it’s vital to get yearly check-ups by your doctor because you never know what might be happening without your knowledge. Also, if something doesn’t feel right, speak up.

I want to send a huge thank you to our friends, family, coworkers, our church, friends of friends, and any others that have prayed for us, brought meals and gifts over, or thought of us. I also want to thank Dr. Anderson and his team at Regions and for all the nurses that took care of me during my chemo sessions. I’m overwhelmed with the amount of love and support that I have felt during this entire journey and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’m emotional writing this. Thank you.

Follow me on instagram! kel_sey5

[grimweaver]

                                                            ~*~            “Just relax,” Lucien said to me, able to sense my anxiety, which became like a barbed string around my throat as we got closer to the eastern gate.

           “I am relaxed,” I insisted, though I understood before my response was a thought that there was no use denying the ever-so subtle signals of which he was acutely observant and said, “Okay, so I am a little on edge. I can’t help feeling like they’re all going to just know the moment we arrive… like every detail of what had happened is written all over our faces. Ocheeva and Teinaava especially are extraordinarily perceptive, no doubt due to your training.”

           “I share your inclination to be discreet—at least for a while— but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they knew. The Listener did not order us to keep it a secret. They simply warned us against P.D.A and favoritism. So long as we do not violate the rules that orbit those two things, there’s nothing to worry about.”

         Except envy and hatred , I thought, and it wasn’t just M’raaj-Dar and his openly vicious demeanor that came to mind. Within the last several weeks, I had come to understand that Antoinetta, as sweet and sisterly as she seemed to be on the surface, harbored a great deal of jealousy that I feared would ultimately lead to a situation that would far surpass just the feeling of being a little less welcomed by her within the Sanctuary. She was not nearly as upfront as M’raaj-Dar, but also not at all subtle in the way that she often made passive-aggressive remarks about my completed contracts and advancements through a forced smile. She would say something along the lines of: ‘Well! I do wonder when it will ever be my turn to get such high-paying contracts!” in a most incredulous tone. And at times, while speaking to someone else, loud enough so that I could hear it, while looking directly at me: “ Agh , but it flusters and baffles me how quickly some people achieve a higher rank! It was a year and a half before I was promoted to ‘Slayer’!!” I understood fully that I was “some people”. It made a mind and spirit already troubled by the threats and cruel words of M’raaj-Dar wonder: If she is that bent out of shape over my promotions and contracts, imagine what she would have to say about me bedding with our Speaker!! What rumors will this callous gossiper spread, also twisting the truth out of spite??

           Indeed, there was a lot to worry about as far as I was concerned. I know all too well the lengths some would go to in order to destroy a person, finding ways to do so while remaining within the lawful boundaries.

           But, as much as I wanted to, I didn’t share any of this with LaChance at that time, since we were only steps away from joining the Family, and discussing this matter with him was not important enough to cause delay. Instead, I just said to him with a sigh, “I hope you’re right.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucien turn his head to look directly at me. I glanced back at him, seeing the confusion and concern in his eyes. “I’ll tell you later… maybe when we get to the Ebony Flask,” I added, answering the question that I sensed he was about to ask.

           “Very well,” he replied.

           The Speaker was pleased, but not the least bit surprised, to see that his expectations were met— all were ready and waiting outside the eastern gate on time, dressed in inconspicuous armor and robes, and having each in their possession what they were capable of carrying during what was expected to be at least a half of a day’s worth of traveling on foot. If either of them had a sliver of suspicion about last night’s affair, they didn't dare even hint that they did. As ever before, they were strictly formal and respectful when they greeted us, but surely most of them would not have taken such care to be so if Lucien wasn’t present.

           We set out eastward almost immediately, ascending the steep hill on the beaten path that wound past the Rickety Mine and the ruins of Kemen, and entered the pass beneath the Valus Mountains. We were following a hidden and uncharted path that none but LaChance had even known about until he had revealed it the night before. We had no choice but to place all of our trust in the Speaker’s knowledge of its infinite system of tunnels. It was only natural for uncertainty to arise in some of us, feeling like we had been walking for days when it had only been over an hour, in a dark maze of passages that all looked the same to us.

           “Are you sure you know where we’re going, Speaker?” only one was foolish enough to ask. It was Gogron, no surprise.

           “I’ve been taking this route to Morrowind from Cyrodiil regularly for over ten years, Gogron!” Lucien growled, with a power in his voice that could curdle blood. “You’ll do well to not ask that question again.”

           Gogron shut his lips tight and said not a further word of any sort the rest of the way through.

           But there was no longer any cause for doubt when a soft geographical transition occurred— from the dull, grey-hued features and sparse patches of anemic plants to a vast assortment of dense greenery that covered just about every square inch of rock from floor to ceiling; from the occasional sight of small and almost unnoticeable presence of fungal growth to what was practically a massive garden dedicated to just about every species of fungi native to the western region of Morrowind, many of which had grown big enough to house a small family (Oh, gee, I wonder if that’s why they call it “Fungal Grotto”!). There was a detectable air of ancient history, and I felt a connection of some sort to my father through his account of what happened there during the time of the Dark Anchors— what was once occupied by the chimer for an undocumented length of time, taken over by a goblin tribe until shortly after the defeat of Kra’gh the Dreugh King, then claimed by Urshilaku refugees that were driven out of their original settlement in Vvardenfell. There they were able to thrive and flourish whilst adhering to the practices and beliefs of their people, hidden from the inquisitors of the Tribunal Temple. ((CONTINUED..))

[aethersmoke-and-ash]

FFXIVWrite 2020 - #2 Sway

Sway --

(TW - implied abuse and mild body horror. I swear I'll let the fluff out...at some point.) To one unaccustomed to tenderness, a gentle touch was more jarring than fingers curled into a fist.  She could steel herself against such treatment with an ingrained detachment at this point.  Sharp cuffs were expected. This was not.   The large and weathered hand curled over her shoulder, steadying her wavering and exhausted footsteps. It was an abrupt motion, endowed with strength she knew well when it was used to intimidate and cow. This was different, and it sent the meager contents of her stomach roiling. Swallowing thickly, she didn't dare look up at it's owner, simply eyed the topography of gnarled scars and chipped nails with coiled and simmering resentment too resigned to boil over. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to run. She didn't dare do either.

Milloux had allowed herself few glances around the building she'd been brought to, either - not wanting to allow herself even the chance to guess what was happening.  As sparse and shambledown as most of the lodgings at the mill, long fallen into disrepair even before the current occupants had taken it over.  It stunk of rotting wood and moldering furniture, the swamp slowly reclaiming it for it's own in creeping vines and wayward vegetation.  Dimly lit, shadows cast all over by an anemic lantern, though that was of no particular concern to her. "Easy now," There was no comfort to be taken from Loedwyda's words, less to be gained by the note of grim encouragement that passed for approval when it came to her.  She had always been her most frightening - and confusing -in those rare moments were cruelty faded into a mockery of maternal care.   "Sit." It wasn't a request. It was never a request. Only then did the duskwight allow herself to look around, at the unfamiliar implements that had been laid out on the knife-scarred table.  Mortar and pestle. unmarked packets. A jar of some dark fluid. In contrast to the herbal smell that hung in the air, she became keenly aware that she'd had scarce a chance to clean up upon returning to camp. She smelled of travel, of blood - the grime still flecked over her.  She'd wanted to rest, to wash away the task that had been given to her, and the task before that.  It had been near a sennight since she'd been allowed proper rest, more than a few bells of scant slumber. Dull-eyed and hollow, she was beginning to realize that had likely been the point. Wear her down. Make her pliable. "Tonight's importan', tonight's special." The words sounded like breaking glass to her senses. She offered only the vaguest acknowledgement. "Like ye t' cast gaze on a right old friend o' mine."

Had there been someone else at the table when she sat? They were difficult to discern or make sense of, a hooded figure wrought and molded from pieces of the shadows around them.  A long tail lashed behind them, suggesting miqo'te ancestry, but beyond that? A flash of violet eyes and gilded fangs. A scraping of clawed and blackened fingertips against the worn down tabletop, activating the bits of arcane geometry and runework that had been crudely carved into it's surface. Milloux stiffened, shrunk back. No no, the figure insisted she lean closer with a crook of clawed fingers and Loedwyda, in agreement, offered the girl's arm to the table's surface with a rough motion. Something snapped into place when the limb made contact, lashes of light, and while she didn't yet know it, aether - lancing her into place. Keeping her from struggling too much. It burned. The reaction was involuntary, a thrashing, jerking motion of surprise and fear - one quelled immediately by the towering woman's hands.  A small sound escaped her her, hiccuping and halting. "Settle." The single word was like a shock of ice to her senses, and again she fell still and silent, as wary of consequence as she was of compliance. Clawed fingers fished into the vial and plucked a single strand from the viscous black fluid with the utmost care. A rustling sound, a brief flash of a sinuous and segmented creature composed of far too many legs and gnashing pincers. She blinked several times, as though to make certain she wasn't seeing things  The hooded figure grinned and held  a finger from their unoccupied hand to their lips. Ah, so she could see it? Just their little secret. Loedwyda only offered her approval, a low staccato sound that did little to comfort the girl as the inky blob was dropped into the stone pestle with a tiny squelch, along with a number of other foul smelling agents and herbs. Laughter like rustle leaves escaped the nondescript figure, intensified as the pestle was brought down with a distinctly sickening crunch.  Milloux shuddered again, but now, she was transfixed. The process was meticulous, drawn out over what felt like an eternity to the sleep-deprived girl. Maybe that was the point, too.   She felt her head dip once, twice -- lulled by the rustling whispers issued by the woman and the tickle of unfamiliar magic invoked by them.   Each time, that strong hand jerked her back up to wakefulness.  Beyond that room, she could hear the faint sound of calling birds and restless cicadas, but here... Her attention refocused sharply at the sound of clawed fingers dipping into the stone basin.  Was she imagining it? They grew darker before her eyes, the nibs of dry fountain pens soaking up ink. Her mouth opened, confusion nearly spilling forth though she didn't dare, clearly not following, until that same hand reached for her. The effect was immediate. The touch was cool and dry, the skin of the figure's hand bristling in the same way their voice had. Rustling, fleeting. There was as little comfort to be found in that featherlight touch as there was by the vicelike grip holding her shoulder. Vaguely, she was aware of Loedwyda's bark to get on with it. Nails dug into the ashen flesh of her forearm, the tender spot near the crook of her elbow. The effect was immediate, a tearing, fiery sensation of things skittering just underneath the surface of her skin, the impression once more of toomanylegs and restless claws on her senses as they burrowed in and found their mark. Ink drained from the clawtips, twining and reforming in the intended image. She wanted to cry.  She didn't dare. She knew the mark - the twisted branch and shark's teeth.  She hated it.  Wanted to jerk her hand back, despite the restraints holding her in place. "So ye always remember where ye belong. So everyone else does, too." Despite herself, despite everything, she finally dared to look up at the woman, saw something shining and approving in those eyes. Hated the tickle of relief and calm that approval lent against the ache in her arm.  

Wordlessly, she turned her head and retched. (yells I promise they won't all be so dark? maybe? i've had a lot of thoughts about Mill's backstory of late, especially as plot stuff is starting to take shaaaape. Also I swear I've read something with magical tattooing like this before but for the life of me can't remember so I'm definitely not claiming for it to be an original concept or anythinngggg.)

[spidermilkshake]

Welcome to My Elective Vampire TED Talk #2

TW: Mention and discussion of blood, hematophagy, etc., food and overeating mention.

This one's much less a characterization problem I have, and a lot more a problem with sheer physics goofs in vampire-y media. Science and numbers abound. Behold:

Vampire Physics: “Chuggin’ Four Liters of Buttermilk”

Lovely title. It should certainly evoke some idea of exactly what aspect of the typical vampire mythos I’m about to have a big issue with. Heavy whipping cream, buttermilk, light corn syrup… anything along the lines of red blood in terms of viscosity—whatever you prefer.

It’s the reason vampires are vampires; it’s the primary identifying trait across all the various little representations throughout folklore and fiction. It’s the primary “fear factor” behind the potential presence of a vampire in these fictional settings: They trail after you, perfectly stealthy in the night, perhaps they look and act just like you, could be hidden until darkness or even blending in among you right now—innocuous, human-sized beings but especially equipped to outrun, overpower, or avoid your notice. They very well are among your communities—since you have something they need. The Blood!

Cue the royalty-free thunder sound effects.

But that’s just the issue here with making the vampire fears so very grounded and founded. This isn’t a pack of wolves being sure to stay close to the elk herd to survive the winter on whole bones and carcass. They want something of the humans that the humans can live without, at least to some degree. “But Spider,” I hear a particularly ardent hypothetical vamp-fan interject, “blood loss does kill people! These vampires must be lethal because they need all the blood—it’s not like they waste it!”

Ah, well, the point is well-made: If you have decided the vampires of your setting require this and operate this way, who am I to stop you? The only questionable idea is that a vampire leaving a person alive and unharmed is a “waste” apparently. But do consider your worldbuilding choices should be done with intention—do not introduce a rule that you are not prepared to account for in logistics and adherence to verisimilitude, and especially physics. When establishing a “drains-dry rule”, establish also a physicality of such vampires that suits it because the typical capabilities of a vampire in most modern fiction would need to change for such a lifestyle.

Let’s start with size:

Presuming a vampire is within the size range possible to humans (what better way to blend in, eh?) and is uniquely adapted to subsist on an at least partial blood diet, deriving some or all needed energy and nutrients from the substances of blood, of an amount they can comfortably fit inside them on a nightly basis. Assuming you want your vampires to be even roughly passable as human pre-feeding as well as post-feeding (and not have them expand to several times their normal girth like a tick and spark a new wave of, er, inflation enthusiasts), then the blood-drinker’s maximum stomach volume should be at roughly one liter. And that’s maximum—as in “OH GOD WHY DID I EAT THAT MUCH? I FEEL LIKE I’MA DIE” levels of over-doing it, not a normal “full” volume where most would stop. That more moderate volume would be roughly half down to roughly a third of that one liter. Basically, if in any sense your setting’s vampires are actually physically putting the blood inside them, and they don’t bloat like a damn balloon, they don’t require any more than a quart of blood at one time.

This does mean, by sheer physiological limitation, your non-expandable human-sized corporeal-blood-needing vampires should never be lethal for their prey just by virtue of draining that blood. Here’s why: The average human body contains anywhere between 4 liters and 6 liters of blood, depending on size again. Even a particularly careless and gluttonous vampire (who also happens to be dumb and/or skeevy enough to not just go “ah. I get more blood by noshing on more people, not just the one”) biting a particularly petite victim will leave them still alive but very much depleted and unconscious. Only intentional carelessness or an accident (such as the “whoops! That one was super-anemic already!”) or both would turn out worse. And “draining dry” should be physically impossible for such a vampire—even an especially ridiculous and greedy one.

Most of the less-hungry vamps shouldn’t even affect the “prey’s” health any more than a typical (notably not-deadly) blood donation, as the ideal “one-third to one-half of max capacity” for a vampire’s DV of blood calculates out to… between 350 mL and 500 mL of blood from one human. Surprise! A donated unit of blood is measured at exactly 450 mL—the perfect amount for a vampire and the human can somehow survive the attack of the dread creature-of-the-night, so long as…

…you find a place to sit down for a few minutes and some orange juice is nearby. Wow, how harrowing. Truly a miracle that you made it.

“But,” I hear a naysayer nay-saying, “the vampires I’m making are after blood for life-energy! So they can take more because they need the life!”

If blood is being physically consumed whether it’s the blood itself or not, the volume constraints still hold. Also, if blood does “contain life energy” in your setting, who says your vamps need all the life energy from a person? Why isn’t 450 mL of life-energy enough? And why can’t the vampires just drain that much “life-energy blood” from multiple people, until it totals up to a “full life’s worth”? They do realize that if they end the life in a body, it stops making life/blood, right? Those vamps just sound like wasteful clowns to me. Or desperately looking for an excuse to kill someone. See Vampire TED Talk #1.

“But they siphon blood straight into their own veins—so they can drain more!”

… Pay better attention in biology, kids. That is not how eating things eat. Unless you are implying your setting’s vampires are literally undead sponges with no working innards at all, just rubbery, desiccated blood-tubes that need a fillin’ for the demon pneumatics to be puppetted around properly, that is not how eating works. Feel free to use these in horror settings or especially as villainous monsters or demons—but I better hope you ain’t planning on making them otherwise act or think like live, conscious, sapient people! If they’re meant to be good characters especially—y’all are transparent as an empty blood-draw bag with excuses to make vampires universally killers.

If you think this makes vampires “boring”, well… Maybe you’re not in it for vampires. Maybe explore what’s in that dark corner of yourself? Question your “default thoughts”. Let's see more fantasy writ with intention--and conscious of its tropes' tendency to be very, er, questionable when thought about for more than a passing second. I know I'm not the first to notice the blood-logistics problem: Special thanks to Martha Bechtel's ol' blog, which I ended up discovering while researching just how off most vampire media is.

See here for their "Worldbuilding: Vampires and Portion Control" post: https://martha.net/2008/08/vampires-and-portion-control/

[eskiworks]

Loaf update (This one's a rollercoaster)

Since Loaf's recent emergency, a lot has happened!  The vet who told us Loaf had a few days left to live has been let go from the practice.  He was wildly wrong about her hemoglobin levels, and if he had given that advice to a different person, they might have jumped the gun and put their cat down.  I had multiple outsiders telling me to do the same thing when I first posted asking for donations to cover her emergency care. So what happened? As soon as we reached the goal amount of donations, Preston and I took her to the 24 hour vet that was going to do her blood transfusion (different from her regular vet).  That night they decided to do some chest x-rays to see if there was any other cause for her shallow rapid breathing.  Something the other vet failed to even suggest to us.  Chest x-rays revealed pretty healthy lungs other than signs of her lifelong asthma, but also an enlarged heart with a little fluid around it.  A blood transfusion wasn't safe to do, they were shocked that was even suggested! At 18% PCV (hemoglobin) she was definitely anemic, but cats that go as low as 8% or 9% are candidates for transfusions.  She just wasn't there. After getting a second opinion from their radiologist, we confirmed that a blood transfusion was definitely not the correct treatment for Loaf. We needed to treat with a bone marrow stimulant to up her PCV.  I very nearly didn't get the medication in time because of her first vet's incompetence and some technical problems with our pharmacy, but she did get it and is getting weekly injections at home now!  We will retest her PCV in a week to make sure it's working. Loaf's shallow rapid breathing was likely caused by a blood clot, since anemic cats can often get clots (yet another thing the original vet failed to inform us of).  So she was put on a blood thinner, and within a few days here breathing evened out.  We consulted with a cardiologist who agreed with the diagnosis and treatment. No clots showed up on imaging, but they often don't.  Her breathing rate is now even and healthy, especially for an asthmatic cat! But Loaf wasn't out of the woods yet.  Several days into her blood clot treatment, Loaf went blind...  We rushed her to the 24 hour vet once more. They found she had high blood pressure (a side effect of her kidney disease), and as a result both her retinas had partially detached.  Preston and I were heartbroken.  We were sent home with a blood pressure medication prescription, and some advice on how to help her adapt.  Apparently this is pretty common, and cats tend to adapt pretty fast so long as you don't move the furniture around.  Loaf had been without sight for a little over 36 hours, and she was already navigating around the house with ease, eating a bunch, and seemingly doing just fine other than a little constipation.  She's just incredible, I'm constantly amazed by her resilience.  We gave her the first dose of her blood pressure medication the next day as soon as I could get it, and made some changes around the house to remove some possible hazards for her. The next day, Preston shook me awake yelling "She can see, Loaf can see!"  He had walked into my office, found her on her windowsill shelf (which she had been avoiding while blind), and called her name.  When she turned around she looked right at him with normal looking eyes, and gave him a big long slow cat blink!  He did some quick vision tests much to her annoyance, and she indeed had her vision back!  At least mostly, we think she still has some amount of vision impairment.  Apparently there's a small chance that if you treat blood pressure related retinal detachment fast enough, their vision can come back partially, or all the way. And goddamnit, we hit that small chance!!! How is she now? Loaf now has three new permanent medications to her routine; a blood thinner, a blood pressure medication, and a bone marrow stimulant.   Because of our quick action and your donations, she will not suffocate from within from anemia, her blood clot situation won't kill her, and she is not blind.  We spent that donation money on several blood tests, 2 emergency vet visits, xrays, ultrasounds, specialist consultations, two cheap medications and one VERY expensive medication ($400 for a 1ml vial).  Her kidney disease continues to progress, so while all this won't save her kidneys, it HAS given her more time, more comfort, and less pain.  I know a lot of people were very unhappy with me asking for donations to help her, or very unhappy that I didn't choose to euthanize her.  But my duty is not to those people, it is to HER and her alone.  I will continue to give her every chance possible, and when she is ready I will help her pass so she doesn't suffer.  That could be in a few weeks, or a few months.   I'll just keep doing everything I can for her, and give her the best life possible. So for now, YOU GUYS SAVED HER.  THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!!!

[writehardwhumpharder]

Carson uses WAY too much magic (Part 2) in the hospital

After being admitted to the hospital Carson spent six whole days unconscious before slowing starting to come back to himself.

When his mom heard what happened she wanted to rush down there immediately to see him but Daniel managed to convince her that that wouldn't be necessary. He was stable, spiked two high fevers but each went back down by the next morning. It was just a matter of waiting.

The nurses tended to him diligently and Daniel managed to stop in once a day after work. They'd been in this position before but somehow this time felt different. The anxiety that welled up in Daniel's chest never seemed to go away and he was getting more and more restless, wishing Carson would just wake up already.

Some time on Tuesday night he finally stirred. Just a twitch at first, then he managed to pry open his tired eyes and look around the room. His vision was blurry, actually his whole body felt blurry. He managed to move his hands a little and one came in contact with a piece of plastic, he pressed the button out of muscle memory, still not quite sure what he was doing.

A nurse came in right away armed with a pen light, Carson's one true nemesis. He groaned when she tried to shine it in his eyes, making him feel sore all over again.

"Can you tell me your name?" She asked.

Carson knew damn well who he was but getting his mouth to form the words was a bit of a struggle, "Carson Hall," he said, barely above a whisper.

The nurse nodded, "and do you know where you are, Carson?" She asked sweetly.

His eyes swept the room again, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. "Not.. my bed." He said finally.

"That's right, you're in the hospital." She told him. Yeah that makes sense, he thought to himself. Seeing as he looked ready to pass out again any second the nurse kept the questions simple.

"I'm Nurse Emma, you can press that button any time you need anything. Before you go back to sleep can you squeeze both my hands for me?" She asked, and Carson did, albeit a little weakly. "And wiggle your toes." Carson complied. "Alright, you can go back to sleep now, Dr. Owens will stop by in the morning."

Carson didn't catch much of what she said after saying he could go to sleep. He turned on his side away from her and realized his muscles felt stiff and achey after not moving for several days. Maybe it would be a good idea to do some stretching. Nah..

--

When Carson woke up again it was light outside and when the nurse came by he didn't remember waking up the night before. Today he was a lot more capable and even managed to drink some water. Nurse Emma wheeled a table up to the side of the bed and left him his phone and the tv remote.

Carson couldn't remember the last time he watched cable TV but he turned it on just for the hell of it. It was preset to the local news channel which was, unsurprisingly, covering the event that happened last week. A woman stood in front of where the old building stood, most of it was on the ground now.

"Police have yet to comment on the strange explosion Wednesday night. Witnesses from the neighborhood reported seeing a strange blue light along with the explosion leading to much speculation about its cause. Some believe it was a chemical reaction from residual particles from when the factory was in use. Others believe the event was supernatural in origin. Here are some overhead views of the factory." The camera switched to prerecorded shots from above, taken by a helicopter. Carson nearly split out his water seeing just how extensive the damage was. There was a perfect circle in the center about six feet across surrounded by mounds of rubble covering the entire block. No wonder he felt so drained. Grainy CCTV footage from a nearby building caught the explosion. This time Carson really did choke on his water. He coughed harshly but kept his eyes glued to the screen. At first there was a burst of smoke and fire blasting through all the windows. The light was overwhelming but the flames were quickly snuffed out by an even brighter light. The building exploded outward, pushed by an invisible force creating a split second of distinctly blue light. It reminded him vaguely of a lightening strike in reverse. The whole thing happened in a matter of seconds and it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. But one thing was certain from the video, it was NOT a normal explosion.

When that channel went to commercial he switched it to another news channel, it seemed though that everything but the local news had already moved on to bigger things. He turned the TV off and leaned back against his pillow, oddly exhausted. Just sitting up for a little while sapped away what little energy he had managed to gain back. Carson would have gone back to sleep if his nurse didn't come in at that exact moment followed in by the doctor. She set a tray of food down on the table next to him then left them alone.

Dr. Owens flipped open a chart that he didn't even notice was hanging from his bed.

"Good morning, Carson. Do you remember me? I've been your doctor several times before in cases like this, but you always manage to check yourself out before I get the chance to discharge you properly." He said. Carson did think the guy looked vaguely familiar.

"Speaking of which, can I go now?" Carson asked.

Dr. Owens laughed heartily, "I'd like to see you try." He said. "Actually I came to share your test results with you and suggest that you stay an extra few days to fully recover. While I can't see the human body the way you do Mr. Hall, our medical tests are quite accurate, and you are not exactly the picture of health."

Carson leaned back and prepared himself for the scolding that usually followed any time someone called him by his last name.

"When you were first admitted Wednesday night I ordered a full body CT scan." He handed him several photos which Carson held up against the light steaming in from the windows. "Everything appears to be normal but if you'll look closely at the skull here, these spots show bleeding which explain why you experience nosebleeds and in this case, bleeding from the ears, as a result of overusing your magic. It is a very minor intracranial hemorrhage, virtually harmless, but you still need to be very careful. If something were to block the blood flow inside the skull that could cause serious damage."

Carson scratched the back of his head. He figured it went something like that but hearing it from the doctor made it sound a lot more scary. He handed Carson a second CT scan this one just showing his head.

"We took this scan three days later on Saturday. You may not be able to see the subtle difference but this scan is completely clean, no bleeding or abnormalities so we can confidently say now that you've recovered without any serious damage."

"So-"

"There's more," the doctor interrupted. "We also did some blood work."

"Sounds expensive," Carson remarked. He internally groaned knowing that if this hospital bill was too high he'd have to go do a job and land himself in the same exact situation.

"Everything is within normal range except your white blood cell count is a little elevated in response to whatever havoc you wreaked on your immune system. You also appear to be a tad anemic." He stated. Where doctors usually this blunt? "Normally we'd discharge you once your blood count returns to normal but I'll make you a special deal. Once you can stand by yourself you're free to go." He said with fake cheer. "Any questions?"

Carson went over the information overload the doctor just dropped on him once more in his head. He only had one question, "is that a challenge?" He leaned toward the doctor.

"No, stay in bed for now. I'm serious. If you need to go to the restroom or get up for any reason press the call button and a nurse will come to assist you. Get plenty of rest over the next few days and make sure to eat well. I'll check back in with you then." Dr. Owens said then turned to leave.

Carson picked up his phone and texted Daniel, "SOS, I'm bored."

He stared at his phone impatiently. Daniel would be at work at the book store at this time so he was probably busy.

It only took him couple minutes to respond but it felt like forever. "When did you wake up?"

"A lifetime ago. Save me," Carson texted.

"I can't leave no one else is here."

"NooOoOo," Carson whined, not caring how needy he sounded. "I'll just check myself out then..." he threatened.

"Don't move."

Carson smiled and sat back to wait. He settled on playing phone games until then but at some point his eyes started getting tired and he must have fallen asleep.

--

"Dude, you begged me to come and you're not even awake?" Daniel said, punching his shoulder lightly before sitting down.

"Hmm?" Carson groaned. He stretched for a solid ten seconds before looking at Danny, "what?"

Danny sighed, "Nevermind."

"Ugh, I can't believe I have to stay here. It's, it's not even comfortable..." he said, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. Daniel watched as Carson nearly fell asleep again.

"Oh wait..." he said suddenly, sitting up. "I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Do you need help?" Danny asked, a little concerned about how out of it Carson still was.

"Psshh I'm a grown man I can-" Carson swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood with confidence only to black out almost instantly.

Daniel felt a little guilty for not stopping him. He crumpled to the ground so fast there was nothing he could have done but he still looked around to make sure no one saw that before tip toeing over to him.

"Carson buddy, you okay?" Danny asked, poking his shoulder. No response. "Alright, back to bed."

He scooped him up and deposited him back on the bed, pulling the covers up over him. Carson's head lolled against the pillow and his eyelids fluttered open.

"What happened?" He asked, blinking away the spots in his vision.

"You tried to go to the bathroom and failed horribly," Danny replied flatly.

"Oh yeah, I still need to do that," Carson attempted to sit up.

"Just slow down a second." He said, then noticed the tray on the table next to him. "Hey is this your breakfast? It looks you didn't even touch it." Danny said. He removed the lid and grabbed the fork. "This cornbread doesn't look half bad."

"I'm not hungry," he said, pushing the table aside.

"Oh come on."

"No. I'll eat something later."

"I shouldn't have told your mom not to come. Maybe we can call her up so she can tell you to stop being a little bitch and eat your food," Daniel said. Not to be mean, that's just exactly what his mom would say if she were there.

Carson put a hand over his eyes. "I have a headache okay? It looks gross right now." He muttered.

"Fine. Now do you want me to help you up or do you want to call a nurse to help." Danny suggested.

Carson couldn't exactly wait until he was fully healed to go to the bathroom so he swallowed his pride and accepted his help.

Daniel held out his arm for Carson to hold then prepared to support all his weight as soon as he was on his feet. Carson wobbled sharply and leaned into Daniel. Even then the process was exhausting and he had to take a moment to catch his breath before Daniel walked him the rest of the way.

Carson took slow, careful steps, then once he was inside the bathroom and holding onto the safety bar Danny shut the door to give him some privacy. He felt pathetic struggling so much to do something so simple.

By the time he was back in bed Carson was too dizzy to function. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed looking worried. "Is it that bad?"

Carson tilted his head back and covered his eyes with his hand, "eh" he waved him off to show he wasn't ready for questions at the moment.

Danny checked his phone, it was almost time to head back to the shop and reopen. Taking an early lunch break was pushing it as it is.

"I have to go back to work now but I'll pack a bag for you and bring it here after I'm done. Try not to die of boredom until then," he said.

Carson groaned, "No promises."

--

He ended up staying another two days. The hours spent alone in his room were agonizing, even after Daniel came by and left him his laptop and some clothes. If he was being honest, Carson just didn't like hospitals. They were filled with sick and injured people, people he could save but didn't. Instead he laid in bed while people suffered and died.

Carson pulled his pillow down over his face in frustration. At least he'd be going home soon. All he was waiting for now was someone to come pick him up. Riley had sent numerous texts asking if he needed anything, obviously feeling guilty for what happened. Morris seemed to be taking it even harder. He stopped by yesterday with a card signed by all the officers who were still alive because of him. All in all he now had 10 get out of jail free cards which hopefully he wouldn't need to use.

Carson's phone buzzed, "Almost there." Danny texted. He looked around the room which was now a mess of his things. Very slowly he went around picking up socks and charging cords which he threw back into his bag. Lastly he put on his shoes and coat and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

Dr. Owens stopped by with his discharge papers just as Daniel arrived.

"So where's the bill? How many thousands of dollars do I owe you now?" Carson asked the doctor.

"Nothing, it's covered under your healthcare plan," Dr. Owens said then left after all the papers were signed.

"I have a job and healthcare, take that!" Carson cursed at no one in particular.

"Most people are employed, it's nothing to get excited about." Danny said, but he laughed anyway. "Let's go." He crouched down for Carson to get on his back.

Carson of course pretended not to know what he was doing, "what? I can walk by myself, you know. It's been over a week." He defended.

Danny rolled his eyes, "fine but I will laugh at you when you fall on your face before we even make it out of the hospital."

Carson pouted for a moment before giving in. Daniel managed to carry him and his bag without a strain.

"Did you get even lighter? My nephew weighs more than you," he teased.

"Fuck off," Carson replied, unable to think of a more sophisticated comeback.