#ill delete this if i hate it enough

[aeroblossom]

narcissus without water; sou hiyori

i wasn't gonna post this here because i really reaaally hate it but ehhh fuck it we ball. 3-1 unused intro spoilers. does that even count. kanna route implied.

In the aftermath is cold. Icy, chilling cold. The immense rush of the impact lasted but a moment. Time is a fleeting thing for all who live, whether the hearts beating in their chests are made of muscle, or of metal; whether the circuits powering them and every moment of madness, every second of passion, every victory and every mistake, are made of grey matter, or of a network of microscopic transistors.

The merciless weapon, which had moments ago pierced through his torso, now meets him eye to eye. As if a deeply loyal animal that was too loved to know when to retract its claws, destroying everything in its path to be close to the one it owes its devotion to. Through flickering sparks in one eye, and slowly blurring vision in the other, he stares. He smells blood. The sight of it would not bother him in the slightest had it been someone else it was coming out of. But when you've lived as he has, blood seeping from a wound feels unnatural. And he'd started to believe he was finally rid of the last vestiges of his humanity. Red drips down the side of his face, from the grey matter in his skull that still held proof of something human. The emotion centers of his brain were dysfunctional since he came into the world. So really, it matters little to him. He can barely even feel the pain.

The thing that upsets him more is the red on his chest. It doesn't trickle down from his crown, but spurts from the gaping wound in his center. Sparks fire in all directions, somewhere in his ears he hears a low ringing of both his organic bodily systems as well as mechanical ones. The gears cry emergency, the cells cry of death. A realization supplied by his mechanical logic center creeps slowly into the back of his head, surrounding him fully until he submerges in acceptance. He has little time left.

Eyes the color of sea glass stare at nothing in particular, yet keep darting about, aimless, anxious perhaps, but with unmistakable defeat in them. Little light penetrates the coffin, brought in only by the gaping hole created by the drill. It illuminates a straight stripe across his now ruined body, one bright seafoam gaze and tousled mess of green last in the light's path. Dust particles shimmer like gold specks, his contemplative eyes fixating on their fluttering dance.

He hears distant voices, he thinks, if his audio faculties are even functioning by now. Crying - pained voices, happy voices. Meister's scrawny tone, and determined words from the young girl with copper hair. They must be huddling together right now. Allies. Cooperates. A team spirit reignited.

Petty emotion lurches inside him, wanting to shatter that nonsensical resolve with his own hands. He knows how to. Even now, it would not take much -

No.

It's over.

Defeat weighs heavier than how it first felt to have your flesh replaced by porcelain. It's heavier than the volume of crimson flowing from the wound in his chest. Not that he has needed to breathe in a long time, but here, now, he suddenly feels breathless.

Silence is the mind's curtain call. Contemplation weaves its way through his thoughts, thoughts that will soon fade. Thoughts that are firing wildly due to the vast amount of information being processed in these final moments, alongside a slow system shutdown.

It's a bit like he's dreaming with his eyes open, if you think about it like that.

Ah. He's wasted so much energy in meaningless thoughts. Not that it truly mattered at this point. Right... where had he gone wrong?

Hiyori, Sou. Assumed age, twenty. An easily recognizable mop of green hair, tied down at the ends into a neat rattail that didn't match how the rest of his hair looked. The nickname they gave him was his namesake hair. Tall, fairly lithe. Eyes a deeper colour than the hair, like pure, vibrant jade. Plainly, more than half of him was doll, and the vestiges human. What were once the tender hands of a real human are now porcelain and alabaster. Gears tick inside the system, rhythmic, he was a mechanical harmony. Occasionally interrupted by remnant humanity.

Living, breathing red pumped from his heart, no matter how much he'd separated himself from flesh and blood. The proximity of that living heart to electrical equipment gave him a quicker heartbeat than most. The proof of this regnant humanness now bled and ripped itself apart. He thinks he feels a bit of pain. This is probably the only physical pain he's felt since the last time he had real hands.

But it's not what he'd thought it'd be like. It does hurt, it hurts so much. Yet something else hurts a little more, something that rises from a faulty limbic system and creeps down in physical form to become surging pain in his core.

He observes, silently, the ache surge in intensity as the voices continue to speak. Words, thoughts, emotion, memory rapid fires in his mind. He tries to recall the path he'd taken so far, wanting to make out what error he had made to make him up end like this. This would not do, after all.

But no matter how he tries to focus on this endeavor, a recurring feeling scratches inside him. A sharp pain, tearing him into two. He feels he recognizes it as something from impossibly long ago. Suddenly, he realizes, in that silent grave of his, that he was entirely alone in this death. His heartbeat begins to ring into his ears alongside the periodic beeping of his system going into overdrive.

System warnings, words ringing in his head, and the wildly pounding heart, all converge like oil and paint into a wretched musica humana.

It's really stupid. Hilarious, in fact.

He wasn't human. He hadn't been so for a considerably long time, as far as himself was concerned. Death... to him, wasn't it trivial? An infinite amount of copies of himself can be made. It's meaningless, however many times he dies.

...And yet, here he was.

Does Hiyori Sou feel? Does he regret? Does he hurt?

Does this largely doll, barely human, ever find himself lonely?

In the moments that follow, the emotion that grips him next is sheer horror. At not just these intrusive questions, but his body's physical reaction to it.

Something clouds his vision much more heavily than before. What little he could see before him twists into an oil painting, unrecognizable, an intense pain radiates inside his neck, like strangulation. And then he heaves a sigh as a singular, pearlescent tear streams down his face.

He can hear Meister's scratchy voice from a while ago, before any of this. Before all of this.

So you can cry too.

He had said, as Hiyori leaned against his screen and shed tears at the sight before him. Him, of all people, mourning - it was, of course, an unbelievable sight. At the time, he had found it jestly insulting that Meister would imply he couldn't cry or feel such emotion. So what makes this different? Why does it feel so different?

Ah, it really does feel like the entire world is making a mockery out of him. But perhaps this is a fitting end for himself. Villain he was born, villain he will die.

Death holds little meaning to someone like him.

It's almost time. His thoughts begin to slow down to a grinding halt.

He faintly registers some shifting sounds. The coffin he resided in is being laid flat on the ground. Will it be opened next? Will they see him like this?

A light slam signals to him that the coffin has been taken down. The drill carefully withdraws, now leaving only his mauled body behind. The sound of dust and rocks crumbling, and then light filters into the depths. Though it gets brighter and brighter, he finds his world only becoming darker.

Meister is the one lifting the lid. He has it propped up with one hand, the other on his knee as he knelt down, chewing on a cigarette, inspecting what he was seeing with a careful, suspicious, and yet rather surprised expression. Tia Safalin stands beside him, one hand on her chest and the other seemingly reaching out to touch him in the coffin. He knows hearing is beyond him when he sees the anxious woman mouth his name, when he watches them talk amongst themselves, and can't make out any of it. It's probably too late to worry about what it could be.

The crying doll leans down, placing one hand to his face. As if the plaster skin wasn't stiff enough, he finds himself turning into what may as well be stone. She inspects his head wound. He can't move his eyes anymore to follow her actions, but he can still vaguely feel them. The small hand moves down slowly, tracing a line across his face and down his chest, analytic. She shakes her head with a sigh upon the damage to his torso.

It's really over for him, isn't it?

Her finger ghosts its way back up, this time lingering on his face. He notices the slight dumbfoundedness in her expression, pressing slightly to make sure she was seeing right - the tear stains on his cheek. He wants to smile, all of a sudden, but he no longer can.

As she concludes her inspection and stands up, hiding her expression with that stupendous hat, he faintly wonders if she's crying too. Is she crying for him? No... that would be ridiculous. There wasn't anyone left who could cry for him. In death as he was in life, alone.

Mere moments remain for him, and he wonders, for the final time - should he have led a different life, would there be comrades by his side? Does there exist a world in which Hiyori Sou, too, has allies?

Vibrant seafoam eyes darken like a wilting flower, unable to make out anything clearly, shedding one final tear.

[m3llowm1sh]

middlesea hospital's patients have a snowball fight ! ❄️

[enden-k]

wanted to draw some halloween art but apparently the shit day i had is affecting me more than i wanted to allow (even tho i took a long nap) ...........i dont like anything i draw rn. maybe ill try later. happy halloween and dont upset the spirits or they will haunt you ❤️

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Or even better, you can become a YouTuber. That way you can edit your streams or just ramble non-stop about lore for shit you like

oh i fear that'd involve listening to my voice and i'd rather die than do that

[culecerglytri]

why am i so damn insecure and unsure of myself,,,,, swapnverse,,,,, this stupid mtt fic,,,,, everything with killer,,,, my art my writing even my thoughts,,,,, i dont know its a pain to be a creator i guess maybe my stuff is okay. no its not my stuff isnt ok people only say its okay because of the type of content it is people only say that its okay because they like the trio my art isnt good at all and neither is my writing and my ideas are unoriginal and even when they are theyre not anything special and especially not when nobody sees them any fucking way in the end because no matter how much i try which isnt a fucking lot because of course it is no matter how much i try in the end nobody will see my fucking shit nobody likes my writing nobody likes my art I DONT EVEN LIKE MY OWN ART OR WRITING i dont like any of it i hate it i hate it i hate it its not good enough itll never be good enough whats the point in making if i cant achieve the level i want its been years its been years and nothing's changed there's no pointi should just give up

[skunkes]

was abt to make a silly post about how at this point i barter with the universe for a bf like "please id take care of him and walk him and dress him up", like a child begging for a pet, and then i think abt how as much as i want an actual pet I don't think im fit to ever have one of those either

[aicosu]

I miss your beautiful tan skin. 🥺I know you're half white but I really hope you haven't been bleaching it again. 😔

Protip: after going through 3 to 4 years of skin bleaching like I did, melanin usually stops producing. I will never be as tan as I was before I did this to myself. And to get it back I have to start going to the tanning salon to introduce pigment and regrow melanin. Which I did do for some years right before covid. But it's still dangerous and a tough process, and expensive. Tanning salons aren't cheap nor are they close to me anymore.

Second protip: This is so fucking incredibly rude. Not only is my skin journey my own, but it's also fucking triggering. As a mixed POC, I have been told by so many white, and even other POC people how much they love my WHITER skin to the point that I felt justified bleaching myself. The opposite is NOT better. Getting told how sad or envious my tan skin is or WAS makes me feel worse about myself, my choice to act on my internalized racism, and the struggle of morality I go through even WANTING to tan again after shunning it with bleach. Do I even deserve to tan to whatever I looked like before after doing what I did? Or when I now so abhorrently hate tanning itself as a practice and people who feel the need by society to change their skin to lighter or darker? I do not mean to unleash on you but think before you speak. I don't think it's at all okay to comment on anyone's goddamn skin as if it's something to police, question, or pressure about. Let alone what you make them go through if it's tied to their culture, race, or ethnicity..

[kirishwima]

yup. im gonna quit

[cinemacrypt]

So so so fucking angry tonight

[lannisterdaddyissues]

today is not a good day

[lafortis]

@mutuals if you're curious why I haven't posted anything About The Thing, it's because I'm stupid enough to be easily traceable from real life to the internet, and also occasionally exist in the direct vicinity of the kinds of politicians that could, theoretically, have an intelligence service vetting people nearby. I don't like, have a clearance to worry about or anything, and technically I'm a contractor anyway, so it's not like I can get fired, but there is a hypothetical world where having a history of vocally supporting "terrorists" etc would put me in a very very awkward situation

[yikes-ajax]

Was stimming so hard I genuinely worried I managed to break my own neck for a second

[qumiiiquinnquin]

my art will never be good enough !

[a-kinda-nerdy-girl]

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[dead-believers]

yk its 10 pm. my electricity is out. ive barely spoken to anyone today and i just crawled out of a mental spiral centred exclusively on my mother’s historically poor treatment of my mental health and i am an anxiety spike and a hair away from my composure snapping entirely so yk what? im going to actually fucking complain properly for a minute. really dredge up some slimey, irradiated feelings.

i fucking hate you guys sometimes (editors note: sorry for the strong wording. this entire section is kinda hyperbolic and. full of vitriol. sorry). more specifically the specific Guys who Claim to get it. im fucking vaguing you i dont care. you probably wont even look at this, if the 20 fuckibg words you have said in my general direction is Anything to go by. i dunno maybe its just not really fair that i can talk So much, have So many openings for conversation and get Nothing. and i know thats stupid and unreasonable and possessive and im reallly sorry. and usually i can reason out that “it hasnt even been a day what is wrong with yiu’ and you guys have Things to do and maybe youre just not in the mood for conversation or fucking whatever but it always FEELS like a rejection. which is stupid because it Isnt but it feels like it anyways because at this point i just Am my disorder.

and i have a lot of things i want to talk to you about but yk me. mr “trust issues so severe he thinks one single lukewarm response means hes going to be abandoned” thomas. and i dont know what to do about it because like. i do trust you. i wouldnt try as hard as i do to circumvent my own bullshit self-preservation if i didnt. i WANT to be sble to tslk to you about things that youve done that upset me because thats what communication IS and like. you should Have that because itll make things Better hopefully and its not fair on you to have to fumble around in the dark to try figure things out but like. i sm deeply, unbearably scared. not of you, per se, but youre the focus of it. like you cpuld so easily just decide that youre sick of me and block me and then boom! i dont have my best friend snymore. and like you matter a lot to me, of course you do. there are very few people who are as important to me as you and that is harrowing. like, it makes me feel sick to reslise it. and it isnt helped at all by the ingrained Feeling i have that i am an awful self-fulfilling prophecy and me trying to communicate about things will just end up with you resenting me, or getting sick of me, or whatever. its like im always waiting for the other shoe to drop, that im going tk fuck something uo qnd thatll be it, and it isnt even your fault. its entirely a Me issue and i have no idea what to do. im always afraid that the end of the world is just around the corner

and like. me even talking about it makes me worried youll feel like. pressured about it. like im fucking peer-pressuring you into not leaving me because so much of what i Am hinges on you sticking around and yk. self-fulfilling prophecy and shit. sorry. love you guys, obviously. im worried i dont make that like. obvious enough or something i dunno. ive never been the best at that, i guess

[chickenbyday]

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