#it legitimately amuses me. im not trying to be mean

[majorshatterandhare]

[ID: Four photos of traditional drawings of Raphaella la Cognizi. They are done pencil on drawing paper. Raphaella has long, wavy, light colored hair. She wears a shirt with puffy shoulders and repeating loopy stripes. She wears dark tights under light shorts with a belt. She has metal wing with rivets and two straps which cross over her chest.

Image One: Raphaella is standing facing the camera. Her right hand is on her head and her left one is by her side with her thumb in her pocket. She is blushing and smiling and not looking at the camera. The drawing cuts off above her knees. In the upper left hand corner of the photo, “Raphaella la Cognizi” is written in all uppercase letters. Parts of the drawings in Image Two and Image Three are visble. The words “Whey-hey,” “the,” and “Distant” and also visible, but the Y on “hey” and the NT on “distant” are cut off.

Image Two: a bust drawing of Raphaella. She is angled towards the viewers right and has one hand under her chin. Her mouth is open, like she is singing or speaking. Her fingers have lines around them and get darker as the reach the tips, which are pointed. They are labeled “claws.” There is a small, dark, heart next to her face. The bottom of the drawing from Image One is visible to the upper left and to the upper right a small amount of the bottom of the word “beckons” as well as “distant stars awaiting” are visible from the drawing in Image Three.

Image Three: a waist-up drawing of Raphaella and the Toy Soldier holding hands, like they are dancing, and smiling. The Toy Soldier is back to the viewer. It wears a hat and a uniform jacket. It has short curly hair and it’s lower jaw is a separate block from the rest of its face. Its eyes are closed and it has a curly mustache and painted on blush. Its nose is a triangle, protruding from its face, and darker than the rest of its skin. Raphaella is facing towards the viewer and her eyes are closed as well. She is blushing. Both characters have movement lines next to their shoulders. Underneath the characters is the phrase “Whey-hey the wormhole beckons, distant stars awaiting [exclamation point]” in all uppercase letters. A wing and an arm from Image One and the very top of Raph’s head from Image Two are visible.

Image Four: Raphaella is standing behind a sitting Drumbot Brian, or she is flying behind a stand Brian. They are both facing the viewer; her left hand is on his left shoulder and her right hand is over his right hand which is on her right cheek. Some of her hair is draped over his on the left side of his head. He is looking up towards her face. Brian has lines on his face deniting the metal plating of his skin. He has shoulder length, lighg colored, curly hair as well as facial hair on his chin and jaw. He is wearing a light colored, collared shirt under a dark wasitcoat. Both he and Raphaella have small circle eyes in this drawing. Raphaella’s wings are flapping, as denoted by movement lines and a secondary outline. There is a small, dark heart next to Brian’s shoulder, where Raphaella’s hand is, as well as one to the upper left of her head. Above Raphaella are the words “Evil Mad Science Lady X Some Guy.” The letters are all uppercase.

End ID]

> it's time for loving this mad scientist lady! she deserved a full page before my sketchbook ends

[jackals-ships]

longer post now that i have a chance for the dog ghb first meeting + some relationship stuff that i am realizing is closeish 2 the original but Listen. Vibes;

still fiddling with the bg information bc gestures at the hemospectrum humans wouldn't y'know. Fit There being not trolls but id put them at ~at/below rustbloods in most regards for this timeline just 4 ease

bc of that Dog as Jackal worked primarily in information and infiltration, very much a "got lucky and noticed" type of deal. since bc of the above point a lot of trolls will just kinda gloss over Some Dude in the bg (TO be fair that is universal) + even more so if ur like. shorter than tit height,

ends up getting noticed by HIC who's kinda amused by the whole situation + like me goes :3c y'know what would be REEL funny?

enter jackals no good very bad awful day bc what do you mean the empress wants to talk??

one fear

opening the door and seeing A Fucking Clown

many fear. the fears are in there having a fear orgy

especially once they realize it's not just A Clown it's THE Fucking Clown?? HELLO?

internal monologue is just "what would hurt less me killing myself or him killing me" "probably myself right??" "should I run? no he's Fuck Off Huge"

vibrating at speeds known only to shrimp. b4 this they've Never interacted with these two. hilariously they DID bump into The Orphaner once ("bump" they saw him and wisely scampered The Other Way)

HIC: :3c hey you wanna work for the church ".......what." HIC: it's a yes or no question guppy ".....y. yeah?" HIC: okay cool hey clownfish have ur new boy

im looking at him he's looking at me we're looking at each other + WHAT?

she didn't tell Bachus (goes <3 @almostourgalaxy 4 letting me borrow the names) before hand so he's also "....what?"

i AM a sucker for heart (diamond,) eyes at first sight but it seems more fitting that he's initially "??? NO???" (jackal doing the dog whale eye at the clown bc YOU TOLD HER NO???)

there's a lot of back and forth arguing that boils down to "you're taking them and you're NOT killing them yourself neither is anyone in the church On Purpose" "this is so stupid" "Do It Anyways"

jackal.exe has shut down. the first like 2 weeks they are Not With It! it's legitimately shocking they DIDN'T die by accident

i think the 👀 huh happens when jackal is finally more Themself and he walks in on them throwing hands with another new recruit over smthin stupid

just the combo of them being bloodied and obviously Reckless As Hell he's just "god FUCKING damn it okay"

jackal is now dangling from bachus's hand like a ferret. they've now discovered that having him pet their entire face Is Kinda Soothing. Huh. Neat

immediately back to many fear dot png once they realize WHOMST is holding them by basically the scruff

the relationship is a lot more slow burn bc jackal is Constantly skittering out of his reach, it's like trying to get a feral kitten to stop hissing at you

im deciding still on How They Get Together Properly but i DO know that half the church is contemplating locking them in a room together bc he keeps making sad damp eyes at them and there is only so much everyone can take,

also at least in this regard they are 100% a roach of a man. there is NO way they should've made it thru any training. And Fucking Yet !!!

[jakowskis]

s2 time! i'm not gonna be as thorough with it as i was w s1 bc i'm not a huge fan of season 2 ff but here goes

(this post's gonna be tosh/owen + some fragments talk, then i'm gonna reblog with a day in the death stuff, and then ill make a separate post for adam bc. woo nelly. that one warrants it.)

so lets start with the tosh/owen differences. a lot of their little scenes in s2 are markedly different - mostly as far as body language. there's a surprising amount of physical affection between them.

four separate occasions (eps 3, 4, 8, and 9) where there's physical affection between them in the script that didn't make it into the episode. i find this intriguing. tosh and owen are both very... non-affectionate people. both of them could be, with someone they loved romantically, but they don't strike me as the type of people who like to cuddle with their friends. they're both naturally very aloof and non-touchy, which makes that casual physical touch very ooc. i imagine that's why it didn't end up on screen. i figure the writers here knew the show was meant to push the tosh/owen angle in s2, but it's interesting to me that it ended up being a lot more subtle and... awkward in the show itself. i've already said i'm not a towen fan, for many reasons, but one is that there's just... zero chemistry between them (in s2, anyway). every interaction is forced and uncomfortable. it's weird enough that i was thrown off by it for a long time and couldn't figure out what the show was trying to do with them, lmao. i know that their awkwardness probably appeals to some people, and is cute or smth, but i dislike it personally. mostly i'm just petty the show reduced tosh down to that relationship tbh but whatever.

i can't help but wonder if they had this casual physical affection with each other, and if it fit in and didn't feel ooc for them, if i would like them as a couple more. but honestly i have thought about what the show could've done to make tosh/owen endear me, and i don't think uncharacteristic physical affection would be it. i do like that first scene, the way their communication styles clash a bit and they don't know quite how to talk to each other. i like owen awkwardly trying to comfort her, i love when he does that, how it's like a baby deer walking for the first time fhsdjfkds. im very endeared by the way owen's empathy is either out of nowhere and all-consuming, or something he has to force and is awkward about wielding. whenever he tries to be kind it's very tentative, because it doesn't come natural to him (anymore, at least), but he does care enough to try. i'm so fond of it. also hes sooo nd ehehe. tosh too.

will say this: i do appreciate owen getting hugs. he does need it. tosh needs it too. if the team WAS physically affectionate with each other they'd be better off, i think.

two more tosh/owen things...

see, this is what i mean when i say i couldn't tell what the show was doing with them. the SHOW can't even tell. this whole scene is written very vaguely, with little insight into owen's head, like the damn writer doesn't even know why he finally agreed. this is probably my, like, fourth favorite tosh/owen scene, which isn't saying much, 'cause i still don't really like it. it's cute in like, three spots, but mostly it just feels... weird. i don't understand what burn was intending with his acting choices, because owen comes across as insincere and slightly snide. it's weird and gross, and it rubs me wrong. i don't know if he's trying to be casual and play it cool or something, but the way he laughs at her makes me wanna punch him. the way owen treats tosh is just about the only place i legitimately can't stand him.

one last bit about it. see, 'fondly'. in the actual scene, i would describe the way owen looks at her in this moment as.... amused (at her expense) and slightly condescending. like he thinks she's laughable. it fucking bothers me. which sucks because i wanna like them, i do. i think they could be compatible. but the way he treats her in canon is nauseating and i can't get behind it.

right, and then two fragments moments i wanna discuss

all i really wanna say here is again (as mentioned in my end of days talk), chibnall didn't specify owen crying or anything, but he spends his whole segment of this ep in tears. point is i wanna thank burn gorman for the way owen constantly is teary eyed and miserable, with those big pretty brown doe eyes of his. it means the world to me. thats all

actually it's not all cuz i also wanna point out jack grabbing owen to stop him instead of owen collapsing into tears and sobbing into jacks chest while jack holds him. the dead man walking script similarly didn't specify the physical touch between jack and owen in the three places it appears, so i imagine that was largely something decided by the actors... i'm very compelled by the three separate instances where we see owen attack jack one minute / at one point in the ep and then sob in his arms the next. their relationship is sooo unhealthy fff

[jenosslut]

sugary euphoria

pairings: mark lee x fem!reader

genre/s: fluff, suggestive, angst, romance

details: strangers to lovers!au, high school!au

warnings: suggestive content, suggestive humor, explict language

word count: 3k

synopsis: where two sunset lovers experience feelings they never knew existed through the journey of adolescence.

a/n: i absolutely hate how this turned out im so sorry. a special thank you to @navyhyuck, @heartyyjeno and @neojaems for beta reading this. an even more special thank you to @hunjins for always believing in me no matter what.

taglist: @hunjins @neovrse @mrkcore @moonbeamsung @jjikyuu @mellowvoidexpertfriend

couldn’t tag: @markslovelymaid

02.09.2016

you got me breathless, got me begging you to drive me insane

The weather stays warm, in hopes of smiling on everyone. The buoyant sun rays travel directly into the brunette’s eyes, though he doesn’t whine in exasperation like many would do as he is surrounded by his most favored people.

Ecstatic is how he feels around people he loves, and Mark absolutely adores his friends. Those six people- whom he labels as ‘idiots’- aid him to hold onto an endless amount of belligerent days, especially at school.

Even though Mark isn’t exactly the best with words and doesn’t prefer to demonstrate verbal affection, the legitimately adorable laugh escaping his lips whenever he’s around them is enough to let everyone acknowledge the amount of adoration he holds for the six boys.

“Are there two butts or one butt?” He hears Donghyuck question, who has an over dramatically serious expression accompanied with lips shaped in a pout pressed on his face.

“One butt Dongfuck, one butt.” Renjun is the one to respond between gritted teeth and heavy breath, thoroughly devastated with the unnecessary discussions Donghyuck never seems to leave alone.

“There’s two! They’re separate!” Chenle exclaims in an avoidably resounding manner, causing a couple heads to involuntarily shoot towards their direction in inquisitiveness; silently judging the group of boys.

“Why are we having this conversation again?” Jeno states, wrapping his arm around Jisung’s shoulder who happens to nod, displaying agreement in the older’s words.

“Ask Dongtruck.” Renjun says, raising his arms upwards in defence.

“Yeah ask Dongtruck- wait what?” Donghyuck continues, then widens his eyes at the realization; turning his head towards Renjun as his jaw commences to part.

“I’m selling a Dingdong for free, contact me for details!” Chenle screechs, throwing his hands towards the air as the boys surrounding his figure stare at him in incredulity. Many people’s attention switch onto the group of boys again, allowing them- except Chenle- to give reactions out of embarrassment.

“When will you learn to like, shut the fuck up?” Renjun silently shouts at Chenle’s face in exasperation, biting his bottom lip as he runs his hand in between his hair.

“We’re supposed to bully Yuckie here, not me! Gosh, what a traitor.” Chenle responds, letting a dramatic sigh escape his lips, poking his tongue inside his cheek.

“If only you used the creativity you use for Hyuck’s nicknames for pragmatic reasons.” Jeno states, shaking his head.

“How do you even know what pragmatic means?” Mark questions- more to himself- in a lower tone, glancing at Jeno.

“I’m not Renjun, Mark.” Jeno replies, patting Mark’s back as Mark nods at his friend’s words.

The moment Mark Lee turns his head towards the side, his eyes witness a smile; looking dazzling as ever. The sight of you standing exquisite, the most guilelessly enticing expression sitting delicately on your features is enough to cast anyone under your spell.

Your friend says something, you laugh again. Your eyes meet as you involuntarily turn your head towards his direction. Mark’s breath gets caught in his throat, thoroughly overwhelmed. You send him a wave, then boom.

Spark.

Mark Lee bewitches under your spell.

13.11.2016

I see rainbows when i think of us

First Date

First dates are cute, adorably delighting. Kind of awkward. But that’s fine, because it’s delirious. Maybe not euphoric, but definitely a form of ecstasy.

A new experience, a new person. Something contrasting, something exciting.

It’s not the transcendence that makes it appealing, because no first date is perfect. It’s the imperfection, the sheepish smiles shared throughout the day, the embarrassing-feeling sentences that appear cuter than embarrassing.

Maybe the occasion is cliché, maybe it’s not worth enough to be included in a million-selling novel. But the experience is worth it. A simple exchange of ice cream flavors, simple exchanges of words as you amble around a keenly alive park. Cliché, but new. Cliché, but delighting.

Things are a bit less expected in Mark’s case.

The arid leaves fall as a gospel choir, harmonized in such a way that celebrates each hue and shows how they complete each other. The fallen leaves create an alluring pathway as you amble exquisite with Mark besides your figure, hand in hand.

“I think i’m seeing rainbows.” You state breathily, head falling on top of Mark’s shoulder; coming in contact with the soft fabric of his maroon jacket.

“Where? It’s dark though, i don’t think that’s possible,” Mark responds, his eyes scanning through the sky involuntarily as he takes your words legitimately.

“It didn’t rain, it’s not sunny either.” He continues on analyzing his surroundings, not exactly sure of what you meant with the words you had previously put together.

“You make me see rainbows.” You smile, astonished at his oblivious nature.

“How do i do that?” He asks, eyes slightly wide as his lips unintentionally form a small pout.

“I was trying to be poetic, Mark. I know it was bad, you could've just gone along with it.” You let out a playful scoff, the small yet absolute smile continuing its appearance on your lips.

“No no it wasn't bad, i just-” He rambles.

“Oh my god, i’m joking. Calm down, i was just trying to say how you made me happy.” You let out a full hearted laugh this time, clearly amused.

“Oh…” Is all that Mark lets out at the realization, head turning towards the side in embarrassment as his heart skips a beat.

Cute, you think to yourself.

And yes, Mark Lee is indeed an adorable boy who enchants you in even more bewitching experiences.

01.02.201

I love the way I light up when you call me

Your feet play with the treacherously empty and dry looking sand while concentrating on the undulating sound of the shallow turquoise ocean. The majestic ocean seems to be wrapped in a darker color, which could easily be blamed on the endless darkness of the sky caused by the time being nearly five in the morning.

Your head lays on Mark’s shoulder while the jacket he had given you minutes prior- insisting that you were shivering- sits on your shoulders. He holds your body close to his own, feeling an- what he labels as- unreasonable urge to protect you from anything that could occur.

You sit there, a serene feeling captivating you as you listen to each other's alleviating breaths and heartbeats. You throw small sets of words here and there to create some type of a conversation, delighting in the consolatory atmosphere.

"Your heart is beating so fast." You softly speak in incredulity, eyes slightly wide at the unanticipated moment.

Mark widens his eyes, a sheepish smile commencing to play on his lips. He starts mumbling and stuttering as he tries to put together meaningful words, though they don’t make any sense to say the least.

“Mine is beating fast too, if that makes you feel better.” You don’t know where the sudden confidence comes from, yet you keep on staring right into his sparkling orbs with your own; the most ravishing smile sitting buoyantly on your lips.

Mark muttres out a few “Oh”s before lazing his visibly tensed body, slowly melting in your arms as you pull his body even closer to your own.

As the sun begins to rise, a song along with a valse melody commences to play out of the speakers Mark had brought. You softly grab the brunette’s hand, taking it into your own; signaling him to dance with a playful smile on your face.

Mark lifts himself upwards as the sheepish smile from earlier commences to display its appearance back on his features. He uses some help from your hand as he lets out a nervous chuckle, youthful hysteria running through his body.

The two of you sway your bodies according to the mellifluous melody rhyming behind. You recline your head on Mark’s chest, getting into a more comfortable position.

"You're beautiful." Mark’s graceful sounding whisper is heard clearly in your right ear after finally gathering up the courage to state a compliment, causing the smile on your lips to grow uncontrollably.

Before leaning in, you go through a whole debate about whether to kiss him or not inside your head. Finally, you lean in; mixing both of your uniquely ambrosial scents as you catch his lips in between your own.

Although the kiss isn’t exactly perfect, the experience is.

“Be my girlfriend?” Mark asks in a whisper as he uses his right hand to keep your chin up, staring right inside your eyes fervently.

“Yeah.” You whisper back with a heavy breath, not able to control the smile growing on your lips.

The newly rising sun accompanies your bodies as you try to move your lips against each other’s in the middle of a beach. Youthful giggles get thrown around as you share your first kiss, a feeling unfamiliarly intriguing enchanting you.

Maybe, maybe you had a future with Mark. Maybe he was someone who would be there for you during your worst nightmares, a shoulder to cry on after calamitous fights, a soul to share your overwhelming ecstasy with.

Though, you don't know that just yet. You never know what the future holds for you. So you completely give your all to him, living through each second of one of the many euphoric moments you share.

Mayhaps this is the beginning of a new journey...

14.03.2017

I lose my mind when you whisper sweet nothings

Gratuitously, Mark guides your body towards his bedroom; hands all over each other’s bodies as giggles out of hysteria escape your lips. You run your hands through his brown locks, plunking them eagerly as your already plumped lips messily move against each other’s.

Mark lets out another breathy giggle as your noses brush, your hands traveling on his body. Your hands find their way towards the hem of his shirt, fingers fiddling with it; contemplating on whether to take it off or not.

Mark gives you a short nod, displaying approval within his actions as he sends you an adorable smile. You glance upwards to steal a glance from his features, only to get lost inside his doe orbs; sparkling in youthful enthusiasm.

He pushes your body onto his bed, trying to be as meticulous as he could. He helps you slide his shirt off as the kiss gets even messier. After unintentionally biting his bottom lip, you mutter out multiple apologies as Mark assures you; running his hands through your hair soothingly.

He pulls your body onto his lap, blushing when he sees your eyes glued onto his upper body. Your eyes meet when you move your head, both shying away at the shared stare. You land him a kiss, on his cheek instead of his lips. Giggles continuously flow through both of your lips as you keep on planting kisses on his cheeks.

Your lips land on his nose on accident when attempting to shower him in sweet cheek kisses, allowing another giggle out of timidity to be shared.

“I love you, like a lot.” Mark whispers admiringly, the adorably sheepish smile never washing away from his lips as the first ever “I love you” effortlessly falls out. You involuntarily smile at the statement, melting into his honeyed words.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, exchanging the specific three words for the first time.

You spend your night blissfully, not precisely knowing what you are doing. Yet you sure are delightful inside Mark’s tight embrace, heart clenching inside your chest at every amiable touch.

23.05.2017

You’re my favorite mistake

“Mark,” You speak out, fidgeting on his bed uncomfortably as your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt.

“Yes, baby?” Mark replies; not exactly paying the most attention as his eyes stay still on the laptop seated on his desk, trying to get an essay done.

“Love, are you okay?” He questions when you don’t respond, diverting is doe orbs towards your direction.

“I’m leaving,” You say as your teeth immediately find their way towards your bottom lip, biting and peeling the skin off in apprehension.

“For university, i’m moving.” You continue, explaining yourself when he doesn’t display any type of reaction.

Mark finally lets out a small yet heavy “When” as his lips part, staring at you dispiritedly.

“This sunday.” You reply faintly after a pause.

“And you decide to tell me about it now? Three days before you leave?” Mark’s eyes go wide as his voice raises, visibly accustomed.

“Calm down.” You attempt to calm him down, though it doesn’t exactly work as he shouts even louder each time he parts his lips.

“Do you even care about my feelings?” Mark clamors.

“Mark, what are you saying?” You ask in incredulity, aching to believe you didn’t hear him accurately.

“Look Y/n, I support whatever you do. But not when you tell me right before it happens!” He continues as a scoff out of mockery follows his words.

“I’m sorry i just-” You start rambling, not having an idea on how to ease his emotions.

“A sorry doesn’t fix everything!” He extends, not allowing you to speak.

“I know-”

“Good that you know! I hope you don’t make the same mistake next time with someone else.”

“Someone else? Mark, are you seriously breaking up with me over this?” You ask as a feeling of overwhelming incredulity captures you. His words allow your eyes to widen as your lips part afterwards.

“What’s there to not break up over, Y/n? How do you expect to continue this once you’re away?” He shouts again, making you pause.

“Okay, i wish you the best.” You state with a shaky voice as tears commence to gliss up inside your eyes, causing them to look glossy. You try your best to not blink, holding your tears in.

You can’t cry. No, you can’t cry in front of him.

So you get up and leave.

--

You are still young.

Not everything lasts, not everything is meant to last.

Each moment is worth living without allowing a knot to form inside your stomach in worry. Experiences have reasons, purposes. So do you, you have a purpose. Cry your heart out after agonizing fights, laugh in delight with all you’ve got; enchanted in an overwhelming euphoria.

You are shaped by awkward encounters, innocently sheepish grins, pernicious altercations, anguished tears. Mistakes you make at eighteen become experiences you thank at thirty.

Sugary moments come to an end, so do the bitter ones. Nothing is permanent, nothing is promised. You can’t live with worry, you can’t live in pain.

Life is short, short enough for you to give each moment a chance. Short enough to feel everything, to live and not just exist.

Somewhere out there, there’s someone for you. Someone willing to cherish all your imperfections, someone willing to shower you in love as immense adoration dances in their sparkling orbs.

Love...love is alluring, fascinating, breathtakingly dazzling. There’s so much to explore within love, so much to explore within a person. New euphoric moments to be shared, new eyes to get lost in, new hearts to beat together.

Love with all you have, give people every ounce of what they deserve without worrying about the ending. Every moment comes to an end. Every kiss has a final share, every breakdown has a final tear.

There is a beginning to each journey, there’s also an ending to those journeys. No time is worth spending cooped up in your room with tears drenching on your features, no time is worth contemplating on whether or not to do something in worry.

Although this is an anguished ending to the previous chapter, it’s a sugary euphoric beginning for another one...

[peridaniel]

some assorted toh headcanons because those are cool and good

Both of the Clawthorne sisters watched anime/read manga, but Eda was super lowkey about it

Lilith drew a lot as a kid and sometimes still does, but she's insecure about her skills. Y'know, one of those *draws the whole ass mona lisa* "omg like i can't even draw a stick figure" people

Luz loves horror movies and anything horror related. She once discovers the horror movies on the Boiling Isles and makes Amity, Willow, and Gus watch them with her.

Camila was very accepting when Luz came out to her and even bought her a bi flag

Adding onto the above, while looking into it to know how she could better support her bisexual kid, may have realized that she's not fully straight either...

Gus and Perry Porter probably have the chillest, most stereotypical tv show father-son relationship ever

Also, Perry Porter is a single dad who is always doing his best

Viney's real name isn't actually Viney- her last name is just Vine and she bases her nickname off of that. Her first name is and will always be kept a secret, and she's not afraid to hurt anyone who somehow manages to figure it out.

Gus' favorite human artifact is the slinky, which is love for intensifies after Luz sends one down the stairs and he is a m a z e d

While Amity didn't like Boscha at first (that much was made clear in the Understanding Willow flashback), they ended up becoming legitimate friends after Amity was dragged to Boscha's birthday party and saw that Boscha's mom was... pretty much just like her own.

Edric used to like to try to lift Amity up when she was little and carry her around, but he wasn't strong enough and usually ended up getting both of them hurt

One of the twins is trans (of course), but since their parents are homo/transphobic, both of them mix their magic to cast a long term illusion spell while they're away from home so whichever twin is trans can present how they want without having to come out to their parents (the only thing I'm torn about on this one is which twin is trans... on one hand, im ftm so I'd like to think its edric, but I also REALLY LOVE the mtf emira headcanons and stories I've seen)

(this one's goofy so bear with me) Barkus wasn't born a dog, but he was cursed to be in a canine form when he was young. he doesn't mind tho, I mean who wouldn't wanna be a dog?

Boscha is angry because she wants to be (insert magical version of tiktok here) famous but Skara has more followers than her

asdfmovie somehow exists in the Boiling Isles

Those who have seen asdfmovie have been trying for years to decipher its meaning. Some there think it's a surrealist doomsday prophecy, others believe it to be a religious demonstration of some sort. Luz finds this amusing and tells no one what it really is.

Bump has a husband and they live together in the countryside

Luz actually needs glasses, but she usually wears contacts and had a phase where she wore a bunch that were colored really weird

Eda also needs glasses, but she doesn't wear them or contacts. She is nearsighted and deals with it like a woman.

I know that staffs and palismans are made by witches themselves when they finish school, but I'd still like to think that there are "staff dealers" out there who sell sketchy lemon staffs at outrageous prices to people who are too lazy to make their own, or who damaged theirs beyond repair

thats all I've got for now but I'll probably post more sooner or later

[fuckyeahharryhart]

KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE, IN MY AU, HARRY HART WOULD STILL BE A BADASS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S ALIVE. HE’S JUST A BAD ASS WITH NO MEMORY

IN MY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - this is what happened when they found Harry. And Roxy is alive, cause “what the hell?” And basically is an excuse for me to thirst on Colin Firth as Harry Hart, who will always be a badass gentleman spy, memory or no.

Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy survived the explosions that destroyed Kingsman. Following the clues from their doomsday protocol, the three of them traveled to Kentucky to Statesman HQ.

They are confronted by Agent Tequila where they try to explain what they are doing there. Tequila does not believe them. He disarms and disables them. The scene begins in Statesman underground holding room. Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin wake up to find that they are bound and restrained.

(apologies in advance for grammar, spelling, format. First draft, secondish draft. Just did one quick read-through and fixed most of the glaring errors.

PS I kinda nerded out with the amnesia and weapons research) 

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

The room remained vague and shadowy. Eggsy fought against a heaviness that kept his eyes closed. He tried again to blink them open. No such luck. They were uncooperative. Moving on. Assessing what little he could, he tested the restraints that bound him to a cold metal chair both at the wrists and ankles. Zip ties. Cheap and easy, but harder to release from than traditional handcuffs. He tried anyway. And then a second time, only with more force. Nothing. He willed himself to relax. If he couldn’t get free with brute force, it was time to get creative. Switch to strategy and problem solving. At least try to figure out what the hell was going on and why a souped up cowboy was holding them hostage. 

His training, his instincts wanted to kick in regardless of the fact that he was restrained. He ran through his checklist anyway. Scan and clear the room. Assess the threat. Spot entrances and exits. Locate the nearest weapon. It didn’t necessarily need to be a gun. Any object that could possibly disable an enemy would suffice.

It was infuriating that he was unable to proceed with his training. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a moot point anyway, nothing of him seemed to be responding to his commands. His surroundings remained a bleary haze. His brain still foggy, was trying to catch up.

The renegade cowboy that had disarmed and disabled Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin, was waiting rather patiently for them to wake up. That is, until the point he was no longer patient and decided to empty a bottle of perfectly good whiskey on Eggsy and Merlin. As he considered himself a gentleman, he spared Roxy.

 It was unsettling how he took the three of them down so easily. Eggsy reasoned that they certainly weren’t at their best. Shit had gone down in the last 24 hours and they were damn tired.

Eggsy and Merlin sputtered in protest. 

“So good of you to join us.” The cowboy’s tone was relaxed and untroubled.

He took a casual stance and leaned up against the wall like he was just waiting for something interesting to happen.

His head cocked to the right. “Now where was I?”

 Nodding to himself, “Oh yeah”, he said, as if he just remembered something fascinating. His fingers snapped together with a sharp click. “You were just about to tell me who ya’ll were and how the hell you found us.” He mentioned this as if he were waiting for them to describe what they ate for breakfast and whether or not they had enjoyed it.

The disparity between his gregarious tone, his friendly manner, and the slightly hostile glint in his eyes was disconcerting.

He crossed his legs on the other side and tipped his head to the left.

“Anytime ya’ll are ready to start talkin’, Im all ears.”

They had already tried to explain what happened to their headquarters. Well, their tailor shop backstop. How likely was it that generations of tailors had passed down a secret doomsday protocol for survivors in case of complete destruction? Of their tailor shop? Eggsy had to admit, as a story, it positively wreaked implausibility. But it was true, aside from replacing their secret intelligence agency with a bespoke suit business. 

From the cowboys perspective, it would seem kind of insulting that they expected the him to buy their story. Actually, It would seem pretty insulting to expect anyone with the most basic cognitive skills believe it. The problem was that, as ridiculous as story was, it was, in fact, the truth.

Eggsy didn’t have any more to say. Roxy, who would probably take him down if given half the chance, wisely remained quiet. Merlin’s furrowed brow meant that he most likely had a bloody lot to say, but nothing that would improve their situation. 

They had reached an impasse. 

The cowboy regarded them thoughtfully from under his Stetson, wide brimmed hat. 

“We don’t have folks from your neck of the woods in these parts that often.” His lips pursed in thought.

“I would reckon once every year or so, some might pass through here that sound like y’all. Why,” nodding his head confirming his own information. “I think it was just about a year ago, we had someone drop in unexpectedly.” 

He gazed up and to the right, as if recalling a memory. Maybe y’ll know him.” He said, his eyes falling back on them.

Merlin. “I highly doubt that.”

The cowboy drew back slightly, irked by their obstinance. These brits were stubborn as all get out. Did they seriously expect him to believe their doomsday protocol story? What was this? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt?

“I just find it awfully convenient that you just “happened” to find this bottle of whiskey with our name on it. Right after your entire “shop” exploded with ALL it’s employees and everyone who worked there. Every single person who knows you, gone with it. That would be mighty upsettin’ if I was in ya’lls shoes.” He tried on a little sympathy for size. Nope, didn’t fit. He continued with his slight undertone of sarcasm. 

 “Can’t even make a call to see if anyone can vouch for y’alls.” Such a shame, he thought. Alrightly, he’d just keep talkin’ at ‘em until one of them slipped up or said something interesting.

He could talk into the night for all he cared. “Not even anythin’ left to take with you. Except a couple of watches that can unlock a biometric security system.” Now this was legitimately irritating. 

“Why would some little ole tailors shop need to have a biometric security system? I mean, ya’ll look mighty fine in them suits and spectacles, but sorry to say, not that fine.”

He used this opportunity to break out one of his favourite southern idioms. “You see, that dog don’t hunt.” He amused himself.

“Look.” Said the Scotsman. “We have no idea what you are talking about. The only reason we are here is because we found one of your bottles.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, before pressing his lips together, this time doubtfully twisting them to the side.

“See, here’s the thing. Lots and lots of folks have our bottles. Ain’t none of them ever broken into our maximum security “warehouse” before.”

“You’re looking for the Brit, ain’t ya? “His eyes narrowed. “And now why would that be?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed even deeper. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was reaching the far ends of his exasperation. “We do not know anyone here. Quite sorry to say, but we have never heard of Statesmen before. In our part of the world, we prefer a single malt scotch. No offence.”

“None taken.” He said pleasantly.

The cowboy pushed himself off the wall.

“Well,” he huffed, “It seems we’re at a stalemate.”

The cowboy continued to study them as he spoke.

“Ya’ll telling’ me a story you say is the truth.”

He shook his head in disappointment, feigning sadness. “And I just don’t believe ya. Now we could go round n round like this until we’re all blue in the face. But that sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“If we ain’t getting anywhere like this, might be time to switch things up a bit?”

“Ya’ll say you don’t know the Brit. But I’m thinkin’ y’all should talk to him. Might be able to make some sense out of what’s comin’ out of your mouth ‘cause I just don’t get it.”

Silence from the three of them. Well, weren’t they a stubborn bunch. 

The man sighed dramatically and shrugged his wide shoulders. 

“Well, it appears you wont be cooperatin’ with me. I think it’s about time ya’ll talk to someone else cause I sure aint getting’ nowhere with ya. But I don’t know if you’re gonna wanna talk to him.”  

He regarded them sympathetically. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that table when he’s the one asking questions. Ya’ll might be wish’n to see my pretty face again.”

Three almost identically frustrated faces looked back at him.

“Word is round here, don’t matter what you won’t say to me.” 

He started ambling across in front of them, from wall to wall in slow, measured steps. 

“What matters is what y’all gonna to say to HIM.” He stopped mid-stride, turned toward them. 

“Now, I’ve seen him doin’ his thing, right?  Believe me, he’ll have ya talkin’ in ways you can’t even imagine.” He continued along his thoughtful line, turning away from them.

He began to let the heel of his boots scuff the floor with every step. “You wont even be able to shut up, ya’ll talk so much.” He spoke over his shoulder. “ Tellin’ him things you ain’t even tell your mama.”

No response from the three Kingsman.

He turned toward Roxy. “My apologies little lady, but here at Statesman?  Guys and gals? We’re all on equal footing.” He had the gall to wink at her. “No matter what our name says.” 

He hooked his thumbs under this belt and hitched the whole get up, flask holster and all, up his non existent hips. 

“I hate to see a pretty miss like you have to go down with the likes of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of Merlin and Eggsy. “But, at Statesman, no special treatment for the fillies.”

Roxy proceeded to murder him with her eyes.

Absurdly, he decided it was a good and proper time to dial up the charm.  “Say, you don’t wanna tell me what you and your boys were up to here? I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping these fellas in line.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce. It turned out that Roxy no longer needed to blink. 

“That’s quite a look you’re thrown’ at me.” The cowboy smirked.

“Well, I’m really sorry. I apologise for this, but ya’ll don’t give me no other choice.” 

He turned toward the side and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The lenses were shaded to a dusky gold. He unfolded them, put them on and tapped the side of the lens. 

“Ya there?” He spoke into the air.

Evidently the glasses were a communications device and he received an answer in return. He nodded to himself. “Yep, affirmative.” 

There was another brief pause as he listened to the person on the other side. “Roger that.” He turned off the communication by tapping the side of the lens a second time. 

He looked at them almost sympathetically. “It looks we ARE gonna find out what happens when we change things up a bit.”

He walked over to the frosted panel window and flipped a switch.

Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy were momentary blinded by a brilliant white light. So bright and unexpected that they had to turn away. They squinted against the flare as coloured spots tripped behind their eyelids. They continued to blink until their eyes adjusted to the intensity of the new light. 

What they saw as the opacity of the glass dissolved… Well, to say they were ill prepared would be the understatement to understate all statements.

It couldn’t be.

It was utterly impossible.

But there he was. 

Outlined by a dazzling white light. 

Unmistakable.

It was Harry Hart.

—

The agents tried to gather their collective wits like they were trying to herd cats. It was nearly impossible. Harry disappeared from view. Sharp, tell tale footsteps could be heard walking down the short distance from the viewing area to their holding room. 

Between the three of them, none had taken a single breath from the moment Harry Hart appeared behind the glass.

For Eggsy, a white hot wave surged through his body and seared him from his finger tips to his toes. He could even hear the heat ringing in his ears. It was a high pitched whine that reverberated from one side of his head to the other. He had no control over his physical response. Any authority that he may have had, dissipated with the frosted glass. Apparently, his body knew exactly what to do, because it was doing its own thing, without any input from him. He set his thoughts aside and let his body do whatever it felt the need to. He was fairly certain he was exhibiting the physical signs of shock. He felt pale, his hands were damp and clammy. He felt weirdly mortified. He might as well be naked, for he felt exposed to the deepest, most secret recesses of his soul. Places that had no business being brought to light. 

He felt laughter bubble up through watery eyes he didn’t even know if he could call tears. For joy? Sheer bewilderment? Whatever the reason, his eyes were leaking. The buzzing in his ears wouldn’t stop and he felt sure he was about to pass out. He wanted to drop his head between his legs, but he didn’t dare pull his gaze away from the door he knew Harry Hart would enter from. He didn’t dare blink. Let alone look away. 

His ears burned, his cheeks flamed red and splotchy. It was as if he was caught off guard doing the most embarrassing thing he could think of, just times a billion and witnessed by everyone from his mum to his kindergarten teacher, not to mention every famous person that he had a crush on or looked up to and the whole mortifying episode was being televised live around the world. 

Whatever he was experiencing, it was nearly unbearable. Like suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. Was that even possible? His heart had either stopped or was beating so rapidly that it felt as if it was hardly beating at all. Which seemed feasible as most of his blood had pooled in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Surely, there was none flowing to his brain. It had signed out for the moment. It certainly wasn’t sticking around to see what was coming next. 

 He tried to arrange his face into the shape he thought would be appropriate for when his mentor, who he saw get shot point blank in the face, a man who died over a year ago, who he had spent what felt like a lifetime grieving, materialise as an interrogator for a covert cowboy secret agency in Kentucky. He couldn’t imagine what an acceptable face would look like in that situation, so he assumed that his face had no expression at all. It was the best he could do. 

He didn’t even posses the wherewithal to see how his partners where faring. He hoped that they were in a more presentable state. He moved his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He tried clearing his throat, but it was dry and papery. Apparently, whatever autonomous system that controlled his salivary glands also decided that this whole situation was bullshit and decided to check out, too.

The track of the footsteps, even now so familiar, paused at the door. The handle turned with a weighty click. 

He didn’t have the brain capacity to even imagine what would happen next.

The only thing in his head were three letters. And they weren’t  ABC. 

They were W. T. F.

The door opened. 

They saw the man who had once been the foundation of their agency. 

The man who had once been its living and breathing heart and soul. 

How long had it been since he last thought of Harry Hart? After the initial grief, the denial, the anger, and finally, the acceptance, the loss became a dull ache.  Though tolerable, it never went away. They never found his body, but he didn’t have hope that Harry would ever return. He saw the shot that took his life. Even the best agent had no way of possibly surviving a point blank shot to the face. Harry fell where he had once stood. He didn’t get back up. And like that, Harry Hart was gone.

In the aftermath of V-day, Eggsy and the others didn’t have a chance to even stop and think about what happened to Harry, let alone process the loss. That came after. In the moments when time slowed down, things got quiet, and they no longer had the urgency of missions to distract them from the loss or to use as a vehicle for their anger and rage at the unfairness of it all.  

Eggy’s pain was not only due to the loss of his mentor, but also from the fact that he never got to tell the man just how important he was to him. Their final conversation repeated in his head, over and over, on endless loop. The last words that he had exchanged with Harry were harsh and accusatory. How much he wished that that conversation had not been their last. What wouldn’t he give to say the rest of the words that were caught in his throat. To finally release them. To say he was sorry. But the chance never came and the words clung to him, never to be spoken.

A tall man in a dark pinstripe suit entered the room.

At first glimpse, he was their Harry Hart. As perfect as they imagined and just as they all remembered him. Only on closer inspection did they notice small, but significant details that would indicate otherwise.

He was wearing what looked like the exact same suit he “died” in. But this one didn’t show any of the wear and damage that was sure to have happened in that final, brutal rampage. Either Statesman had an excellent tailor repair the original suit, or more likely, Harry had his suit replicated. 

The details were exacting as they had always been. The tie with the Windsor knot. The pristine white spread collar and crisp pocket square. French cuffs that were still held by the Kingsman cuff links. 

His standard horn rimmed communication glasses had been modified. The left lens was now shaded a solid black. There was an additional piece that covered his peripheral vision from the edge of the lens to the end of the arm on his left side.

How was it possible that he stood before them, as handsome and regal as ever? Hell, the man could even make a blacked out eye look distinguished. It added to his air of gravitas.

A curious pair of black cowboy boots with elaborate stitching, stood out from below the mid-break of his trousers. The footsteps they heard in the hallway didn’t come from his standard oxfords.

Neither did they see the familiar Kingsman standard issue pistol he would always pack without fail. In his right hand, held down by his side, he toted a nickel plated Colt Single Action Army revolver modified with a double barrel. He carried it by its smooth, wooden grip.

But he did walk with the same measured strides, familiar in pace and sound. Harry took his place in front of them as the cowboy found a space off to the side. 

They wore their incredulity in silence.  Words were insignificant compared to this impossible occasion. Words that would adequately express their turmoil did not exist. Merlin looked like he was trying to deconstruct a complex algorithm in his head. Roxy looked, he imagined bizarrely, like she had just been denied an orgasm. Where the hell did that come from? Eggsy fairly certain he looked like a bloody idiot.

And so they waited. 

Familiar, golden brown eyes, well, eye now, gazed over them. Making and then holding eye contact with each of them in the way they had always remembered he would when he required their full attention.

They searched his eyes and face for recognition. To see any kind of dawning realization that he knew who they were. Merely seeing Harry, alive and mostly whole, was something that was unfathomable to them. 

Finally, Harry spoke.

The vibration of his voice was able to resonate through their shocked and dampened senses. It was a deep and calming sound. Smooth, measured tones with an aristocratic accent that clipped his words. Vibrant. It was a voice that was warm, safe and familiar. It was a voice that sounded like home.

What was completely baffling were the words that beautiful voice said. 

“Please excuse my dreadful manners. But I don’t believe we have properly met.”

They turned and glanced at each other in confusion. What the hell? Surely there had to be some part of Harry that recognized them. At least Merlin, with whom he shared a history going back over twenty years. 

“Harry. It’s us.” Merlin implored. “We’re not undercover. Right now, we’re not anything. That’s why we came here.” 

“Harry.” Merlin’s voice was touched with sorrow. “Kingsman is gone.”

Harry’s face remained impassive. The spark of recognition remained unfired. There was no hint of softening, no warmth, no glint that told them, “Not to worry. Everything is under control.”  

Harry confirmed. “Yes, I had the pleasure of hearing your story.” He leaned back against the wall and took a casual stance. Crossing his legs in front of him much like Tequila did.  He placed a hand in a pocket. The other gripped the Colt lightly.

“It’s quite interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “And particularly unfortunate that this Kingsman Tailoring “Agency” that you speak of, was completely and utterly destroyed. How unfortunate that the three of you happen to be the only survivors.” 

Time paused with him as he contemplated this thought for awhile.

“It would seem rather convenient, on the other hand, for that gives us absolutely no way to possibly verify your doomsday scenario.” 

The disappointment on his face hit them with a guilt that was worse than his impassivity. 

“And why, all of a sudden, after a year, would not only one, but three mysterious Brits arrive here at Statesman, of all the places in the world, for no other reason than a bottle telling them to.” 

Beseechingly, Eggsy replied. “Harry, we don’t understand what’s happening. We thought that you had died when Valentine shot you outside the church.”

Harry’s face suddenly hardened. Slowly he pulled himself up to his full height.

“How could you possibly know that?” The air around them became sharp with tension. 

How did they end up on the wrong side of the interrogation table? They had never seen Harry from this perspective. But they had witnessed him work targets before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

As Harry continued, his voice remained very calm and very steady. 

“No one. Pardon me. I should clarify. No one alive except Statesman has that knowledge. Not even I had that knowledge in the beginning.”

Instantly, it was crucial that no one speak out of turn. Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that was flat and affectless.  They had rarely heard it before, but they knew it was dangerous to be on the receiving end of that dull and indifferent voice. 

Harry was walking his edge. And Harry on the edge was not someone you wanted to push. To anyone else, he would have appeared unchanged. But he had the sharp glint in his eye, the set to his jaw, and the steely note to his voice that betrayed he was very, very angry. They only knew this because of their history with him. It was critical to tread very lightly. 

Eggsy words were dressed with caution. 

“Harry, you were at the church, “he emphasised, “on behalf of Kingsman.” He carefully walked through a minefield of words, wary of any misstep that would trigger Harry’s anger in their direction.

“We knew that Richmond Valentine was up to no good. You were assigned the mission to find out exactly what he was planning. You flew to Kentucky. Valentine was testing his SIM card transmitter on the people in the church. You were there as well. Even though you didn’t have a SIM card, the transmission was strong enough to affect everyone, whether they had a SIM card or not.”

 “Merlin and I were on the communication feed. We saw everything…. You were affected by the sound waves, too… You had no control…” He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he definitely didn’t want to mention the number of people Harry had killed.

Merlin spoke on his behalf. “Eggsy’s right. We saw you confront Valentine. We saw him shoot you in the head. We thought that you had died. The bullet destroyed the communication feed or else it would have transmitted…” he paused. “Proof of life, or confirmation of death.” 

Harry reflected. “Yes, I did almost die on that day.”

Eggsy and Merlin flinched.

“It was only through, whatever would like to call it, luck, perhaps fate. Regardless, it was Statesman that located me. They were able to save my life. I owe them. I am a man who honors his debts.”

The room prickled with silence. They dared not say more until they were able to see more of the landscape they were trying to traverse. It was littered with threats.

Harry, now pacing in slow, steady strides, continued. “With all the resources you say this Kingsman agency had, how surprising that it had to be strangers that came to my aid. Otherwise,” he recalled, “I would be, quite dead.” 

The three of them realised they were on eggshells atop a minefield. Never before had they been confronted by Harry in this manner. Never before had they even witnessed Harry in this state. They were uncertain of what to do when faced with this degree of suspicion and mistrust from a man, who in the past, would have given his life to save any of theirs.

When no one spoke, he began to ruminate. “At Statesman, we knew that it was Richmond Valentine who shot me. Confirmed by two of their agents.” He turned back toward them. “Though the question of why still remained unsolved.”

Coming closer. “But you three, now, are here with that answer,” He paused in-between his points for effect. 

“But you are here, completely by chance.” pause 

“Only because of a doomsday protocol scenario.” pause 

“A scenario that led you to Statesman.” pause 

“And I just happen to be here as well.” pause  

“Do you know what the odds are of that happening?” pause  

“Rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” pause  

“I must say, you are quite the interesting trio. Unassuming.  Not quite what one would expect for this sort of operation.  Perhaps that is the point. Disarm me with your improbability, with your accents, so familiar to my own. Here to deliver stories of how I was part of an organization that no longer exists. And you are the only other individuals who know what occurred the day I was shot.” He stopped in front on them. He turned to face them and drew tall once more.

Looking at each other was a dare none of them were willing to take. They knew that the most important thing at that moment was to maintain eye contact with Harry anytime he looked in their direction. If they couldn’t offer him any answers, at least they could show him that they had nothing to hide. Now was not the time to look or act guilty.

No matter how many tactics he used, regardless of how hard he pushed them, their story would be the same because they had no other story. Was there no memory of Kingsman at all? What about Harry’s moral code, that Kingsman only risked a life to save a life. Was that a credo he still followed? The did not know what to expect.

“Regardless. Questions for another time I suppose.” He waved his hand as if brushing them away.

“The pressing issue still remains.” He was firm and unyielding. “Who are you and how did you find us.”

 What could they possibly say at this point? They remained silent.

“We welcome our visitors and our guests. However, we do not take kindly to trespassers. You say you have nothing to protect, but your honor. If the three of you are the only survivors of your organization and you are as close as you say, I would assume that you would, at the very least, protect a third of what remains of your agency.

Eggsy suddenly found himself on the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver. 

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he felt drunk, off balance, like he had fallen into an alternate universe. Where the laws of physics no longer applied. 

“Harry, it’s me.”  The only thing he could think of that could reach Harry was the guilt he had carried with him for over 17 years. The guilt that made him reach out to Eggsy in the first place. 

With self-possession he did not have, he composed himself as well as he could while being threatened by the mentor he once thought was dead.   

“My father saved your life.” He spoke quietly and deliberately and without hesitation.  “But you had made a mistake that cost him his. You were trying to repay him by helping me find purpose, to do something good with my life. You recruited me to Kingsman. You changed everything for me.” 

The look Harry returned for these words was almost kindly. 

“I’ll give you the following three seconds to prove that to me.”

Fuck. Eggsy was drawing a blank.

He could hear Roxy and Merlin, as if they were underwater yelling to Harry anything they could to make him stop.  

What felt like a lifetime later, the door burst open. Apparently, he had lost the ability to count, because that brief passage of time felt like much longer than three seconds. 

“Stop!” a woman yelled urgently. She tossed Harry a black umbrella. He caught it deftly with one hand.

“Their story checks out.” She held her palms out toward Harry. Please stop.

“I checked our doomsday scenario locker.” She explained. “Only to be opened in the case of a catastrophic event that cripples the agency to the point where we cannot rebuild on our own. It was established by a network of international intelligence agencies, forged when they first began. Since autonomy was the goal for each agency, once the protocol was put into place, no agency was to uncover it unless absolutely necessary.” 

“Take a look.” She nodded to the umbrella in his hand. “Kingsman. It has our logo on it.”

Harry paused to inspect the handle. Sure enough, the Statesman logo replaced the “s” in Kingsman.

He handled the umbrella in a way that seemed familiar to him. It almost seemed like he was looking for other recognisable features. Eggsy has seen plenty of Harry handling the umbrella like it was an extension of himself. He had saved Eggy’s life with it. It looked so natural in his hands. Like it completed the final picture of their Harry Hart and he was hopeful that this might be the final piece of the puzzle.  

Harry looked at the umbrella thoughtfully. It was difficult to read his face if he didn’t want it to be read. After a pause, he tossed it lightly back to Ginger. 

“Not good enough.” The gun swung back toward Eggsy.

They froze, unable to move, speak or even breathe. They were at a loss, nothing in their training prepared them for this. Roxy and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Harry cocked the revolver at Eggsy. Was it a live round? Or was it blank?

What kind of FU world would allow something like this to happen? Eggsy thought. He grasped for any hope, any last play that he could make, but the only thing within his reach was empty space. It simply slid through his fingers, without purchase, without substance. There was nothing that he could hold on to.

BUT… his eyes darted towards Harry’s right hand. The gun in his face was blocking his view… Fuck it. He squeezed eyes shut as he opened his mouth. The words ran together and toppled over each other as they spilled out without pause. 

“you wear a gold signet ring on your right little finger gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear the ring on the left hand but you wear yours on your right because a Kingsman always wears it on whatever hand happens to be dominant and you are right handed”

Nothing happened. And it was quiet.

Cautiously, Eggy peered from one eye. He wasn’t dead. He opened the other eye.

Harry regarded him from along the barrel of the revolver. Eggsy flinched away from its deadly mouth.

Harry deliberated. His mind took a step back and a step to the side. He looked at the situation from a different perspective. Because he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand, not on his left, as was the gentlemen’s  tradition. He was wearing it when he was shot. He could not recall where the ring came from, or its significance. Researching the insignia came up with no leads. But he continued to wear the ring, for no other reason than it felt right to him. Like he insisted on wearing his suit, rather than Statesman’s tie and jacket. 

His eyes let go of some of the hardness. Eggsy hoped that he saw a little softening at the edges. 

Harry’s voice, so familiar it made his heart hurt. Not accusatory, but with interest, he asked, “How do you know that?” 

Eggsy, with great effort willed his gaze to leave the barrel of the gun and meet the face that had once meant so much to him. He caught Harry’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said with a calmness and a clarity he did not feel, “because I’m wearing one, too.”

Harry, without breaking eye contact, nodded to Ginger. She hurried to Eggsy’s side. After a quick glance, she confirmed, indeed, he was wearing a signet ring exactly like Harry’s.

Harry lowered his gun. There were three consecutive sighs of relief.

“My apologies.” He said as he holstered his weapon.

“It seems as if we have much to discuss.”

———

They found themselves in a massive great room at Statesman HQ, the top floor of a huge structure the shape of the Statesman signature whiskey bottle. Floor to ceiling windows circled the entire room, providing a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Kentucky from every vantage point.

The centrepiece of the space was a leviathan of a conference table. Elaborately carved, solid hard wood. The trees that created that table must have had lived for years to grow to such a substantial size.  It had space to sit 12, but only few of the spots were occupied.

One of which by a larger than life, genial, vintage cowboy of a man. A little flashy, a little ostentatious, more than a little gregarious, he was the head of the Statesman outfit. With a place at the head of the table, he leaned back in his plush armchair with aplomb. He introduced himself as “Champagne” or Champ as he was known affectionately by his agents.

Roxy wasn’t surprised that, aside from Ginger Ale, she was the only female present. Hell, Ginger was the only other female that she had seen since they had entered Statesman HQ. Well, technically ‘broke in’, but still. They had an invitation, even if it was only in the shape of a whiskey bottle. A bottle that they had emptied while wallowing in self pity. Even Merlin was a bit maudlin, at one point, sobbing into his whiskey and singing Country Roads a little off key. Roxy had side-eyed him until Eggsy spotted the secret message hidden behind the label. She wondered they they had made the clue unnoticeable until the bottle was emptied. They could have quite possibly missed the hint. Being under the influence of, admittedly, very smooth whiskey did not enhance ones ability to spot decades old subtext on the back of whiskey labels. Whose clever idea had that been? 

Once again, she found herself in the odd situation where she wanted to be taken seriously as an agent, but Agent Tequila’s insistence on calling her sweetheart, miss, darling, filly of all things didn’t give her much confidence that Statesman would be any different from the old boys club that was Kingsman.

Even back at HQ, she was often, dear, dearest, or darling. The only person that she tolerated those endearments from where Eggsy, who used them in jest, and surprisingly Harry Hart. But Galahad, and Galahad Sr. calling her dear was much different than a two-bit, over the top, slick cowboy secret agent she had just met calling her something as intimate as “darling”. 

Would it kill him to call her Lancelot? It miffed her that he used Eggsy’s handle and not hers. Looking at the head of their organisation, she didn’t expect him to be much different. 

She took a seat the near end of the table, between Eggsy and Merlin. Agent Tequila walked in with Ginger, followed by Harry. She was surprised when he continued past them and walked around the head of the table to the other side, the Statesman side, and took a seat next to Ginger. He pulled out his chair, as smooth and as graceful as he sat thousands of times at the head of the Kingsman table. Even unbuttoning the last button of his suit so it wouldn’t crease and smoothing the back of his jacket before he leaned into his chair. The crossed legs, the hands folded on the knee. The authoritative, yet relaxed posture. It was all so familiar. What she couldn’t reconcile was the inscrutable, impenetrable expression that fell over his face every time he glanced in their direction. There was no warmth, no familiarity, no flicker of understanding. It made his face look unfamiliar and she did not like it one bit. 

To add insult to injury, Ginger had leaned over and whispered something in his direction. The small hint of a ‘not quite smile’ that pressed his lips together, his mouth just barely turned up at the corners, meant that she had shared an observation that confirmed something in his mind in a bemused sort of way. It was the look Harry had once made, when inquired about Eggsy’s tardiness, she revealed that he was running late because it was JB’s birthday party later and he wanted to get the dog “pupcakes” to celebrate. The memory tugged at her heart.

She didn’t turn her head to see how Eggsy was faring, but she could almost feel his dejection. She hoped it wasn’t so obvious on his face. Sometimes he was a little too earnest for his own good. Not that her other side was an improvement. Merlin was seated directly across from Harry. Only a distance of several feet, but it might as well have been lengths of the world for as distant Harry was from them. The furrow between the Scotsman’s brows had appeared the moment they discovered Harry alive. It took up residence on his face. Harry Hart, the man who was the only person close enough for Merlin to consider a friend, was now a mystery to him. 

The loss, between Eggsy and Merlin, was a cold empty space that Roxy had the unfortunate pleasure to be seated between. She was determined to warm up whatever mood vacuum that had sucked her in. Or at least not make it any worse.             

 And why did she always have to be the mediator? The men had elected Roxy as their spokesperson as neither of them thought that they would be able to speak without laughing, crying, shouting or hitting something. Predictably, she found herself the voice of reason. To be fair, she WAS the one with the least emotional involvement. Not that she hadn’t adored and respected Harry Hart, like everyone that worked under his guidance, but she had to admit, Merlin and Eggsy must be twice as confused and devastated by the recent turn of events. She mentally steeled herself against any additional revelations that might be thrown their way. But at this point, if there was something that could top this most recent turn of events, they might as well just blow up this joint and let it all burn down, too.

After everyone had settled in, and to her amusement, a pour of whiskey was set in front of each of them. She decided to get this “rodeo” started. She nodded in Champs direction. He tipped his chin, tapped his glass with his pen to get everyone’s attention and announced the opening of the meeting. All the Statesman and Harry, emptied their glasses. From her peripheral she saw Merlin and Eggsy follow suit without hesitation. Did all agencies revolve around the consumption of alcohol? She had already developed quite a tolerance from her brief stint at Kingsman so far. Well, if it brought these two agencies on familiar ground, who was she to argue? She tipped her glass back. And the welcomed the warmth after the initial burn, though still much smoother than could be expected. She appreciated the added touch of liquid courage. She cleared her throat. 

“We find ourselves here, under what we,” she gestured to herself and her colleagues, “believed to be the most difficult of circumstances. Only to be faced with another impossible situation. As you can imagine, the revelation that Harry Hart, our Sr. Agent Galahad,” she nodded in his direction, “who we believed had been killed over a year ago by Richmond Valentine, that he is still alive, has been shocking for us.”

In Harry’s direction, she continued, addressing him directly. “Harry. If we had believed there to be even the most infinitesimal chance that you could have survived Valentine’s bullet, we would have not hesitated to garner all the forces of Kingsman to find you and bring you back.”

Harry, respectfully listened to Lancelot, attentive, but without revealing anything aside from simple interest.

She faltered a little under his gaze. And she, too, wished for that little wink, the small tilt of his chin that would encourage her to continue. Just as he first did when she joined Kingsman, nervous over her first debriefing. There was no comfort to be found in his direction. She took a deep breath and continued. 

“Both Eggsy - our current Galahad - and Merlin witnessed the events of what we thought was your death.” She forced herself to face him, eye to eye, without hesitation. After all that he had sacrificed for them, it was the least she could offer him.

Her voice was clear and firm, her words meticulously thought out. “They saw you get shot, point blank, in the face, by no more than a distance of 10 feet, by a 9mm semi-automatic Heckler and Koch P30. The bullet destroyed the communication transmission via the left lens.”

Both Eggsy and Merlin were looking down. Both remembering all too clearly the events from that day. The details were painful for them to hear, especially when the man who they thought had died, was in fact, sitting across the table. Even though they had every right to call time of death, they couldn’t help but feel they had left him behind. 

Roxy continued. “Merlin, our communications and technology strategist and Galahad, who was at the time, your protege, had witnessed all the events up to the point the bullet severed the transmission. We could only deduce, at that point, that a bullet of that caliber, from that distance, would have shattered the lens.” She took a deep breath, “and continued through the left eye and exited the back of the head. Resulting in immediate death.” 

She could sense Eggsy flinch by her side. He had seen the whole thing far too clearly. 

“As much as we wanted to, we were unable to collect the body at the time of death. Due to unforeseen circumstances regarding treachery within the highest ranks of our agency, Merlin, Eggsy and I, had to straight away address both the source of our internal corruption and abort the plans initiated by Richmond Valentine. We were successful in both, but not in time to prevent casualties, both enemy and civilian.”

In speaking so intimately regarding what they thought was his death, she decided to switch identifiers from “the” to “your”. The man was sitting right in front of her. She spoke with a new earnest note in her voice. Rather than distancing herself from her words, she decided to speak from the place that had felt the same grief and loss as Eggsy and Merlin.

Harry’s eyes took on a different note as he heard the emotion in Roxy’s voice. 

“In the immediate aftermath of V-day, after the initial threat was neutralised, we flew to the States in an attempt to find you, identify you, and bring you home for proper internment, but we were unable to locate your body. We tried over weeks, through every channel, every resource, we followed every lead, with no success. We didn’t hope to find you alive.” 

She fought against the wave of emotion that threatened her composure.

“But we hoped that we would be able to properly commemorate your bravery, your integrity, your sacrifice, with the honour, dignity and grace worthy of your life and your legacy.” 

Roxy had stop for a moment, but she did not look away. A small tear rolled down her cheek without her noticing or bothering to wipe it away. It was as if the loss was new again. This pain was fresh. For all of them.

Harry’s eyes finally softened and they caught a glimpse of the man they remembered. But whether it was empathy for Roxy, clearly struggling to continue as her emotions caught in her throat, or understanding how they felt and what they had to do in the most difficult of situations, they did not know. 

And whatever amnesia he was experiencing had to be temporary, right? Surely Melin could devise a plan to help jump start his memory. Now that the were there, they could help him remember.

—

Roxy was determined to continue until the end. 

“After the events of V-Day, we had to recenter and regroup. Our agency had clearly been compromised. We needed to locate and close the leaks and tie up any loose ends.  Our losses were felt across the board. We had to rebuild what we could from the ground up. To recapture the integrity of our organisation. The immediate need to clean up the aftermath was one of the few things that we could focus on to help us come to terms with your loss. We knew, that if you had survived, you would have taken the mantle of Arthur. And that it would be your highest priority to rebuild the agency beyond reproach.”

“After several weeks, in which we continued our search for you, we felt that it would be best for us personally and professionally to move on. We held a private memorial for you, and honoured you as best as we could. After that, we could only move forward. It was a difficult time for all of us.” 

“We found ourselves here, after our organisation was levelled again. This time with only the three of us as survivors. Our HQ, our foundry, our storefront.” Her eyes flared with anger at this point. “And all of our agents worldwide aside from Galahad and I, were all taken down as targets.”

“Merlin was the only surviving handler and tech strategist and the only one of us that had been with the agency long enough know that a Doomsday protocol existed. With all of our resources destroyed, we had no way of protecting ourselves, to find out who had organised and carried out such a coordinated attack. Our last and only option was to see if this protocol existed.”

“We found the Statesman logo. Located your distillery here in Kentucky. At this point, we really had no plan beyond finding your organisation and hoping that you would be able to assist us.”

“We still had some tech in our possession, which I admit, looked suspicious for a group of tailors to have, let alone know how to use. That’s when your agent found us. We meant no ill will, but we had no other way to get into contact with your organization.  We didn’t even know if you existed. We had nothing to lose but to continue to follow any clues that we might come across. We had no protocol for a circumstance like this.”

“You can only imagine our bewilderment to be taken as adversaries when we were looking for help. And then our shock of finding Harry Hart. Finding him, not only alive, but with no memory of the agency he was devoted to over 30 years. It still is an unthinkable situation that we were not prepared for and obviously, are still trying to process.”

She had been speaking for a long time. She paused, took a sip of water, swallowed, before continuing.

She addressed the table. “Everything that we have said is the truth. We were also an independent intelligence agency with headquarters in London.” 

She turned again to Harry. “You were an integral member of this agency for most of your adult life. You know each of us well. Merlin has been your colleague for over 20 years. You knew Eggsy’s father, he saved your life in a mission that had gone sideways. That was seventeen years ago. You had recruited him as a way to repay his fathers sacrifice. My uncle was also a long time colleague of yours and our families go back many years.”

“We are so grateful that you are alive. We are sorry that we left you behind. That would never be our intention. We are forever indebted to Statesman for saving your life and taking care of you. But as you can imagine, we have questions of our own. How did you get here? How did you survive? Do you have no memory of Kingsman at all? What can you remember? Obviously, you have retained your skills, but to what extent? If you honestly don’t remember, then we can see how unbelievable our story is. But I think if you are still a man of honour and integrity, then you have to feel that we are not hostiles or adversaries. We pose no threat to you. Your instincts must tell you we are offering you the truth.”

She could tell that Harry was processing the information, she just couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Roxy concluded. “And that brings us here to the present. I think our most pressing question is “how did you survive?”

Harry nodded to Ginger to answer the question. He seemed to want to observe the conversation. His attention had never wavered from Roxy while she spoke, only widened at times to include Eggsy or Merlin. If he had come to a conclusion, there was nothing that they could see.

Roxy gladly handed off the meeting to Ginger. Harry’s unwavering gaze was getting a little unnerving. Without the added scrutiny, she could get collect her own thoughts and feelings. Kingsman recruitment training had been brutal, but nothing could have prepared them for the last 48hrs. Nothing in the Gentleman’s Guide had a blueprint on how to behave when your agency gets blown up and your dead mentor, comes back to life, has amnesia, and then almost shoots you.

——

Ginger spoke up.

“I would like to confirm that we now have proof that your story is legitimate Which means, Harry, what they are saying about your history with Kingsman is most likely the truth.”

Harry tilted his chin slightly in her direction in acknowledgement. 

She spoke in the direction of the three Kingsman. “We have just received corroboration from several independent sources that the events did occur as described and that your agency was the target of a massive strike against organisations such as ours. We are sorry for your loss. You will have full access to our resources to investigate this adversary and we will provide you with support. This is a threat that affects all of us.”

Merlin spoke up. His voice was rough with concern. 

“Harry, what happened?” 

Harry’s voice, deep and a with familiar, crisp authority, suddenly filled the space.

“At this point, I believe Ginger will be able to recall the events much more clearly than I. I have no recollection of events immediately following the shooting.” He turned to her. “Please, continue.”

Merlin gaze remained fixed on Harry and worried there for several moments, before he turned his attention to Ginger.

“The day prior to V-Day, we detected the transmission of a very low frequency sound wave. Much lower than what is normally used for any legitimate communication. This frequency, for the time and location, was suspicious to say the least and it was imperative that we investigate. Agent Tequila and I helicoptered to the spot, about 10 miles away.”

“The frequency stopped right about the time we were closing in on the location. We had already pinpointed the source so we knew where it originated from. Even though the transmission had stopped, we could still find clues to its origin.” 

“We were just flying into the zone when we witnessed the shooting. We saw Valentine and his accomplices depart. They didn’t confirm death. I expect they thought that shooting someone in the face.. well, there are not many outcomes. Our timing couldn’t have been better planned. We had developed what we call “alpha gel” to use on our own agents in the case of a head shot. Previously, a head shot meant immediate death. Body armour can only protect so much. We’ve lost very good agents.’ 

But depending on where the bullet entered the skull and if there was minimal damage to the actual brain and spinal cord, the gel could potentially save an agents life. 

Harry was still alive when I checked his vitals. I applied the alpha gel immediately. It’s crucial to activate the gel to prevent tissue damage and accelerate the nannites that are used to repair neural pathways. I won’t go further in depth at this point. The main issue at that moment was to preserve life. 

Of course, because of his glasses, we knew that he was intelligence, we just didn’t know whose and we had no way of finding out without compromising Harry’s safety and our anonymity.  

Harry suffers from retrograde amnesia, which could be from the injury. But it can also be a side effect of the alpha gel. However, when life it at risk, the benefits outweigh the possible negative outcomes. This kind of memory loss, you lose existing, previously made memories. This type of amnesia tends to affect recently formed memories first. Older memories, such as memories from childhood, are usually affected more slowly. 

She motioned to Harry, while he listened closely to her explanation.

“So while Harry was whole as a person, personality wise, function wise, cognitive and behavioural skills in place, he had no memory of who he was aside from what could be observed. He had no memory of his past, people, places, events. This was an interesting case because usually with retrograde amnesia, there can be the regression to the younger self. The skill set and knowledge and the growth that occurred during the time of memory loss can also be lost as well. Such as, if you learned French while you were in college, but you lost the memories of this timeframe, in most cases, you would no longer be able to speak French. In fact, the whole memory that you learned it to begin with would be gone. In these cases, the knowledge and skill learned during this time would also be forgotten. However, in some rare cases, the ability to remember the skill remains, while the memory of the past when it was learned is lost. 

“In Harry’s case, it was obviously the later.” 

The slightest shift in the landscape of Harry’s face indicated that we was thoughtful and reflective. How must it be to wake up and not know who you are.

Harry, while still maintaining full concentration on Ginger, set a small part of him free to revisit the day he regained consciousness. Which technically, would not be regaining consciousness, since he had no recollection of losing consciousness to begin with.

——

POV HARRY HART

“My name is Harry Hart.”  It was the first thought that went through his head.

Secondly, “Caucasion male, 6’2”, brown hair, brown eyes, 58 years of age. 13.5 stone” That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

Thirdly, wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling of emptiness. Not as if he was missing something. It did not feel like loss. It did not feel as if he was lacking. That would imply that there was something present to begin with.  It was not a feeling he could identify or that felt familiar or could find a word that was representative. It was unusual for him. He never found his vocabulary lacking. Perhaps if it could be called a non-feeling. He was a vessel. Neither empty, nor full. And no desire to be either or. An interesting sensation. 

When he first woke up, he had not realised that he was suffering from amnesia. Due to the amnesia there were no memories that insisted he should be a certain person. That he had to exist in a certain place. Doing something specific. A curious circumstance. There was no sense of surprise waking up in the condition he found himself to be. He did whatever he would do in a circumstance like this. Assess the situation. 

As he entered a conscious state, his mind automatically shifted into overdrive. But without moving. Without betraying any kind of change. He felt the need to remain unnoticed. He did this from where he rested. He first determined if he had sustained any injury or damage that had caused permanent physical disability or bodily harm. He had full function of all of his appendages. He did not know how long he had been in this state, but he did not notice any signs of muscle atrophy or joint stiffness. They must have a system that stimulated muscle tissue and nerves to prevent deterioration or he had not been in an immobile state for any length of time. Blinking his eyes was like scrapping sandpaper and his throat was a desert of sand. He attempted to make any kind of noise and found it difficult. That meant he had to have been out for at least some meaningful period of time. His head did ache something awful, and he noted a bandage or some other type of patch over his left eye. The use of only one eye would change his perception of depth, and the range of his peripheral vision, but he did not doubt that he would be able to adjust accordingly.

He had no reason to question his cognitive function. He processed information unhesitatingly and with ease. Without a sense of doubt, without faltering, he scanned the room and began to examine his surroundings. He was being held in some kind of hospital or medical ward. Not civilian. It was either private or for research. Maybe military. Hi tech, advanced equipment. Everything was in pristine condition. Two exits on opposing sides. No windows. A complex ventilation and filtration system suggested an underground location. No immediate threat that he could ascertain, but that could change at any moment. No apparent weapons. Some medical instruments that could possibly work. He was not restrained so he was not being held against his will. Or there was no need if he was unconscious the entire time. He did not feel any urgency or sense of immediate danger, but he did not question his need to assess the situation .

He heard two people approach the door to the left. Judging from the echoing quality and the gradual volume and clarity of their foot steps, from a fairly long corridor. 

His eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his heartbeat was slow and rhythmic. He concentrated on the sound. One set of footsteps was clearly male. The stride was longer, more pronounced, in heavy shoes, presumably boots. But an easy pace. Most likely 6’, 13 stone, physically fit. His gait was even, balanced and light. Not the walk of someone that led a sedentary life. The second set of footsteps he concluded were female. Lighter, but not timid. A confident woman. Just a smaller stature. Medium height. Slight frame. Like her partner, fit, alert, competent. 

He did not know why or how he came up with these deductions, but he did not question them. He held the information in his mind so it was easily accessible. The voices, once they became decipherable, were relaxed and easy. Their tone was jovial and non-threatening. Younger than he was. American accent, with a southern drawl. He could be in the US, but anywhere was possible. While he did not expect danger, he still prepared himself for the risk. Mostly, his need was to understand the where he was, how he got there and have leverage over the situation.

The door opened with a heavy swooshing sound. He did not hear the click of a lock being turned, so he was not being held in high security setting.

The two individuals were still conversing, and he could just almost decipher what they were discussing. The man remained on his right hand side while the woman walked around the foot of the bed to inspect the instruments and diagnostics panels to the left. Her back was turned away from him. The man remained at his side. A quick glance in his direction. A holster was slung around his waist, it held a nickelplated SIG-Sauer P226 with wooden grips. A quality weapon. To his advantage, the strap securing the weapon was not snapped in. That would have been a trickier maneuver.

He guessed the woman was in medical, the man, based on the weapon and the fact that he was not actively participating in the tasks, that he was a guard or protection of some sort. With their relaxed tones, and familiar interactions, possibly a friend or colleague. 

Not one to overthink a situation, he decided now was as good a time as any. No use in waiting, expecting a better scenario. Best to address the situation you know rather than wait for one you don’t. Never a guarantee for a better set of circumstances. Only guarantee is time lost.

He waited patiently for the moment to proceed. Just a small distraction was all he needed. It arrived sooner than he anticipated and under better circumstances that he had the right to expect.

“Tequila, would you be able to hand me the print outs right behind you?” 

Harry saw him turn away from the bed, his hips rotated in his direction, the angle ideal for him to grab, cock and point. He only hoped that his deductions regarding his physical state were correct, or it would be a moot point. He might not even be able to sit up, let alone hold a weapon.  Take the out, the told himself. 

These thoughts occurred within fractions of a second. Without hesitation, in one fell swoop, he grabbed the gun, pulled back the slide to load the chamber. Thankfully his body responded without any resistance or weakness and he slid himself back into an upright position. 

He judged the distance between the three of them. The man called Tequila, was close enough by his side to possibly disarm him, so he swung the weapon in the woman’s direction. She was far enough away that the gun was not within her reach. He centered the sight at her chest. It was not the aim of a stop shot. It was the aim for a kill shot. Might as well show them he was not a man to underestimate. He did not want to shoot her, but he did want to make it very clear to them that he was a man to take very seriously. 

Once he guaranteed that he had their attention. Though he had many questions he wanted answers to, he asked them the two questions that were the most urgent.

His voice was gravelly, but still clear enough to understand. 

“Who are you?”

“What am I doing here?”

For having a gun aimed at her chest, the woman was surprisingly relaxed. She held up her palm towards the other man. She would handle this. The man shifted his weight back to a holding posture rather than the offensive stance that prepared him to take action. 

“You have a British accent. That’s helpful to know. How are you feeling?”

“My first two questions still stand.” He regarded them impassively, but kept any notes of aggression from his tone.

—— 

Gingers POV

“My name is Ginger Ale, I’m Head Strategy Executive and Director of Medical here at our outfit.  This is Agent Tequila. Welcome to Statesman, our whiskey distillery. You’re at our HQ in Kentucky.” 

She handed him a cup of water. “Sip. Don’t guzzle.”

She was succinct. “As for what you are doing here, we were waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us. We found you outside of a church about 10 miles from here. You had been shot in the head. You were still alive, so we did everything we could to keep you that way. You’ve been unconscious the entire time here. Your vitals were strong. We were just waiting for you to wake up. We have some questions for you as well.” 

Her voice was gentle, but firm. He did not catch any inflections or hesitations that would indicate she was lying, or with holding information. Her tone was honest, forthright and it put him slightly more at ease. 

“I answered both of yours. Would you be so kind to answer mine?” She asked politely.

He did not refuse, but he didn’t say yes.

“How are you feeling.” she asked again.

“Would you care to clarify?” He asked in return. “There are multiple ways I can respond to your question.”

So he was witty.

“Pick one.”

“At the present moment, tolerable. Though this persistent ache in my head leaves something to be desired” He equivocated. 

“That’s to be expected with a headshot. You did lose your left eye. There will be residual pain/discomfort until the injury is completely healed.”

“What is your name? 

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“Do you feel comfortable enough at the moment to answer some questions for us? Is there anything that you require immediately? 

“More water would be appreciated. Otherwise, feel free. Fire away.” He looked amused. He reached over to return Tequila’s gun. “Perhaps a poor choice of words in my case.” He revised his response. “Very well then, proceed.”

She refilled his water and pulled a chair next to his bed. Tequila found a place strategically viable to intervene if things went sideways. He wasn’t one to get caught off guard twice.

“Now, since we are on a first name basis, can you tell us why you were at the church that day? Why would someone would want to kill you?”

“No.”

“No?” 

“I simply do not know.”

“Why you were there? Or why someone wanted you dead?”

“Neither.”

“Where are you from?”

His face remained blank.

“That may be a little vague.” Ginger specified. “Where do you live? Where is your home?”

No response.

How old are you?

“58” 

“Do you know what you do for a living? Where do you work?”

An almost imperceptible turn of the head.

“Can you remember where you went to school? Secondary or university.”

He squinted his eyes. But no answer.

“Do you know who the current world leader is? President? Prime Minister?”

Her regarded her impassively. She started to form her own understanding of how he was communicating. She could play along. Any form of communication was good for her. It didn’t have to be words. There was more than one way to impart information. It would all get her to the same place. Plus, she would have the chance to read his non-verbal cues. That would be a challenge. His expression was nearly inscrutable.

A slight turn of the head meant I don’t know. His impassive face meant maybe, but he can’t know for sure. The blank disinterested stare meant that he had no idea what she was referring to. She was already intrigued by her patient. She was becoming more fascinated by the moment. 

Changing tactics, she asked. “Can you play the piano?”

A slight tilt of the head. This was new. That meant the question sparked something in his mind. It was a possibility, but he couldn’t know for sure. Interesting. She went further down her tangent.

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?”

Without hesitation, he rattled off. “3.1415926535”

“Parle vous français?”

“Oui”

How many languages can you speak?

“Six ”

“What are they?”

English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic.

Hmmm. Arabic was interesting. She filed that away to look at more closely at a later time.

“Do you know were you learned Arabic or why?”

He was taciturn.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

Impassive.

“Do you own a car?”

Impassive.

“Do you know how to drive.”

“Yes.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought to herself.

“What was your favourite game as a child?”

He furrowed his brow but answered.

“Chess.”

Were you good?

“Yes.”

“Did you compete?

No answer.

Hmm. Retrograde amnesia, she pondered.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

A tilt of the head. Possible, but can’t confirm.

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

“I have no reason to doubt that.”

“Do you know what orange means?”

“The color or the fruit?”

Good. “The fruit, what does it remind you of? 

“Winter. Christmas.”

Excellent. “Do you remember a Christmas from your past?”

Blank stare.

“Do you think you’re attractive? Good looking.”

He huffed, amused. 

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Not to seem chuffed, but I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.”

“Can you remember any specific compliments that you’ve received in the past?”

Thwarted.

Good. “So you know that other people think you are attractive and desirable. But is that how you see yourself?”

 “I was attempting to be modest.” 

She waited for his response.

Reluctantly, “Yes.” He admitted. “I know that I am attractive, handsome, good looking. However you would like to call it.” 

He continued even though he had already answered the question. It was his first moment of revealing information on his own.

“I would go out with myself if I were able, but unfortunately, that is not an option. I am not a narcissist. However, I would say that I regard myself with a healthy and acceptable amount of vanity. “ 

Did Ginger just discern a bit of sarcasm?

His good looks have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she could blame him. She was curious to know how his appearance either hindered him or helped him. She did note that there was no wedding ring when they found him. She couldn’t complain. It didn’t hurt her daily check ups that he was extremely easy on the eyes. Even his hospital issue gown made him look handsome.

Ok. Time to move on. She switched her line of questioning. 

“Where are you right now?” She asked.

His expression was doubtful. Of her, not of his answer. His face asked the question. “Didn’t we just discuss this?” Nevertheless, he answered her with a bemused sigh.

“Kentucky, United States. Apparently 10 miles away from a church where I was shot in the head.”

Ginger nodded. She was encouraged. 

He didn’t see why. It wasn’t difficult to recall. She had only just told him.

“Do you remember our names and what we do?”

He found the helpfulness of these questions debatable, but if it would accelerate his process, he was willing to comply. And participate, if it made this whole interaction a tad more interesting.

“Your name is Ginger Ale. After the beverage, I can only assume. Your colleague, here, is called Tequilla, after the alcohol. I am under the the impression that these are code names that are assigned by the intelligence agency that employs you. Statesman. With a distillery as a backstop. Hence the libation themed code names. 

“Ginger Ale, I gather from your code name’s slight variation, you are in an essential, but supportive role. Whereas Tequila, a right tipple, would be classified as an agent. Of your independent organisation. I would believe, comparable to the CIA, but without the restrictions that often hinder government run spy organisations. And with more interesting code names.”

There was just the slightest hint of cockiness in his tone and in his expression. She found it equally amusing and charming at the same time. Now they were making progress. More than she could have hoped for.

He was obviously intelligent, well mannered, well spoken, though taciturn. Understandable upon waking up with no memory of where he was and why he was there. It was a very promising discovery. He seemed to accept his situation without resistance. He was alert. No hint of confusion. Just a desire to understand the circumstances he found himself in. 

He was emotionally stable, if not a little irritated, by his current state. He took the loss of his eye as a matter of fact. Overall, his ability to acclimate was nothing short of remarkable. 

He folded his hands on his lap, one over the other, tilted his chin in her direction. His posture said. “I’m waiting patiently..” He was throwing shades of a personality she was already warming toward. 

There was a momentary pause. They regarded each other with interest. 

 Finally Harry spoke. “I have amnesia.” He wasn’t asking a question. He was stating it as a fact.

She confirmed. Nodding. 

“I would like to perform some additional CT and MRI scans, and EEG, but judging from the traumatic brain injury you’ve suffered, you most likely have retrograde amnesia. Just based on this conversation alone. To be more specific. Focal retrograde amnesia. 

She continued to explain. “Focal retrograde amnesia, also known as isolated or pure retrograde amnesia, is when someone only experiences the loss of memories that have already been made. Anterograde amnesia, on the other hand, is being unable to form new memories.

He listened to her with a new interest. 

She continued. “So, it appears you have retrograde amnesia, but no anterograde. This means that the ability to form new memories is left intact. You easily recalled information from a short time ago. That is very good news.” She paused, looking for his understanding.

“Please, go on.” He said.

“This kind of isolated memory loss doesn’t affect a person’s intelligence or ability to learn new skills, like playing the piano or affect previously learned skills, like driving a car, speaking different languages. Most likely, if we sat you at a piano, you would be able to play, based on your response to my question.”

“What is the prognosis?”

Ginger, equivocated, a little hesitant “With amnesia, it’s difficult to predict. Retrograde amnesia can result from damage to different parts of the brain responsible for controlling emotions and memories. These include the thalamus, which is deep in the center of the brain, and the hippocampus, which is in the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. There are many variables involved.”

“Thats is all very interesting, but doesn’t quite give me any predictions for my future.” 

“To be completely honest, for the injury you sustained, the amnesia is surprisingly less severe than I would have predicted. Most traumatic brain injuries are mild, resulting in concussion. But a severe injury, like a serious blow to the head, or a bullet for that matter, can damage the memory-storing areas of the brain and lead to anterograde amnesia as well. Depending on the level of damage, the amnesia could be temporary or permanent. I know that’s not very helpful.”

“Ginger, there is no need to “hedge your bets” as they would say. I am quite prepared to accept any answer you provide.”

“The fact that you can remember new information is promising. Your cognitive and behavioural skills are, as far as I can tell, excellent. I would be interested to test your knowledge further. You may have skills that you don’t know you have until you have a need for them.”

“If I were to summarise… “ Ginger concluded. “And please let me know if I go too far off the beaten path as I find this area of research very intriguing.”

She stole a glance at Tequila. “Many would find it boring.” 

Tequila gestured with a shrug of his shoulders..”So what? I think it’s boring.”

Ginger turned back toward Harry.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As much as one could hope.”

“Please understand that I’m generalising here. Just the fact that you are interested in this subject and can process information is extremely promising. The questions I asked you, though random, I asked for very specific reasons.” 

“Our memories” she explained, “can be separated into two groups: Explicit and Implicit. Each of these categories can then be further broken down. If I can use your case as an example?”

Harry nodded.

In the clear and assured tones of a professor, she explained. 

“Explicit memories, or declarative memories, are those we consciously try to remember and recall. When I ask you a question, such as, “Where were you born?” to answer, you would navigate through your explicit memory.

“Explicit memory stores events and facts. This is your conscious memory. You know that you have them and can remember them when you need to. In your case, I asked you to recall a derivative of Pi. You did that easily. That would be an explicit memory. Your knowledge of different languages also taps into your explicit memory.” 

Harry was still, but receptive.

Encouraged by his attentiveness, she broke the concept down further.

“Of these explicit memories, there are three different types. The first two are episodic and semantic memories. Do you know what semantic means?” She asked him.

“Of course. That which is related to language.”  replied Harry.

Ginger was pleased.

“Exactly. Our semantic memory stores knowledge about words, concepts and language-based knowledge and facts. Knowing the definition of “Semantic” is, in fact, a semantic memory. So is your knowledge of Pi in relation to the numerical expression, and the ability to speak different languages. This part of your memory seems to be unaffected.”

She checked in with Harry. She had the tendency to explain way beyond the interest of the listener. He confirmed. Go on.

“The second kind of explicit memory is called episodic memory. This is information about events that you have personally experienced. For example, if something looks or feels familiar, you’re probably trying to pull from your episodic memory. Times in your life, people, places, emotions and context that make up the events in your life. The what, when, where, how and why of your memory.”

“This seems to be a large part of your memory that has been affected and it seems to go back for a very long time. Typically, when you see lapses in episodic memory, it’s usually the more recent memories that can’t be accessed. Memories of childhood are still there.  In your case, your entire past seems to be wiped.

He asked his first question. Well, other than the first two, but that was at gunpoint, so they didn’t really count.“Then how is it that I still have all of this knowledge.”

“Yes, just getting to that. Now we move over to your implicit memories. These memories are not part of your consciousness.”

She took a breath. “These memories are based on behaviours and movements. Memories that are retained through practice and repetition. A learned skill would be part of this memory.”

She had vast knowledge of memory loss due to brain trauma and she welcomed the opportunity to share. “There are two types of implicit memories. Procedural and emotional conditioning.”

“Procedural stores information about how to do things. Why you are able to perform actions without consciously monitoring the sub procedures that need to be pieced together in order to perform the task. Or, more simply, it’s the reason you can brush your teeth without a second thought. It is the memory for skilled actions.”

“This part of the memory is why you can do things without thinking about them. You know how to drive a car. But you don’t know if you own one. You can play chess, but you don’t know if you played competitively. Same with the piano. You can shoot a gun, but you don’t know if you’ve ever killed someone. Even something as simple as brushing your teeth is part of this. You don’t have to consciously think about every sub action you have to make, or the motor skills involved. Probably the same way with a gun. If I asked to take apart and reassemble Tequila’s gun, you could probably do so without knowing how or why you possess that skill.”

“Lastly is Emotional Conditioning.  This can be a little trickier to identify. I would have to ask you more questions to see how this part of your memory was affected. These memories are made through classical conditioning, associations made through stimuli. You know what an orange is. You know what they smell like. It reminds you of Christmas. This is emotional conditioning. But you can’t remember any Christmas that you’ve had. That is your episodic memory.”

Harry looked openly thoughtful. He was no longer guarding his expression. The softness took years off his face. It was hard not to just stare at him. 

“There’s one more category of explicit memories that is important. Autobiographical. This memory system is made up of both episodic and semantic aspects of your memory. It’s a collection of memories specifically related to the self. This could be how you look, your height, specific meaningful points in your life, or the general idea of your concept of self. Which is why I asked you questions not just on how you look, but how you, yourself, viewed your looks.”  

“You know what a gun is. Semantic. You know how to shoot a gun. Procedural. You don’t know if you’ve ever killed anyone. Episodic. Killing someone is only acceptable under certain circumstances. Emotional conditioning. But without knowing whether or not you’ve ever killed anyone, you believe you are a good person. Autobiographical.”

“In regards to the actual landscape of your brain, your cerebellum and prefrontal cortex seem to be the least affected.  In addition to contributions to implicit memory, conditioned responses, fine motor movements, posture and coordination, the cerebellum also maintains internal representations of the external world, which allow you to move in darkness as long as the room or space is familiar to you, and how you would need to position your self to aim a gun and hit a moving target.”

Harry was still engaged, so she went on. 

“It seems the hippocampus was the most affected by your injury. This would make sense based on the entry point of the bullet. This part of the brain processes declarative and episodic memory, people, places, and things as well as recognition memory.” 

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’d like you to rest in the meantime. You’ve only just woken up, in well, less than ideal circumstances. Even though you say you feel “acceptable” you are still recovering from a major injury.  We’ll follow up with you more frequently, now that you are awake.” She wasn’t asking.

Harry, for the first time, addressed Tequila. “I take it that she is always the voice of reason.”

“Without fail.”

“And I assume there is no sense in arguing.”

“None at all.”

——

For simplicity’s sake, they assumed that he was from the UK as many of his mannerism and idiosyncrasies were quintessentially British. Tequila had gotten into the habit of calling him Hart, or The Brit for short. Harry, who was not one for such informalities, was amused. He did, however, recognise that Americans, as well as Statesman, were more easy going and relaxed in their word, dress and interactions with each other, overall. 

——

“Was there anything, physically, or possessions that I had on my body when you found me, that would offer any clues to my identity.”

Ginger paused. “Well, Harry, we found you in quite a unique state.”

They had already been over the event numerous times. But Harry knew that little details were often overlooked the first time around and could surface after a spell.  Ironic, since his own memory wouldn’t be surfacing in any amount of time. He would have rather used a more elegant metaphor, but he was like a top notch computer with nothing to process. All of his files were wiped. Who knew if they were recoverable. No use in wondering. 

When Ginger Ale and Agent Tequila found Harry, he had made quite the impression. As the helicopter descended, Ginger and Tequila saw him closely for the first time. He was splayed out, flat on his back, unconscious, with a bullet through his eye, wearing of all things, an impeccably tailored, navy pinstripe double breasted suit. He was fully decked out with all the details. Spread collar, tie with a Windsor knot, suspenders, oxfords, even a tie pin, cufflinks, a pocket square, and a signet ring. It was a sight not often seen in their part of Kentucky.

While Ginger attended to the man, Tequila checked the church. It was the site of a bloodbath. This was no mass shooting. A mass shooting would be clean and simple compared to what he found inside.  These people had been slaughtered. Creatively. Luckily, whatever or whoever the threat was that had massacred the congregation, had departed. 

Harry had definitely been involved in the bloodshed, but to what extent, they did not know. The tell tale signs were on his suit. It hard to see the bloodstains against the dark wool, but there were unmistakable splashes of red on the crisp whiteness of his cuffs and collar. It was torn in places, whether from a weapon or some other object, one couldn’t tell. But mostly, the proof was on his hands. They were stained with blood and gunpowder residue up to his wrists. He did not have any weapons on his person when they found him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one inside. Nevertheless, a person doesn’t get that much blood on themselves from using a gun. Even at close range, the blood spatter would spray backward. 

Whatever he had been involved in, it was up close and personal. Rage sound waves plus the expert skill and killer instinct of a veteran assassin could definitely equal the carnage that was left behind. He was fitted with a shoulder holster, but no weapon. They didn’t have enough time to search for identifying evidence in the church. The object that they found the most interesting were his glasses. Handsome, squared off, dark tortoiseshell horn rimmed frames. But it was the lenses that revealed the most about him. The glasses told them he was intelligence. They just didn’t know whose.

Intelligence agents, as a rule, never carry anything that can identify them. Harry was no exception. His clothing, even his shoes, though exceptionally well made and no doubt very expensive, bore no labels. It was all bespoke, custom made to fit him, and him alone and as a result, no identifying markers.

They tried to reverse engineer the communications transmitter from the remaining lens. They also attempted to disassemble his watch, but both were designed to withstand and prevent external tampering. Whoever designed them was talented and had the foresight to put anti-tampering mechanisms in place. 

Of course, they had run a facial recognition and prints through their international database, but as they expected, there were no matches to be found. They couldn’t investigate thoroughly without compromising his safety. Obviously someone wanted him dead. It could even be his own agency. More than once, had an agent been removed by their own employer. The threat might still exist. Nor could they risk the anonymity of their own agency. 

They scanned news for anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, any unusual occurrences that happened at the same time, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if a fellow agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer. While Harry was recovering, they also put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description in the civilian world. Even if he was an intelligence agent, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a cover in place, a backstop that could possible lead to his identity.

His accent immediately suggested he was from the UK. However, his lack of a specific regional dialect, made it difficult to narrow their search criteria. Harry’s accent was that of the Queens English, or RP Received Pronunciation. Which might mean he was from Great Britain, or any of the commonwealth countries. Their contacts at MI6 and MI5 received a little exchange of information to see if they had any leads, of which there were none. Whatever agency that he was with, was not government funded. Of course there was the brotherhood of clandestine intelligence agencies across the globe. But in this circumstance, they did not want to broadcast that they were potentially sheltering an agent that could have possibly blown his cover, been burned, or been compromised in any fashion. The safest avenue for both Statesman and Harry was to remain inconspicuous until a tangible lead was discovered.

Because, at the very least, he was intelligence, and so were they, they were curious as to his specialty, his area of expertise. Handling a gun was part of every agents training, no matter where their loyalties lie. It was no surprise that he was comfortable shooting a weapon. All agents were. It was possible that he could be a clandestine officer, or focus on espionage, recruiting assets. He could be an interrogator. He was intelligent, well spoken, articulate. Psych-ops, psychological warfare or diplomacy could be just as likely.  His fastidious appearance, polite manner and gentlemanly demeanour would certainly lend itself to international relations. Certainly a man with his physical attributes wouldn’t be secluded to a desk in analysis. With his charming personality he could possibly be a raven, a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes. That would be effortless on his part. He would just have to show up. There were many ladies that had taken notice of the handsome figure who was a mysterious presence at Statesman’s HQ.

 It was also feasible that he had cross specialties. Some of the specialties would be more challenging than others to assess. Weapons were straightforward. You were either good or you weren’t. Once he felt both physically and mentally up to task, they brought him to their version of Hogan’s Ally or the Farm, the FBI and the CIA’s, respectively, tactical training facilities. 

When Harry’s health improved, they discovered the true extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected.  As Harry’s strength and coordination returned, complex tasks became second nature again. His body began to respond to the stimulus and he gravitated toward the physical challenges that Statesman tested him with. What they learned on the shooting range, then in the Statesman tactical training facility and Special Operations Division, they did not expect and were not prepared for.

Harry found the whole process amusing. If not outright entertaining. Losing ones memory had its advantages. One need not worry about expectations, preconceived notions or judgement. He would either be good, or he would not be. Either outcome would be acceptable to him. No one, not even he, would know the outcome until after the fact. And he knew how useless it was to wish for one scenario or the other when anything was possible.

What did happen, was that the challenges of their tactical installation were not capable of quantifying his ability. His skills far surpassed the most advanced exercise they had.

He proceeded to excel at every exercise, drill, and challenge they placed in front of him. He performed without thought, without hesitation, with the grace and composure they had come to equate him with. First, on the shooting range and then finally on their full scale replicated “warehouse” where they would simulate real life combat situations, including the use of live rounds.

The first test was for speed and accuracy and his knowledge of different firearms.  At the shooting range, they laid out a variety of weapons in front of him. The guns were unloaded. He was tasked with loading the ammunition in to the proper clip or magazine and then loading the weapon. He was to discharge the all the rounds at the target at the end of the range. Aiming for a kill shot either at the head or chest, release the clip and return the weapon and then move onto the next weapon he was familiar with. 

Statesman didn’t know what to expect, but the certainly didn’t anticipate what they witnessed. 

Harry had insisted on wearing his full suit as he did every day. The Brit was calm, cool and composed. He was neither excited nor concerned regarding the proceedings. More than anything, he seemed relaxed, but slightly more interested in the tactical challenges than the cognitive behavioural tests that they had him perform. They explained to him what the task was. One by one, load the clip, load the matching weapon, discharge all the rounds, release and repeat. 

Without any visible effort on his part, Harry loaded the first clip, loaded the weapon, and then seemingly without aiming, pulled the trigger.  The first several shots landed off mark. He adjusted and then fired the entire clip, alternating between two chest shots, followed by one round to the head of the target at the end of the range, chambering each bullet between shots if there was a slide. It did not go unnoticed that his method was the one used by assassins. They all knew, when eliminating a target, it was without fail, two to the chest, one to the head. He was still completing his follow through on the previous round, while reaching for the next clip, before releasing the clip of the weapon in his hand and switching to the next. He did this smoothly, with ease, dexterity and without hesitation with the entire set of weapons. One after the other, shot after shot, hitting mark after mark without effort. No fancy moves, no showy stance, just incredibly efficient, accurate, skill and technique. With the reverb of gunshots echoing through their ears, Harry laid down the last gun in line with the rest, turned toward the observing Statesman. His precision was astounding. 

 There was no perceptible change in his demeanour. He could have been doing a crossword puzzle for all the exertion that was evident on his face. 

“Does this suffice?” His face was pleasant. There could have also been the tiniest hint of amusement. 

It was Ginger that spoke up first. “I do believe, yes, that will suffice.”

Tequila regarded him not only like he was from a different country, but a different species of man all together.

 “How the hell ’dya do that?”

Harry gave him a good natured smile. 

“Knowledge of the weapons.” He continued plainly while smoothing out the front of his suit and adjusting his cuffs to their proper length.

“One must possess an understanding of the moving variables involved when discharging handguns, especially for a significant number of rounds. One must focus on accuracy, which involves trigger pull pressure and control, proper stance, a secure but consistent grip, taking in to account grip tension and fatigue. Excessive trigger pull weight will cause muscle fatigue of the index finger and can ultimately lead to task failure during pistol marksmanship.”  

While opening and closing his shooting hand, he massaged the base of his trigger finger. 

“With the variety of weapons that were included in this drill, one must locate the front site alignment based on the make and model and identify the site picture, either combat, center, 6 o’clock hold, if adopting a classic stance. However, front site becomes irrelevant in situations where the target is not in front of you.”

The Statesman were surreptitiously glancing at one anther. Was this man for real?

“And then one must consider breath control, trigger press and reset, and naturally, follow through.  Of course, one must account for situational awareness. Needless to say, it is far less complicated aiming at a static bullseye in a controlled environment,” He gestured to the range. “rather than at a moving target under enemy fire.”       

He spoke with an easy nonchalance, as if he were describing how to serve tea. Incidentally, last week, Harry had already instructed them on the official rules of how to prepare a proper cup of tea. He had looked vaguely insulted when he inquired about tea and Tequila handed him a cold bottle of sweet tea from a nearby cooler. Following this incident he educated them on the finer points of afternoon tea.

“First and most importantly,” he informed them.” Select the appropriate English tea.”

Harry recommended Earl Grey, Breakfast Blend, or Traditional 100’s black teas. Slightly more bitter than American teas, he informed them.

“Always use freshwater for individual steeping. Boil water between 180-200 degrees.”

Harry stated that it was imperative that the water is at boiling point to properly release the flavours of the tea.

“Slowly pour into a teapot over a single tea bag or loose leaf diffuser. Let it steep for six minutes. Remove the tea bag. Do not squeeze the tea bag. Pour the tea into a proper tea cup, not a coffee mug. At this time, one can add milk, not sugar, unless you want to disrupt the flavour of the tea.” 

He was firm on the following point. “Only milk, if you are looking to make a proper cup. The color of the tea with milk should have a dark orange-brown hue, similar to American coffee. Once the milk is stirred, the tea should be at the perfect temperature to enjoy. If feeling especially British, one can pair with scones and clotted cream.” 

With the same casual, relaxed ease, he continued. “Naturally, it helps if one is familiar with muzzle velocity, air resistance, barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed. The quantity and quality of propellant used in the firearm as well as projectile mass and length of the barrel.”

He saw the blank stares of the Statesman agents. He equivocated, “Or in more simple terms, front site, trigger press, and follow through.”

If he was this level on the shooting range, they were eager to see what surprises he had in store for the simulation. If his performance on the shooting rage was any indication of his abilities, his proficiency on the full scale replica could very possibly be stupefying. 

Word traveled with the wind on Statesman grounds. The following day, allowing his shooting hand appropriate time to recover, Harry prepared for the real life simulation.  A variety of curious onlookers, from fellow agents, handlers and operations support began to gather in small, inconspicuous groups at the control center where anyone watching would have full audio and visual of Harry the entire time. 

The immersive course was situated in two enormous warehouses with an open courtyard area in between.  It was devised to test Harry’s technical and tactical skill. So far, he had shown exemplary marksmanship. But like he had mentioned, it was much less complicated to shoot with accuracy in a range under a controlled environment. The ability to perform with the same accuracy and precision under pressure is what separated a good agent from an exceptional one. They were going to find out which category Harry fell into.

Harry, as an operator, would have to perform under the following conditions; unknown target distances that vary from close to extended ranges, identifying threats and non-threats prior to engagement, making decisions under pressure, speed vs. precision shots, tactical movements, utilising different types of cover and tactical shooting positions to accomplish the mission, which was to come out clean on the other side. Firearms ranged from pistol, rifle, shotgun, carbine rifle, AK -47, as well as improvised munitions. There could be an active shooter scenario. A hostage situation. Anything was possible.

The Statesman insisted that he didn’t have to wear his suit during the engagement and offered him combat gear. His suit was certain to interfere with his maneuverability. He showed up to the course, fully attired in his classic pinstripes, down to the cuff links. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt completely natural and at ease. 

“One should always be able to engage in life threatening situations while properly attired.”  He explained. 

 Call it vanity, call it pride, but he only felt comfortable in suits when he was in a professional role. Wearing anything else seemed sacrilegious. He wasn’t going to wear any less for an evaluation, no matter what the evaluation entailed. And he was very particular. About his suit specifically. He had several suits tailor made by a firm of Statesman’s recommendation. 

The one concession that he did make regarding his attire was to replace his Oxfords with the Statesman issue cowboy boots. Cowboy boots, of all things. But he had to confess, they felt good on his feet. It was easier to cover the unfamiliar terrain of the Statesman property, which included dirt, gravel, hay, barns, and stables and various other interesting outbuildings. At least the boots still made a familiar sound on hard surfaces. He particularly enjoyed the hollow, rounded quality his footsteps made when he crossed Statesman’s many hardwood floors. Particularly in the large storage areas the housed the enormous barrels of whiskey while they aged. 

He was also pragmatic. The boots were definitely more appropriate on the occasions they went horse riding, or other “outdoor activities” that his new keepers might engage in. While he might be fastidious in regards to his appearance, he still valued practicality.  For the landscape of Kentucky, the boots were more appropriate. And they did indeed, have a satisfying click that was comfortingly familiar. 

While the course was being finalised, he tested his right hand by creating a fist and then opening his palm wide. He repeated this several times. There was residual soreness from the prior days drill, but nothing that caused him concern. In the simulation, there would be a wide variety of firearms and weapons available in the course. Not every weapon would be a handgun. A shotgun or a riffle could be braced on the shoulder. Different weapons would require a different set of muscle and therefore prevent repetitive fatigue.

His shooting hand didn’t concern him, he was fairly certain he could fire from his weak hand as well. He was curious to find out. He decided to try even if the opportunity didn’t present itself. 

As he entered the course, the Statesman gathered around the monitors.

Even in a suit, he manoeuvred like an elite operator. His movement was refined, graceful, efficient. He held himself tall when he needed to check and clear areas, keeping his spine in alignment. His footing was sure and stable as he maintained a mid-foot drive with every step he took, balancing his weight between the ball of his foot and the heel.

He was not one to peacock. His skills and technique always had a specific goal and end result in mind. Ego had no place in life and death scenarios. But on the course, after he completed a task successfully, he could’t help but push the level of his abilities. Explore his edge. He began following up his kill shots with a second maneuver from a trickier vantage point, or with a more demanding technique, adopting more and more challenging strategies and unlikely scenarios. Each time, giving a little bit more than was necessary. He wanted to discover the full capacity of his skill. 

On the course, he felt a new vitality. Whether it be due to the physical exertion of being in the field, or the mental challenges that sharpened the edges of his mind, he did not question. He simply allowed it to flow.

He attempted to fire from his non-dominant hand when the weapon and the cover required it. He adopted a canted shooting stance, firing the gun from a 45 degree angle, aiming for a target that would be impossible in his position with a right hand grip. Well, that was confirmation he could shoot with both hands. When he needed to reload, he also did so with one hand, just to see if he could. He could. With the slide locked to the rear, he placed the gun between his knees with the grip facing upwards. He slid the magazine and then locked it into place and removed the gun from between his knees. His hand hit the slide release and he got back into the fight in a matter of seconds. Some of those watching hadn’t been noticed. His technique and execution was flawless.

He fired on the run at a moving target who was using a “civilian” as cover and hit his mark.

He shot two weapons at a time.

He shot from behind his back. 

He could shoot through things and still hit his target on the other side. 

He could shoot away from a target, knowing that the force and angle of the ricochet would hit its intended target.

He used bullets as a tool, shooting items into place, to remove barriers, open doors.

He used bullets to adjust a reflective surface so he could see around a blind corner.

It was as if he was mapping the entire course and picturing it in his head while he moved. Once he scanned an area, he was immediately able to place the location in relation to his position and the rest of the course. 

Not only was he expert at weaponry, a top notch marksman, his physical capabilities far exceeded their expectations. He was physically fit, but it was beyond that. He was evolved. He had a body awareness, not only in control of his physical actions, but the awareness of his own body moving through space. (He would be one hell of a lover) At times his movements were economical, not wasting a single iota of energy on a motion that was unnecessary.

But the movements that he did come up with were impressive. One motion would seamlessly flow into the next like a dance. A dance with bullets and weapons, but a dance nonetheless. 

He could shoulder roll while aiming and discharging a weapon.

He could knee slide to dodge obstacles.

He could position himself to make a defensive position into an offensive one. 

He could use a target as a cover, while taking out the target at the same time.

He could practice hand to hand combat for close quarter contact, simultaneously hit targets on the periphery with his weapon. 

At one point he threw his gun forward in the air, while on the move, used both hands to catapult himself over a low wall while the gun was still traveling through space. He caught the gun, landed and then swung it around in his hand and used it as a cudgel to incapacitate a target before he had a chance to reload. 

Agent Tequila leaned in.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Ginger replied.

If they hadn’t witnessed it on the monitors, they would not have believed it. 

It seemed like the further he got into the course, the better he performed.

He moved faster, with more precision, solved problems more quickly, took out more targets.

His most valuable asset, even more than his marksmanship and his physical and tactical expertise, would be his sheer creativity and his ability to improvise on the fly. It was as if, when faced with a problem, there was always a solution. You could almost hear him say, “Well, let’s find out.” The methodology that he used could be seen as unorthodox. It often purposely put him in harms way, but that same method enabled him to open a door to a solution that previously had not been possible. It wasn’t that the proposed solution was not feasible. The solution did not even exist until he created it.  He was confident enough to trust his own judgement and took risks in only the most challenging situations.

Agent Tequila, “If there was a soundtrack to go with this, that would be some kickass music”. 

Ginger nodded. She had to agree. Watching Harry move the way he did in his suit? It might seem silly or old fashioned or traditional to think what she did. He looked noble, gallant, honourable even.

Harry Hart was never one to disappoint. When he was expected to deliver, he delivered and then some. He completed the course while beating Statesman’s record time. To the observers, it felt like he had been in the warehouse for a lifetime. Hadn’t he been moving in slow motion? Some of them even forgot to breathe. 

He burst through the exit on the other side. The doors opened to the sound of cheers and applause. The breeze was cool on his skin, while the sun provided an inviting warmth. The air was fresh and crisp. It was a beautiful day to feel accomplished. He left any residual stress or tension behind. He felt light.

This was not a sight that Statesman was accustomed to seeing after a course was completed. More often than not, the agent would appear dazed, distressed, a little shell-shocked, a little traumatised, perhaps even rethinking his chosen career. Not many were cut out for this kind of work. Rarely did you ever see one, not just capable of the work, but made for it, thrive on it. Harry Hart was the latter.

Harry was exhilarated in a way that he hadn’t felt since he regained consciousness. The calm, cool, collected, focused, deadly Harry Hart from the warehouse gave way and a new man took his place. His expression opened up with a vibrant laugh that changed the very structure of his face. Hell, it changed him into a different person. Whatever, walls, barriers he built had fallen aside, revealing his true authentic nature. He was a man who enjoyed being alive. When he grinned, it was easy to imagine that he would have no problem winning hearts. Certainly most of the females that had watched him take the course were left a little breathless, a little enchanted. And actually, the men didn’t look that much different. 

Why did he seem so attractive at that moment?  

Why did he look so charismatic as he stood, tall and confident in his pinstripe suit, outside the warehouse with an easy smile and warm brown eyes? What had changed from the time he entered the course on the other side? 

The man who started the course had been handsome. The man that came out at the end? It would be easy to fall in love with him. That man was beautiful.

They were seeing a man in his element.  

They were witnessing a man finding his identity.

He seemed more present, more there, more alive. 

He finally felt like he had a place and a purpose. 

When he woke up in the medical ward, his first thought had been:  “My name is Harry Hart.” 

It was different now. There was a connection, a new realization. 

Now he was awakening outside the warehouse.

This time around, he thought to himself.

“I am Harry Hart.”

His brown eyes appeared even more golden in the sunlight. They were warm and inviting. No longer cold. No longer closed off. The light wind tossed a lock over his forehead. In a rare gesture he ran his hand through his hair.

He slung the communication headset around his neck, but not before jesting.

“All right.” He said definitively.   He paused for a moment.

He grinned. “Would you like to see that again?” 

——

What they discovered when Harry completed the course. …Whatever past Harry had come from, he had advanced tactical and technical skills that had muscle memory and strategy so ingrained into every fiber of his being that he didn’t need to think–he simply acted. In the face of immediate life threatening danger, he didn’t merely react to a situation. He took charge. He didn’t make decisions to survive. He made decisions to win.

They had to assume an agent of his caliber would be missed by his organisation. His talent, skill and expertise, if found in an agent, you very well make sure that agent stays in your employ. It was even likely that he was a senior agent or a director. They could certainly imagine him in a leadership role. A complicating factor could be that he was presumed deceased, and therefore, there was no chatter on the wire where you could find information, if only you knew what to look for. 

——

After Harry had literally triumphed over the course, there was a new aura about him. Before the trials, though he was always the perfect gentleman, he was reticent, distant, not quite aloof, but definitely keeping himself an arms length away. Both physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t one to participate in any activities that weren’t directly related to him. He certainly didn’t spend time in the lounge, conversing with the others or stopping in for a cocktail. He didn’t socialise with any of the others. He would politely participate in conversations that happened around him. Could be quite engaging when immersed in a topic he was intrigued with. There was an unspoken invitation that he was always welcome. In addition, one of the Statesman usually asked him to join directly. Harry would always politely decline. Not offering a reason or excuse, but simply turning down the offer in his quiet, but firm way.

He answered questions that were directed to him, but when the conversation took a turn away from work and into more personal areas, he would offer his apologies and depart for a quiet location. He could often be seen a little aways from campus, sitting in the sun, an open book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. 

He never spoke of his past unless he was questioning Ginger or Tequila for any information that they may have overlooked when they initially found him. By all appearances, he seemed to be handling himself well. Especially under the circumstances. But since they didn’t have a frame of reference, they didn’t know if he was usually so reserved, or if this was a result of the situation he found himself in. 

They found that he could horse ride. Once he brushed up on tacking and the most basic fundamentals of horsemanship, he was able to recall the rest on his own. He only rode alone. He never left the campus unless it was required by Statesman. He wouldn’t have anywhere to go besides. The only time he was away, was when he was on horseback. 

He did make an exception regarding his attire when it came to this activity. The Statesman all rode western style. A suit wasn’t the most appropriate. If they rode English, he would have requested a riding habit. His compromise? A pair of trousers, and a button down shirt. No suit, no jacket, no tie. Regardless, he did make a striking figure on horseback. Once he was, quite literally, back in the saddle, he handled himself gracefully. He was both firm and gentle with the animals and they responded to him in turn. He seemed more at ease and communicate more with the horses than with people. It was auspicious, though, seeing a cowboy hat perched on this head. 

They kept an eye on him, at least from a distance. Making sure that they caught any signs of undue stress, mental or emotional problems, disassociation, anhedonia, or displacement. The side effects of amnesia were hard to predict. If a person is unable to reclaim their lost memories, they would have to start rebuilding their history from scratch. This was easier for some than others. The older the person was when they suffered memory loss, the more difficult it became to let go of a past they no longer remembered.

With Harry being older than most of the Statesman, he may be having a harder time assimilating. Even though upon waking, he was coherent, intelligent, adaptive, accepting of his situation, once the realisation sets in that their condition is permanent, there may be a later period of denial that was similar to grief. Suffering the loss of their identity. 

Looking at the person that he was before the physical trials was like looking through a window that was covered with a thick film of dust. You might be able to discern that there was something significant, meaningful, worthwhile on other side of the glass, but it would always be a shadowy, vague, dim suggestion of what it actually was.

The tests had cleared away the dust and debris until the glass was clear, crystalline, perfectly see-through. And what had been behind the glass suddenly shone through. That person was the real Harry. Not the shadow form that you would occasionally see, always crossing from one place to the next. Hardly ever still. Never comfortable to remain in one place for long.

After the trials, he was more open, quicker to smile and engage in conversation. Though he would still refuse invitations on occasion, he would be more willing to accept with equal frequency. They discovered he could be quite the conversationalist. His dry wit and biting sense of humour was a welcome change to the often crass or juvenile comments from the male agents. 

If he wanted to, he could easily hold court. His accent and his deep voice were as captivating as his words. But never did he dominate a conversation. He always made a conscious effort to include everyone’s remarks and would even ask the opinion of those who looked like they wanted to say something, but were hesitant for one reason or another. He was more than willing to have someone else take the lead in a conversation, but if the conversation veered in an uncomfortable or inappropriate direction, he always managed to guide it back to civility. Not that he was opposed to a healthy debate, but he did believe that some words should be either said in private or not at all.

He was just as expert at navigating social situations as he was the field. This was a surprise to them since he was so withdrawn at first. They discovered that he was just someone who never wasted words. 

Not only did he become an increasing part of the fabric of Statesman’s front, he also participated more in the intelligence side of the agency. His insight was valuable, his strategies were sometimes unexpected but always effective, and his analysis sharp and concise. He didn’t go out into the field on operations, but he often assisted handlers and their agents with more demanding, complicated missions. Many times he was able to foresee an obstacle that they could avoid, or lead them out of an operation that had gone sideways. At first, the teams were hesitant to request his assistance, whether they were averse, intimidated or just nervous to approach him. But as he led teams into more successful missions, with less loss, less injury, less risk, he was often sought out, his time claimed in advance.

If he missed the field, it didn’t show. They still didn’t feel comfortable sending Harry out on assignment and he never requested a mission. They feared that the lack of direct action, the kind that he had participated in during his test course, would revert him back to the state where he was listless, closed off, removed. But he did not regress. If anything, he become more. It was difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know him during his transition. But with every passing day, with every new interaction, with every mission that he assisted, with every training session he held for advanced weapon and tactical skills, which he did have to admit, he particularly enjoyed, he just become more himself. 

By the end of the year, he was The Brit. Everyone knew him. Everyone adored him. He was free with his smile, his laughter, with a kind or encouraging word. His pinstripe suit was now a common site on campus. He had his own group of women that would pine after him, though he remained firmly unattached. His opinion was respected, his advice valued, his critiques, though sometimes harsh, were always considered constructive. 

He was not exactly gregarious, but he was a very skilled conversationalist. He could exchange witty repartee, as well as engage in topics with depth and you could trust that there was always something interesting on his mind. When he excused himself for any reason, you were left knowing more, feeling more, thinking more. However, by nature, they learned, he was a reserved and private person. But whatever walls or fences that he had constructed at the beginning of his stay, had slowly but consistently been deconstructed. On that bedrock, he wasn’t rebuilding his history. Without even thinking about it, he was fashioning a completely new one. 

The last year had been spent laying down the foundation for his new life, accumulating building blocks, each experience a new row of brick and mortar. He had let go, completely, of who he might have been in the past. The exercises that he and Ginger went through to try to recover his memory, from hypnosis, light therapy, trauma induced memory retrieval, did not work. After not even a modicum of success, felt that he spent an appropriate amount of time trying to regain his memory. He accepted the fact that his memory was gone. That he would be best to move forward. Not to look back. It was simple really. There wasn’t anything to look back on. So he began his life at Statesman.

—-

His awareness circled back to Statesman HQ, to their stateroom and fully to the present moment.  Ginger was explaining the last of the progress he had made during his year at Statesman.  He had finally reached a point of satisfaction with what was his life. Was he looking for more? Perhaps. Contentment wasn’t a natural state for him. There was always room for growth, for learning new things, and having new experiences.

However, ironically, not just because of the amnesia, he was not one for looking back. He felt that he had always been this way. Now, here were three individuals who were asking him to do just that. Asking him very earnestly, sincerely, and genuinely. 

Like the girl had said, his instincts would be triggered if they were being dishonest or withholding information.  He believed they were telling the truth and had nothing to hide. But for once, he was at a loss.  What was he to do with this information?  Was it even possible to be the person they wanted him to be? He was looking for an answer, but could find none.

He tested the weight of his questions. Was this a burden that he wanted to carry? Does a past that you can’t remember even matter? Should it even? Perhaps the only reason would be to recognise the relationships with those who still remembered you. Where was the honesty in that situation? Wouldn’t faking a past that you can’t remember be just as bad as pretending that you are the person that you used to be. While organising these questions in the folders of his mind, he kept his face calm and neutral. He didn’t have to decide anything at this moment. But he did need to establish boundaries.

He couldn’t give an answer to these three individuals. But what he could do was help them in their current situation. Help them find out who had destroyed their agency, what they were planning and how to stop them. At least, that he could offer. That, he could do. The rest would still be there. Problems, if ignored, only became more vexing. He would look at them later. Perhaps the answer would come to him.

“My sincere apologies.” He started. 

“Ginger is correct. I suffer from amnesia and I recall nothing about my history. Nothing prior to my time recovering here at Statesman. While I retain the skills and knowledge that I possessed in the past, I do not have any memory as to how or why I have them.

“We have tried every means available to recover my memories, with no success.” 

“But we are here now.” Merlin interrupted, encouraged. “We can remind you. Perhaps trigger something that makes you remember.”

“We can help. He’s right. “ Eggsy added. “Who knows more about you, than Merlin?”

Roxy nodded in agreement.

It was probably the first time the group looked somewhat enthusiastic.

Ginger interrupted. She was worried about this. She would have to be the one to grab their hopes and tether them back to reality. 

“Not to discredit your suggestion. If this were a different case, then yes, there is the possibility that it would work. But when someone is suffering from retrograde amnesia, unfortunately, their memory cannot be recovered by simply being informed about their personal experiences and their identity. What you are referring to is called the reminder effect. This would consist of re-exposing the patient to past personal information. This can work for other types of amnesia, but simply giving Harry details of his life won’t help him retrieve memories.”

Eggsy eyes narrowed. He was dubious. He was convinced something they said or told him could surely open up the gates to Harry’s memory. They just needed to try.  They just needed a chance. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to say anything to him at all. They looked toward Harry, imploringly.

Harry was his usual respectful, attentive self. But his expression was guarded and he was quiet.

Their frustration limped across the table in his direction. Ginger needed to redirect.

These people had been through hell and back. But Harry was her patient. And he was Statesman now, regardless of his pinstripe suit, his accent, or his British mannerisms. As much as she sympathised with their situation, there was the risk that Harry’s progress would stall or that he could relapse. The worst thing they could do would be to insist Harry be someone he no longer was under the misguided notion that they were helping him. Harry would be trapped, defeated and they would only face disappointment.  Ginger arranged the words carefully before she spoke.

“Memories are exceedingly intricate. But to simplify, making a memory involves storing information in the brain as a specific pattern of electrical activity.” she explained.

While avoiding excess jargon, she wanted to emphasise the complexity of Harry’s memory loss. If only it were as simple as forgetting something and not being able to remember.

“When we recall a memory, we recreate the pattern of electrical activity that formed it in the first place. This information is then distributed across different regions in the brain to retrieve the memory.  Injury in any part of this circuit can fracture memory function.  It’s not that the synapses, the path, necessary to make these connections, is blocked. It’s much more than that. There’s nothing at the end of the path. There’s nothing to retrieve. It is as if the memory was never made. It’s not hidden. It’s not in the subconscious. It’s not filed somewhere deep in his psyche. It simply does not exist.”

Disheartened. Dejected. Depressed. The three of them were the dictionary definitions. Ginger sighed. Being the bearer of bad news was never a party, but this was less than enjoyable.  However, she wanted to explain as much as she could so Harry wouldn’t have to. He had made so much progress in the past year. It had to be unsettling to face an unknown past, when you had made so much effort to be in the present.

Getting to her point. “Unfortunately, there is no established cure for retrograde amnesia memory loss. There’s no magic drug or deep-brain stimulation that jolts memories back into the mind. I wish there were. If recovery does happen, it largely occurs on its own.  With amnesia as a result of brain trauma, If you're really lucky, new pathways form among the remaining brain cells, like in stroke victims, or other parts of the brain take over from the damaged areas in what we call neural plasticity. But that is very rare.”

“Sometimes, the reminder treatment is more than ineffective, it can also be harmful. Too often, the stories people tell amnesiacs sound like someone else's life and it can be unsettling to them. Witnessing the disappointment of past friends, colleagues, and family when they can’t remember, or be the person who they used to to be, can be emotionally damaging. Having people tell you how to think and feel, or that you’re not who you are supposed to be can be distressing.”  

 “I don’t mean to be discouraging or unsympathetic. It’s crucial for us, for our own sakes, but most of all, for Harry’s,” she placed her hand on his forearm for emphasis, “ that we are realistic.” She wanted to be very clear as she drew her hand back and made her final, essential point “Do not make expectations that can only result in disappointment.”

As Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy discussed Harry’s future with the other Statesmen, Harry claimed this time to examine the three faces across the table. He set aside any of their mannerisms, agitations, conflicts that were due to the current circumstance and concentrated on what he believed to be their true and natural state. He didn’t try to analyse them, judge them or question what he saw. He tried to feel them. To feel the look in their eyes, to feel the expressions on their faces, to feel the quality of their movements.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened, not to their words, but to hear the sound of their voices. He felt their vibration.  Not only to see if anything sparked in his mind, but viscerally. A reflex, an intuition, a sensation that stirred something deep rooted in his bones. 

But his mind and his body were quiet and still.

It was time for him to speak up. Before he addressed them directly, sat up even straighter. Tall and silent. He did not make any of the usual gestures he did when preparing to take over a conversation. Familiar movements of brushing something non-existent off his suit, adjusting his cuffs, running his hand along the back of his hair, adjusting his glasses. He was still. His hands were clasped and rested on the table. 

Only seconds ticked by until everyone quieted along with him. Their heads all turned in the same direction. Harry could always pull attention to him without saying a word. 

He was also not one to hold back words that needed to be said. Time would be lost and nothing would be gained.  He did not want them to get their hopes up. He did not want to them to expect something from him that he could not deliver. 

For the second time, he opened with an apology. “I’m very sorry.” His eyes were sympathetic. 

They had the feeling he was preparing them for bad news.

His words were sure and resolute. There was no hesitation. No wavering. When Harry made a decision, he was firm.

“I do not remember Kingsman.” 

He shifted his weight forward in his chair, resting his elbows and forearms on the table and folded his hands together. It was a gesture of familiarity. He spoke directly to them, as if they were having a conversation. It wasn’t just reciting a statement. He knew, full well, they would be affected by his words. He knew that they would not be the words they wanted to hear. He knew it would be painful for them to be on the receiving end of his words, not matter how gently and honestly he delivered them. He would serve them by being unguarded, unreserved and up front.

He paused so they could process what he was telling them. 

“Prior to your arrival, I was not even aware of its existence.” He added frankly.

“I do not recall any relationships I may have had currently or in the past.” He spoke plainly.

“As much as you may want me to, and I recognise that you do, and I understand where that need comes from, I cannot say, in all honesty, that I know you.” 

Harry was nothing if not direct. 

His eyes held each of theirs. He saw the dejection in their faces. He could not help but feel empathetic. It was obvious that, whoever he was in the past, these people cared for him very deeply. Perhaps even loved. But for Harry, he was never this person and he was never one to fake an emotion he didn’t feel. 

He was compassionate, but firm. "I’m unable to say I even recognise you. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the man you used to know. I may look like him, I may sound like him, at times I may even act like him. But I am not him.” His voice was kind now. His face was gentle. His expression no longer guarded. 

“However meaningful your relationship was, no matter how strong the connection, I am unable to reciprocate in a way that would honor that bond.”

With an honesty and an openheartedness that touched all their raw wounds, he offered.

“It’s not that I can’t remember the Harry I used to be. Or that I do not care. It’s obvious that your relationship with this man was very important, very meaningful, to all of you.” 

He softened both his voice and his manner.  

“It is, that this person you used to know, in my eyes, he never existed.” His face gentled. Became grave and solemn, almost tender. 

“Do you understand?” 

And for Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin, that perhaps was the most painful moment of all. Because with the kindness they heard in his voice, and the softness they saw in his eyes, the way he held his concern for them, on his sleeve where they could see it, he was in that moment, everything that they knew and loved. He was their Harry Hart. He was their Galahad. 

-----

Whew! If you got this far thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, good, bad, funny, dumb, sad, WTF? Whatever.  

Always feel free to reblog, share with someone else who thought TGC had sooo much more potential. Or was pissed that they killed off Roxy. And don’t even get me started on Merlin....

[thedancefloorsilly]

Ngl seeing your 300 followers event intrigued me (loved the spin on what’s usually just a describe yourself and I’ll give you a matchup thing) enough so that I’ve binged through most of what you’ve written on here!! It’s actually been awhile since I sent in a request for one of these 😬

So!! I’m female, going by she/they and bi (male leaning). My romantic f/o are illumi + hisoka. Illumi - unexpectedly usually out of my type, but he buried himself in the ground in the first scene we saw him in and I was gone. Since then I’ve had people point out that he looks like a frog and that its a very major subconscious reason I love him so much. Hisoka, I very much resisted liking at first because hes,,,, hisoka, but this bastard made a place in my heart the more his main character syndrome made him helpful and not a total villain. I had no choice but to begrudgingly love him, and he makes me laugh as often as he makes me turn to look to the figurative camera.

When it comes to me, I’m 5’2, black hair + eyes, Asian, and must admit I do have a bit of a god complex as a Pisces (which my own need to compete w others then compromises). I definitely consider myself fashion forward (but favors black a lot) and I love to find shoes to give me some more height. I have a taekwondo black belt and do MMA, and I love to crochet even though I tend to rage at my yarn when new patterns for clothes make me repeat rows over and over again. I’m the only one in my friend group that knows how to do taxes, but STILL did not understand knuckle’s loan and interest nen AT ALL. I adore collecting marvel and dc comics, as well as manga, and my guilty pleasure is the pink drink from Starbucks (guilty because Istg im not a 13 year old, I just need to stop consuming caffeine and the vanilla sweet cold foam with it is addicting). Someday I dream to have three cats, and I have a drivers license even though I legitimately have never driven or taken any drivers Ed classes in my life. Ever. I have no idea how to drive. My procurement of a drivers license regardless may or may not have been through legal means.

Ooh well that’s nice to hear glad u liked this idea!! I hope I liked my writing😳😳 I don’t write for Hisoka but for this event I will :P I also did these as separate. enjoy anon!!

Hisoka

- The fact that you know how to fight, being that you do MMA, DEFINITELY intrigued Hisoka when he first met you. He did his whole evaluation thing in his mind about how well your powers fair, and honestly this was probably what prompted Hisoka to learn more about you. Once getting to know you more, there was something different he would feel rather than the usual “excitement” when around a strong fighter. It was a certain feeling in his stomach he would get that would linger on.

- Even though Hisoka might have been a little confused at first, he was curious to try and explore these unknown feelings more, thus leading him to spend more time and to try and observe your personality. The more and more he spent time with you, the more his interest in how you fought began to slip away from his mind. Not only that, but Hisoka also always felt his heart racing when he was around you. Was this eccentric clown magician man developing a crush? Oh, absolutely he was.

- Well, as the time came where he would smoothly confess his feelings, Hisoka really did try to make everything special. Hisoka actually bought red roses for you, dressed VERY nice, brought you to somewhere calm and romantic, and used his charm to try and win you over. Well, at the end of the night, you guys both learned that you and him had mutual feelings for one another, and it was pretty clear that a second date was to be expected.

-  Sometimes you can’t help but to laugh at Hisoka’s outlandish behavior. Of course, he takes notice of this, and with that, Hisoka tries his best to always put on a show when you’re around!! He always does things to try and hear that laugh of your’s that he loves so much. Not only that, but Hisoka also does things to rather amuse you. Hisoka will sometimes do random tricks with his nen to try and put up his “magician” act, just to see that entertained look on your face.

- Whenever he’s fighting at Heaven’s Arena, he always tries to impress you, too!! Once facing an opponent, Hisoka will try out these new moves or special techniques that will surely put a ‘wow’ on your face. Yes, his tricks might be a little stupid or dangerous, but that’s all part of the fun isn’t it? Not only that, but when he’s mid-fight, Hisoka will also try and do stupid things like wink or smirk at you justtt to see you blush and roll your eyes playfully.

Illumi

- Mentioning that you have no experiencing with driving to Illumi, he insists that he could just drive you to some places himself. You calmly agree to this at first, but since you weren’t aware of the fact that your boyfriend also has very little driving experience, you have NO idea what you’re about to get into. His driving is a little... reckless to say the least. You really thought you were getting a calm drive to Starbucks?? Well, expect your incautious, daredevil of a boyfriend to be passing every red light, almost hitting pedestrians, and speeding exceedingly just to get to your destination. You guys are just better off with Illumi’s butlers driving you guys...

- Sometimes you like to crochet random things for Illumi (It could be something like a hat or some gloves). Whenever you’re making them, Illumi often hears the little complaints you make from frustration from your room, so he goes to check on you and to see what’s wrong. Immediately though, you tell Illumi to not come in your room because you’re making something to surprise him. Even though he’s wondering what you might be doing, Illumi just goes on and doesn't question you further.

- One day, as you finally finish your creation, you announce to Illumi that you’ve made something for him. As Illumi tilts his head in confusion, you then proudly reveal a crotched frog hat from behind your back, all for him!! At first he wonders what prompted you to make something so specific for him, and all you say to Illumi was that he reminded you of a frog!! You might not know what he truly feels from his blank reaction, but deep down, Illumi really appreciates the gift!!

- Now, Illumi definitely doesn’t see himself having not one.. but three cat’s in his future (since you’ve told him all about your dream). It’s not that Illumi opposes of the idea of them, or thinks that they’re a lot of work (especially since you’ve seen his GIANT pets..), it’s just that he’s just never really thought about it before. There are days when Illumi does consider owning them, or how it would be like to own them, but then again, Illumi never acts on getting the cat’s. 

- That wasn’t until one day though. It was a rainy afternoon, and Illumi was walking through the town, ready to come home from one of his assassin missions. As he was strolling down the empty streets, he heard a faint sound of an animal come from the left of him. Illumi turned to his left, but looked down to see that the noise came from a beaten up box in an alleyway. He walked toward this box, noticing that the animal sounds were actually the small ‘mews’ of a cat. As Illumi squatted down to see observe this box, he then saw the sight of MULTIPLE small kittens!!

- While you’re waiting for Illumi to come home, you hear the knocking of someone on the door, and you immediate assume that it’s from your boyfriend!! As you happily rush to unlock the door, you then see a drenched Illumi, holding a box of kittens as they’re meowing non-stop. Though, you might be confused, Illumi blankly says, “Look. I brought you something.” From the nonstop meowing, you question to how many cats are there... Even though you dreamed about having three, well.. can you handle about six?

[whattodowithace]

I Hate You Part I (Byeongkwan)

Title: I Hate You Part I 

Pairing: Byeongkwan (A.C.E) x Reader 

Genre: Spice

Word Count: 1.7K Words

Writer: Whattodowithkpop

*****

“Can’t you cooperate just this once?” I growl in anger as I look at Byeongkwan who was standing away from our desk station.

“No way am I getting near that thing.” He glares at me as he crosses his arms.

“I legitimately can’t cut into it without your help.” I tell him through clenched teeth. “Suck it up and get over here. I’m not failing because you’re a wimp.” 

He scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “I’m the wimp? You cried when the cafeteria ran out of chocolate milk last week.” 

“It was a rough day and you were mostly to blame.” I argue back. 

“Guys, can you please get along just this once?” Our mutual friend Jun asks with concern painted on his face.

“I won’t partner up with a baby.” I huff out looking away from them both. 

“And I won’t partner up with her, not in a million years.” Byeongkwan shoots back. 

I hear Jun sigh and walk away, leaving Byeongkwan and I in our previous predicament. 

“I’ll figure it out, just don’t get in my sight.” I tell him finally, going to stand above the frog that lie motionless in a plastic container. 

I frown as I look at the frog, feeling bad that this was its fate. I sigh out heavily as I slowly bring the knife to its belly, beginning the dissection.

~

I walk through the halls, making my way to my next class when I feel a weight on my shoulder. 

“I heard you got into it with BK again.” My friend Chan laughs as he hangs his arm around my shoulder.

“When am I not getting into it with Byeongkwan?” I sigh as I think back to all our petty fights we seemed to have. 

“I think you guys would actually be best friends if you would say a whole sentence without yelling at each other.” Chan shrugs, his face holding the amusement it always did when discussing this topic. 

“Well he’s the one who started it.” I roll my eyes as I reach my next class, Chan entering the room with me.

“Why do you guys fight all the time?” Chan questions with a smirk. “It’s probably sexual tension.”

I glare at the boy. “Never.” 

Chan holds his hands up defensively. “Just an outsider looking in.” 

I look up to see Byeongkwan enter the room. His eyes lock with me and he immediately glares, which I return back to him. 

“Just don’t jump him in class.” Chan whispers to me, earning him an elbow to the ribs. 

~

The end of the day had arrived, meaning the halls were filled to the brim with students squeezing past each other so they could get home faster. 

“I have to head out early, I’ll catch you later!” Chan tells me as he collects his things to leave. 

He waves goodbye enthusiastically as he walks out the door, saying a goodbye to Byeongkwan as well. 

Usually, Chan and I always waited for the traffic to die down together before braving the halls, and Byeongkwan always did too. Usually by this point of the day we had fought each other so much that we were too exhausted to scream at each other in this quiet time. 

I was surprised when he broke the silence. Even more surprised that it wasn’t a shout. “I really hate saying this to you but, I’m sorry about the frog today.” 

When the words ‘I’m sorry’ left his mouth I tensed in shock, looking down to where he sat, his back facing towards me as he faced the front of the classroom. 

“You hated doing it too, and I should’ve helped.” He finishes, not once looking up to me.

His words hung in the air, leaving the silence awkward before I filled it. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Is all I say, not really sure what to add in this situation. 

“What’s the deal with Chan?” Byeongkwan asks suddenly, his voice more rigid this time. 

“Why Chan all the sudden?” I ask back in a defensive manner, ready to defend Chan to the death. 

“He’s always making jokes.” He groans in frustration. “I really hate it.”

“Chan jokes all the time.” I reply back in a calmer voice. Just the thought of Chan making me happy. “That’s why people like him.”

Byeongkwan’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, walking up the stairs to where I was sitting. He towers over me trying to intimidate me as he crosses his arms. 

“Tell him to stop.” Byeongkwan demands. “I’m getting really tired of it.”

“What jokes could he possibly be saying that you’re acting so childish over?” I stand to face him, my height being revealed as I strain my neck to look up at him. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Byeongkwan tilts forward, getting in my space, trying to make me nervous. 

“I’m glad he’s frustrating you.” I say finally with an evil smile, leering into his eyes. “Maybe his cuteness will rub off on you and you’ll be more pleasant to be around.”

“Hate to break it to you, everyone already finds me pleasantly adorable. Everyone except you.” He smirks down at me, feeling proud of himself.

“I highly doubt they find you pleasant.” I hold my glare. 

The air thickens, making a chill go down my spine as I look into his eyes. I feel my defenses falter slightly as his smirk disappears and his eyes focus on mine. My palms begin to feel sweaty as burning heat fills my stomach, making me curse myself under my breathe.

“I hate you.” Byeongkwan whispers, his eyes scanning my face. 

“God, I hate you more.” I breathe out as my body suddenly acts on its own accord. 

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his lips to mine. Byeongkwan reacts immediately, lifting me onto the desk I was next to, pushing himself in between my legs. 

I bring one of my hands to the back of his head, deepening the kiss as I roughly tug at his hair. 

He groans against my lips as he forces his tongue into my mouth, taking control of the kiss. 

I growl in frustration as I try to take control back, pushing my tongue against his. 

His hand makes its way under my shirt, his cold palm resting on my abdomen making me gasp from the chill. 

“Byeongkwan, someone is going to catch us.” I whisper in between the kisses he was placing on my mouth. 

“You’re right.” He continues with his quick kisses. 

His hand under my shirt moves to my back, making goosebumps rise at the contrast of his cold hand against my hot skin. His hand pushes against me, pushing me to be flush against his body. 

“Woah.” I react, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I teeter on the edge of the desk.

He smirks slightly as he pulls me all the way off the desk, making me wrap my legs around his torso to keep from falling. 

“You know,” his breath fans against my ear. “Maybe Chan was right about the sexual tension.” He finishes as he bites my ear, almost making me whimper in desperation. 

I curse Chan in my head, realizing I wasn’t the only one he was making those jokes too.

“I hate him.” I sigh out as I roll my eyes. 

“Not as much as you hate me.” He whispers as his hand grabs one of my thighs to give it a gentle squeeze.

I sneer at him before leaning my head down leaving sharp bites against his neck, making him tilt his head back, giving more access to his skin. 

He starts walking me somewhere as I continue to bite him, the bites leading from his collarbones to his jaw, littering his skin with various reds. I pull away to admire my work, biting my lip as I look at the marks on his porcelain skin. Byeongkwan leads us into the closet closing the door behind us before he roughly pushes me against the door. 

“Let’s match tomorrow.” He suggests as his head bows to my neck. 

He licks up the side of my neck reaching my jaw where he bites and sucks on the skin just there.

“Byeongkwan.” I breathe out digging my nails into his shoulders.

I could feel him smirk against my skin as he continues to attack my neck with bites and licks. 

“Why are you so frustrating?” He questions as he bites hard against my collarbone, a small moan coming from my mouth. 

I quickly cover my mouth as I look at him with wide eyes. 

“That was an accident.” I clear my throat awkwardly. 

The light from the classroom barley reaching into the closet, only giving me glimpses of his face, but I could clearly see the smirk on his cocky face.

“I hate how good you sound.” He compliments as he bites the same spot, getting the same reaction.

“Stop.” I warn firmly. 

He bites the opposite collarbone, making me cover my mouth with my hand.

“I don’t want to stop.” He finalizes, quickly introducing our lips together again. This kiss was slow, his lips moving against mine as he rubs slow circles into my thigh.

I close my eyes tightly, getting lost in the kiss, surprised by how gentle it was. It was as if all our anger towards each other was just poured out and now we could pay attention to each other softly.

The only reason the kiss breaks is because we heard a thump sound from outside the classroom. I look at him with fear, realizing it was probably the janitor.

“We need to get out of here.” I giggle.

“We do, but I’m not done with you.” He whisper as he kisses my collarbone where a giant bruise was beginning to form. 

“Im not done with you either.” I smirk at him as I trace my finger over his neck, making him wince in pain from the small bites. “I have a lot more things I hate about you.”

MAIN MASTERLIST

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 33: Robert*

Robert* reminds me of Peter*, in which, there’s confusion about names, the vibes are never quite right, and the date is pretty short. Though in this case, although we did talk for a longer time than Peter* and I did, the date itself was even shorter, a whopping 45 minutes.

Initially, Robert* likes me first on Hinge. His profile is not necessarily a slam dunk for me. He looks decent looking, though not my usual type, and has a chain bakery listed as to where he works. I like to think I am not a snob when it comes to careers, I’m pretty open-minded, but I do want to be with someone who has ambition and can have intelligent conversations with me since I am pretty well educated. Basically, someone around my level of thinking.

I decided to give the guy a chance and respond to his like by mentioning that I really like cookies at the place he works. He mentions that we could have a first date there and I responded by asking if he has dates with girls at his work often. He tells me he has only been working there a few weeks, so no. We legitimately talk about the different kinds of cookies for a while, then he moves on to ask me about what else I like. I mention my dog, then share that I space out and have trouble thinking on the spot and ask him about himself to see if it will also remind me of other things I like. He talks about seeing friends and playing video games, adds he “Doesn’t get out much.” Without missing a beat, he asks me what I’m looking for on dating apps. The dreaded question. I ask him to tell me first. My reasoning being, I feel like many men will cater their answers to what you want, instead of telling the truth. He writes me a long answer then gives me a TL;DR (too long; didn’t read) that is maybe ⅔ the length of the original message, so not that short, that says “going with the flow, down for a consistent [friends with benefits] or relationship, whatever happens, just not a one-night stand.” He announces it is then my turn to respond. I tell him I feel more or less the same, as his original longer message, but that I am not as much interested in the friends with benefits thing. Specifically, I say that with FWB, there needs to be an opportunity, or “nahhh.” I say that expectations only bring hardship and lightheartedly say I like to ask super important questions early in relationships, i.e. like my survey/application from way back when, and add “like cookie choices.” He asks me to clarify my opportunity or nahhh and says he is an open book and I can ask him anything. I explain my feelings more, saying that I don’t see the point of sticking around if someone is dead set on not wanting a relationship with me, as well as it is usually temporary and almost like a holding pattern. I ask my most important question, which is if someone wants children or not.

I get a slight argument back from him, regarding the FWB thing, saying that it can turn into more. I argue back, saying that it is still something that needs to be wanted, or at least both parties from the start can think “maybe someday.” He says this and that about the FWB, before answering my question. He says, more or less, he is open to it but it isn’t a necessity for him, however, he definitely doesn’t want kids right now. He asks me how I feel about it and I express I do not want them but would be open to adoption. He says that’s fine with him and quickly says, “Any other questions.” I am not meaning for this to be an interview. I say I do have a question, but that it is more of an open-ended/ statement that can be responded to. All I say for my “question” is the phrase “trump.” I also let him know I am going to sleep soon so we can continue our conversation in the morning. He does not like my question, that is that he says it is too vague and isn’t helpful for political discussions. I tell him that is my point, and that I am looking for him to express his feelings and that I can either oppose, agree, or somewhere in between. He says likely there would be all three. I go to sleep so I do not respond.

He greets me in the morning with a good morning. I greet him back, though I remind him I am still waiting on his opinions. It is a Saturday, so I also let him know I am about to present for a Zoom conference. He says he’s at a rowing camp and on a break from that, then asks me about my conference. He again requests that I be more specific than just “Saying one word.” I tell him about the conference, but regarding the political question, I send an eye-rolling emoji again saying that that is the point of the open forum, that I am looking for a blanket statement of his feelings regarding Trump.

He again asks about my presentation, and how it went, then goes on to give a pretty neutral debate, saying there’s good and bad, though it seems he veers more towards being a Trump fan, which is not my preference. Robert* offers to me that I can ask any questions about his stance. I am thinking, I do not need an invitation, I have a question and I will ask it.

Robert* inquires what I am doing the rest of the night. I say I’m staying in as I am going to Disney World the next day. I ask him what he is going to do the rest of the night, as that is the societally polite thing to do. I am asked AGAIN if I have any questions to ask him. He also says that he “wanted to do something with someone tonight. Chill night in maybe? Not necessarily sexual. Just relaxing, drinking some wine maybe.” My response is “haha sorry i don’t think i’ll be ‘someone’ today,” both calling him out on obviously being thirsty, as well and reiterating I am not planning on going out tonight. He admits defeat, saying that he didn’t think I would be either, but it was “worth a shot to ask.” However, he does say he does want to get together sometime.

Immediately before I can even respond to that, though, he asks me where in Disney I am going tomorrow. I tell him that Monday I could look at my schedule and put together a time and day we could meet up. I also express that I do not want to meet him at either of our places, mostly because of the stunt he had just pulled. I tell him my Disney World plans as well. He says that it is fine to talk about going out on Monday and says that “that would’ve been the plan” to not hang out at either of our places, despite what he had just said earlier about having a chill night in. I call him out on this, reminding him that he had just said something different, his response being, “yes, sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Im horny as all hell but my intentions are good and i can keep it in my pants. I promise.” How romantic. I send a laughing emoji and say that we’ve all been there before. He says he didn’t want to cross the “TMI threshold,” wherein I say that it is difficult to TMI me, but that doesn't mean I won’t be judgemental. His next comment is awkward, as he invites me to judge, but says that he’s “done [his] fair share of crazy/dumb/slutty shit. As [he is] sure [I] have too.” Weird to accuse someone you are trying to woo of being a crazy dumb slut, but okay. I bring up that I had an abusive relationship but that even in that, I wasn’t completely devoid of wrongdoing. He asks if I am comfortable talking about that and is sympathetic. I tell him more about that and he asks for some of the red flags my ex but off that I ignored. For the billionth time, Robert* offers that if I have any more important questions that I can go ahead and ask. I briefly acknowledge he asked again, by saying “lol if they come up organically I’ll ask” before continuing to talk about my abusive ex. One of the things I mentioned was that my ex was very critical about my body habitus, that is, that I was too skinny. Robert* takes it upon himself to say, “ as far as your body, it seems like you have a great fucking body…. As long as you’re not unhealthy idgaf im attracted to you sooooo” then sends two heart-eyed emojis and a shrugging guy emoji. The line he draws is that his “hands are rated E for everyone,” the context being, if someone hit him he would hit back. I explained my body issues some more and that I have stomach issues, and have always been a small person. He misunderstands and thinks I’m talking about having abs or having a fatty stomach. With the context I felt I had given, I sent a bunch of question marks before adding that my stomach issues were internal. He apologizes a lot for misunderstanding and says he is glad I’m in a better situation.

In his mind, it’s now a great time to bring up that we should text or snap. I tell him that Snapchat is “for hoes” if you only talk on Snapchat. Referencing to myself Darren* mostly. He sends me his number and then I text him. The next day, I am off having a day with my friend at an amusement park. He texts me often throughout the day and I respond when I have a chance. My best friend is asking me “who is this one?” and by the time she asks this, I’m honestly getting a little annoyed. She’s still asking about John* and where he is at. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. We’re mad at him right now. He is doing that shit again. I have to play the game, you know?” I describe Robert* as being kind of needy. At one point, Robert* is texting and asking desperately when I’m free and when we can go out. I tell him “I’m still out I’m not focused on that right now” The overeagerness is kind of a turn-off. And as mentioned earlier, we had already agreed to plan things out on Monday, and it was Sunday. He responds “Ok nvm. We don’t have to talk about that. Sorry.” Maybe I was harsh but had to put this guy in his place. I get a barrage of questions about Disney World. I mention I’m wearing my hat like a frat boy. He responds jokingly, “disgusting, how dare you.” I continue the charade by saying “yep I haze the shit out of people.” Next, however, his response is too cringey, “Mmmm haze me frat mandy” and adds “I can go more cringe.” I reply, “no thanks.” I ignore him for the rest of the day and then when I get home I finally tell him 1) I’m home and 2) what days I’m available. He gets irritated as the two nights I am available, are the only nights he is working. I have some friends coming into town the next weekend as well, so I tell him I’m not really available since I want to hang out with them. We go back and forth on what to do then with our conflicting schedules. Finally, we agree upon doing something after my work, but before his work on one of the days, giving us a tight segment of time but that should be enough for more or less a meet and greet. Because he is the one that will have somewhere to go, I tell him that he’s in charge of the planning and logistics because I wanted to make sure he had enough time to get to work.

We chat superficially in the meantime, mostly about video games and a little about past relationships. And of course… more inviting me to ask questions again. He puts me on the spot regarding the date and is trying to make me plan. I put the responsibility back on him. Finally, he suggests a place he had been wanting to try, that is more or less like a juice bar that also does protein shakes, kind of a health shop. Not really my kind of place, but I’m making him do all the planning so I won’t argue. We both independently go on a search for menus/information. He makes a comment regarding finding the menu but no prices. He randomly comments while we are chatting about the place “have i ever said that youre really fucking cute,” to which I just respond “not like in those exact words.” He adds “but yea you are. I humbly brag, “thanks! I know this about myself.” Typical male response is, presumably joking, “ok you’re too cocky” “youre ugly” “gotta bring you down a peg.” To this I just say, “it’s called confidence/not being insecure.” He switches things around saying “i know confidence is sexy.”

I don’t respond to this and get a good morning text the next day and he makes small talk about how we slept and such. It is the day that I have a date with Timmy*, but of course Robert* doesn’t know this. He at one point texts me saying that his morning got really shitty. I ask him what’s wrong and all he says is “I’ll tell you about it later.” I wonder why people do this, like why bring it up if you aren’t gonna talk about it now? It all seems like a sort of test. I do not play these games. All I say in response is “ok.” He adds “if I don’t text you about it remind me.” I don’t respond. He texts me again asking how my work is going an hour-ish later. I say it’s hectic and he asks if I’m on lunch. I send him a message about not getting full lunch breaks. I don’t hear from him for almost five hours, and given his text earlier about his bad day, I figured something could be wrong given how clingy via text he usually is. I finally text him and ask if he is ok. He says he took a nap and asked again about work, making a point that it was better than his day. Enough of the baiting, I finally say snarkily, “yeah you still have to tell me [what happened.” He is hyping it up now, saying “fair warning - its sad” I don’t respond because I figure he would still go on and tell me what happens and it didn’t warrant a response, but then he adds “if you still want to know” a few minutes later. I honestly don’t care too much, “if you want to tell me.” He finally does tell me what happened, and essentially he saw a dog be hit by a car and had tried to help it with someone else who saw the hit but the dog, unfortunately, didn’t make it. I commend him on trying to help and he says that he did the right thing and that’s why his day sucked. I don’t really know how to respond to that, plus at this point, I am getting ready for my date.

I lie to him when he asks me about my night, saying that I am chilling. More small talk to my disgust, and I verify our plans for the next day. He makes a comment about not being able to see the prices anywhere. This seems to be a worry of his for whatever reason, so I tell him that we can do something else and that I am flexible. He is of no help, as all he says about this is “idk what else we’d do.” My response is “ok” and I say I’m going to bed. In the morning it is finally the day of our date and I let him know that unfortunately I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me to work, so I’ll be wearing my work outfit tonight. He makes a comment about how he’s never seen a cute girl not look good in scrubs, and I let him know that today is the day that changes.

During the day, he states he is thinking of driving by to check the prices of the drinks and that he’s also got a back up. I tell him he should do whatever he wants. I look the places up and they are about 25 minutes away from my work. I head on that way once my work is done and I arrive first. I wait in my car until he texts me to ask which car is mine. I get out of my car and grab my things, now realizing I parked next to a puddle of water and got my shoes a little wet. I laugh it off and say oh well. I see who I presume to be him getting out of a car on the other side of the parking lot. He’s wearing a light pink hoodie, a little different but hey, real men wear pink, right?

I approach him and say hello and give him a hug. We get our masks on and walk into the store. Immediately we are greeted by who I can only assume is the owner of the shop. He is bright and happy and gives us his spiel about the type of beverages they have there. Robert* is being very quiet and is very short with the worker, saying he doesn’t know what he wants and I should go first. I try to describe what I’m going for, and the worker says the exact thing on the menu I want is unavailable due to a delayed shipment, but suggests something else to me and I accept with recommendation. I am done ordering apparently too quickly, as my date is still undecided. The owner ends up just asking him if he likes snickers, the candy bar, and he gives a not-very-believable “Yeah” so the owner suggests to him a shake that is based on those flavor patterns. Robert* is asked if we’re paying together and I look to him, he lets out an apathetic, “sure” and it takes all of my energy not to scoff. The owner tells us that they’re giving discounts out if you advertise the location by sharing a photo on social media and I agree to do so, because why not.

Then it gets a little uncomfortable. The owner is trying to be extra personable and make it a personalized experience, so upon receiving Robert*’s card, he starts referring to him using his name that is on his card. The only thing is, the name I know him by is not the name on the card, nor any fort of that name, like a typical nickname. Under my face mask, I smile and almost laugh to myself like, you dumb bitch who are you even out with rihgt now. Additional peer pressure from the owner also leads to us giving him our emails and signing up for their loyalty program, which also knocks off some cents off our drink. When I give him mine, obviously everything is the same, but when he gives his email, his email does have the name that I knew him by in the address, so I figure okay maybe Robert* is a middle name or something. Because we were under one order, there was also some sort of combo discount included as well since he got a shake and, I, a tea.

As we walk away from the counter and take a seat on a couch maybe 10 feet away, Robert* abruptly asks “what do you think the damage is?” Immediately pulling out his phone and checking the receipt of our drinks. “Uh I don’t know…. Sixteen dollars,” I guess. I am honestly put off by his obsession on price. I understand money issues, but it is not appropriate for first date behavior. I am pretty close, as it is somewhere in the mid $15 range. He scoffs at the prices.

Now that we are sitting together, I am noticing really how disheveled and not put together he looks. He has overgrown stubble, too short to be a beard, but definitely not stubble from just the day. His skin all over his face and body is dry and flaky, especially on his ears. Again, I expect a little more from a man who has had days to prepare for this date. I have been sipping my drink for a while, and it is honestly delicious, one of the best beverages I’ve ever had. He asks if I would like to try his drink. “No thank you, I don’t think it would go well with my fruity drink,” I half lie. The major reason why is that I am weird about sharing drinks/food and that so far I am almost repulsed by him and don’t want to share anything with him.

Despite my lack of optimism already, I try my best to be upbeat and give him a chance. I am trying to start a conversation and ask him questions and get to know him more, but he is a brick wall. He’s just staring at me and not saying anything, occasionally taking sips from his shake. Many of his responses are very sarcastic and rude. He actually brings up the ears; he had a very bad sunburn and that’s why they looked like that. Doesn’t explain the rest of his look though, but at least he was aware of that. It is pretty warm in the shop. I already opted to leave my jacket in the car, but at one point he decided to take off his sweatshirt. Underneath was a red shirt with almost like a confetti cake type pattern, of little microscopic dots of different colors throughout. I compliment the shirt, and mention I have one of a similar type of fabric pattern. I am nodded at. I again continue to try and force conversation, but I am still getting nothing.

Randomly he says, “come here” and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I am extremely confused, as I was getting very negative vibes from him all over. I make my confusion known by commenting about how that was out of nowhere. His only response is, “oh you know.” “No, I do not know. I have no idea what is going on right now.” He only just chuckles and is like “you’re a cute girl.” I furrow my brow in confusion and figure we should get some air and suggest we take a walk. I ran to my car and put the drink in my car as well as my bag, being light, only having my phone and car keys for the walk. We take off and just walk through a nearby neighborhood. We have maybe 10-15 more minutes until he has to get going so he can get to work in time.

Conversation is still moderately forced, but a little better. At one point, we come up to a tree where the branches overhang drastically over the sidewalk. Whereas before I had been walking on the street side, Robert* has swung around and walked into the street, whereas I choose just to duck under the branches, which is easier with me being shorter, although I would not say he is very tall either. I made a comment about not caring and that he could have just “pushed me into the street/out of the way” and continued on, jokingly, about how you have to put a woman in their place. He says “okay noted I see what you like now,” trying to turn it into something sexual, it seems. I pause a moment, becoming much more serious when I say, “you know I’m kidding. I’ve told you about my abusive relationship so obviously I am not a fan of battering women.” In this moment, he pulls me into an embrace and tries to kiss me. I lean away and ask him, “why is talking about abusing women the time to try and kiss me?” He makes an excuse saying that he just really wanted to kiss me. I lie again, making another excuse about why I don’t want to kiss him, “I’m more old fashioned I guess, I’d like to get to know someone a little better and make sure that we are compatible and know each other well before I do anything.” Again, not entirely untrue. For the five hundredth or so time, Robert* says that I can ask him any questions.

I check my watch and declare, accurately, “We should probably head back towards our cars, you need to head out soon.” We walk back to the parking lot, having idle chitter chatter. When we get to my car, it’s perfect timing, as an alarm he had set to make sure he left on time goes off. I start to say our goodbyes and he tells me again that he wants to kiss me. I make a noise that makes my discomfort known, and he says, “well what about a kiss on the cheek?” I say verbatim, “I’ll allow it.” He makes a sarcastic comment, mocking me about “allowing it.” I retorted back saying, “well yeah.” He sticks to his word and only does a cheek kiss, and I’m cringing and can’t wait to wash my face when I get home. Being polite, I ask for him to let me know when he gets to work.

Using my Apple Carplay, I ask my car to text him when I notice he is driving behind me. Though, as all I’m getting is audio, I don’t know exactly what I am texting until I get home later.

(the first two texts of mine are my car texting and not manually)

Immediately, he asks me my feelings about him.

I then offered Venmo him money for my drink, as obviously money was a huge concern for him. He accepts and sends me his Venmo. I sent him the money and let him know so.

And that is that. He doesn’t text me after that.

[awkenorslumped]

who lied to you ?

    Importance of the Spiritual Journey, universal signs and the unexpected!

As Summer Walker once said The spiritual journey isn’t about the astethic of crystals or the ideal that people have created to make it a fetish on social media. The true meaning of the spiritual journey as Summer Walker said its about the ability to take accountability for the choices one makes that affect their lives . Its about accepting who you truly are inside to show on the outside, Literally living in your true form not caring for the validation of others.

 Many think the Spirituality is about the crystals or the “witching”, the burning of sage and manifestation.  Take in mind that manifestation does play a part into it but there is much more depth. On your journey the importance is acknowledging that its about connecting deep to your inner self.   The path is for you to really get to know yourself the true depth of who you are. Connecting to yourself through meditation means having a place where you feel safe and serene to focus your mind on yourself to analyze stuff within you that you can’t make a connection to why things happen to you in life. Connecting the subconscious to the conscious to make yourself whole.

 I believe that before we’re born into the human realm we live in our spiritual homes before we’re meant to save those who we feel need help remembering who they truly are. I feel when we dream we are actually transporting back to our TRUE homes and forms.  Scientist and the government are aware but they fear that when we realize it they can’t control it. They do research to figure out how to weaponize the ability and for complete control.  Starseeds, Ascendants , Reiki Masters, The spiritually attuned etc are the people who are reincarnated to help break the cycle of control. The attuned don’t live for materialistic things they admire it but its never a true need, they don’t hold true value to the soul. 

 The journey is complex because you have to really really focus on yourself the past, the trauma , the fear and self doubt.  Once you’ve overcome or can accept those your eyes will be open to the propaganda and the actual things happening in the world. Nothing will surprise you. 

 All those horror movies , sci fy movies where do you think the ideas come from ? Its not a coincidence its stuff that has happened before. They are signs and information in plain sight its for you to see the true info over what they put into distract you. The government has the goal to control the world for greed and power, while possibly some higher beings want to test us or sort us out from the true of heart to the wicked of heart. There is no good without a little bad, no light without dark and that goes for ourselves , the government and the higher beings some of us haven’t met yet.

 We’re able to tell when we encounter others like us , we connect with them instantly they match our full energy potential without of dimming it. The goosebumps you get when you feel an eerie presence or feel your in the wrong place. That gut feeling that something is wrong is your subconscious telling you that a higher being that is most likely malicious or want to control you for a pet for their own amusement.  The higher beings that observe us as entertainment are the ones who are in contact and work with the government for their desire of entertainment. The higher beings have been around longer than we have and seen many things also are more advance, they could give us the tools for world peace but they don’t instead they feed us info for world domination and destruction for pure laughter. The reptilians enjoy destruction because they feel they are superior to the pure of heart . To be fair there is a balance so what makes people think the universe wouldn’t have a balance between alien races ? 

Lets bring you back to earth for a second, we humans HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA OF ALL THE CREATURES THAT LIVE HERE ! We’ve barely made a dent in prehistoric creatures. But lets take a dive down this bunny whole, If the earth we live on has been around for billions of years and has all these layers why the fuck would we assume we would know all the creatures and beings that have lived here before us ? Mythical creatures were & are real. Sea beings and creatures are real. Why is it hard to accept that there are legitimate things we know nothing us. But instead we humans want to prove we’re smarter beings? The joke is on everyone that believes that with their entire being. Honestly you have to be narcissitic to find that to be a true statement. How can we humans know everything about something that’s been around longer than us just because we dug through a small layer and found some bones. WE CAN’T EVEN GO TO THE TRUE DEPTH OF THE OCEAN SO HOW WOULD WE KNOW ALL THE SPECIES AND HUMANOIDS THAT CALL THE OCEAN HOME?? MAKE THAT MAKE SENSE! Scientist believe because they have a phd or doctorate that they are geniuses and make minor discoveries ? Its not a major discovery when most people are like we knew that already because we know there are other beings and species out there. You can’t fool the awaken ok, we have woken up because we were meant to. Shifts are happening and whatever deal was made could be coming to and end soon because the government is fucking up. Or hear me out the true form of the deal is coming where the humans who aren’t awake will never awake and will be under the control of the reptilians and the people in the government who work with them . But little do they know that the reptilians will in fact double cross them. Why, you ask? Simply the reptilians are smart, mischievous and  clever but not too smart that they can’t be overcame. Typing this up I feel goosebumps why cause im aware im being watched I’ve acknowledged things im not meant to be aware of . Also because im writing this with all intentions of exposing what needs to be brought to light.  Religion is a TOOL USED TO HAVE ALL OUR MINDS FOCUS ON ONE BEING THEY TOLD US WAS ALL MIGHTY BUT IN REALITY ITS THE REPTILIANS WHO CAME WITH THAT PLOT. BY BELIEVING IN ONE MIGHTY BEING YOU WILL BELIEVE EVERYTHING THAT POWER SAYS AND WILL NOT SECOND GUESS THEM. HELLO THE CONSTITUTION HAS THE SAME STRUCTURE HAS THE 10 COMMANDMENTS IN THE BIBLE. WHY??!? WHY HAVE LAWS THAT YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW UNQUESTIONED JUST LIKE THE 10 COMMANDMENTS YOUR EXPECTED TO FOLLOW IF YOU WANT TO LIVE WITH JESUS IN HEAVEN. Riddle me this why would Jesus who is suppose to be forgiving and loving turn his back on you for not following rules he made? He gave us free will so why would he forsake us if we don’t follow his rules. ALSO WHY WOULD HE ASK A FOLLOWER TO KILL HIS ONLY SON?!?! That there gave it away that religion as made as a secondary form of government to make people obedient and further help the reptilians plot for control of humans. Have the humans do your dirty work while you give them information or false information to complete your task while you sit back relax watch and wait until its almost completed and they come to take reign .ONCE you realize what done and try to rebel you get wiped out and they try again. Many planets many chances to complete a goal. ALSO all those people who’ve exposed the truth were killed because the people who don’t want the revolution are instructed to keep the secret by any means necessary. How come the Egyptians, the mayan , aztecs, Atlantans had contact with humanoids that helped them advance their ENTIRE civilizations, yet the government has know about “aliens” been in contact with them yet our civilization hasn’t advance . Shouldn’t that there tell you the humanoids they are in contact with aren’t here to actually help us. The world needs to open their eyes and see the truth. 

     If you think I’m crazy then explain why they haven’t found a single bone from the mayan civilization of the people who lived there, why can’t we explain atlantis, why is it that  all these advance civilizations just go missing , not as though their city was rampaged but left in tact in one piece but the people left. NO THEY WERE SAVED BY THEIR ANCESTORS OF THE TRUE OF HEART BEFORE THE REPTILIANS TRIED TO DESTROY THEM. 

WAKE UP, OPEN YOUR EYES, CONNECT YOUR MIND AND SOUL. SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU MISS THE SAVING SHIP.

[diazpoems]

Me watching Riverdale S2:

THE WAY KEVIN IS RAISING HIS HAND TO THE MOTHERFUCKING SKY WHEN HIRAM ASKS FOR A VOLUNTEER FOR A WRESTLING DEMONSTRATION. THIS THIRSTY MOTHERFUCKER. HIS FACE IS PRICELESS.

I wish I could just jump into Riverdale and shake the characters and be like

Cheryl: Your parents fucking suck

Josie: Your parents fucking suck

Veronica: Your parents fucking suck

Betty: Your parents fucking suck

Archie: Your dads okay so far, I don’t know about your mom

Jughead: Your dad used to fucking suck but as a person, at his core, I don’t think he’s evil, and he’s getting better, but he’s got a ways to learn. I don’t know about your mom

Kevin: Your dad’s decent so far? Don’t know about your mom

Like especially Josie because I know it’s hard and that a lot of the trauma her mom felt probably manifested itself badly and Josie probably feels attached to her mom and like she owes her being a good daughter because her mom’s had it bad but like I also DON’T CARE. FUCKING TREAT YOUR CHILD RIGHT. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT HAPPENED. THATS YOUR CHILD. WOMAN UP AND BE A FUCKING DECENT PERSON. I DON’T CARE THAT YOU PUT A ROOF OVER HER HEAD, FOOD IN HER MOUTH, GAVE HER A SINGING CAREER (But continue to control it and not give her leeway to think and act on her own). SHE DON’T OWE YOU SHIT. FUCK OFF WITH YOUR WEIRD LIFE-FUCKING-SUCKED-FOR-ME-BUT-IM-ALSO-A-CLASSIST-BITCH PARADOX. MY DAD’S GOT IT MADE RIGHT NOW BUT HE HASN’T FORGOTTEN HIS ROOTS, HASN’T FORGOTTEN THE DISCRIMINATION HE FACED AND THE FACT THAT HE GREW UP SHIT POOR EARLY ON AND HE HASN’T DECIDED “Hey, let’s ridicule people for being in a similar position that I was in!”

Basically, this is me begging for for Josie’s mom to ✨fucking do better✨

Anyways yeah normalize Riverdale characters disowning their own parents ✌🏽🥰

Hmmm. If I wasn’t completely and utterly for the Serpents before, the white serpents learning to shut the fuck up and stand with Toni and her grandfather in opposition of the genocide and colonialism that was perpetrated by Cheryl’s great great grandfather? Hell fucking yeah

Dude I’m sorta crying at the scene with Hiram seeing Veronica in her confirmation dress because he’s a piece of shit but this is how it goes down, like it’s a whole thing

I love that I immediately knew the meaning of “Catholic chic”. Apparently that’s all going to church every Sunday for the formative years of my life accomplished

I hope Penelope Blossom dies in a fire :)

OH MY GOD, LOVE SIMON CAME OUT RIGHT AROUND HERE, KEVIN IS ASKING MOOSE TO IT, MY COMFORT MOVIE OH MY GOD-

Ugh, I don’t trust Midge. Something about the tropey-ness of her being The Girlfriend™️ and her face, as well as the fact that she played Gen in tatbilb, something doesn’t sit right. The haircut feels too manic pixie, like she’s hiding something. Bad vibes

NOOO CHERYL ILL GO ON A VACATION WITH YOU 😭 GOD IM SO GONE FOR HER

Aaaaand she did some fuck shit. Aaaand Toni is pretty. Aaaand there’s the internalized homophobia.

Jughead saying that growing up Betty’s and Archie’s windows being parallel always bothered him sounds more like a jarchie admission than a bughead one, I’m just sayin’

BETTY AND JUGHEAD’S REACTIONS WHEN THEY HEAR THE BED SQUEAKING IS ME. Like the little amused but lowkey confused and baffled expression on his face as he’s like “is that their solution to everything? Can’t they ever just talk?” Like no apparently not. Me too Jug, me too-

Idk Vee, maybe he’s asking questions about your father’s line of work and the business of his associates because your dad and mom are fucking evil

What the fuck Veronica. I mean yay because that just gets us closer to Jarchie kiss but like what the fuck Vee. Also Jughead is super cute, like why does the blue eyes black hair thing absolutely melt my weak heart, like I didn’t choose to fall for this pasty ass white boy but here we are. Also Veronica’s eyes are really big and dark and pretty like girl help im falling for these two-

BETTY LITERALLY POINTED IT OUT, C’MON NOW CW, I KNOW WE’VE MADE THE MISTAKE OF GROVELING WITH SPN BUT PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU WE NEED A JARCHIE KISS-

CAN HETEROSEXUALS PLEASE STOP FUCKING ALL THE TIME ON TV. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SHOVE YOUR STRAIGHTNESS IN MY FACE. NOT EVERYONE IS STRAIGHT YOU KNOW.

“Entertain Jughead” 😏

DUDE. They were sitting ALONE. TOGETHER. In the WOODS. With them being the ONLY ones who haven’t kissed. DUDE.

C’MON MAN, THEY’RE STARING FUCKING LONGINGLY AT EACH OTHER

If there are weird gay ships for straights then Jeronica is the weird straight ship for gays

Ok so is there a legitimate reason why Veronica is faithful to her parents and defends them to a tee and partakes in their mob shit or is she just daddy’s little fucking girl. Like it isn’t her fault that she’s been manipulated but it pisses me the fuck off. And people who want her to stay with her parents because supposedly they’re the only ones who love her even though it’s toxic and warped? Like do you have a brain?

Archie and Veronica really love supporting gentrification, classism, and Vee’s rich daddy and mommy’s innocence huh

Look i actually agree with Reggie for once, get Hiram’s ass, deal with it Veronica

Wow, nice, shaming Jug for eating. That’s cool, Arch. That’s awesome. And no Betty, she doesn’t have everybody’s vote. Because Veronica’s parents are motherfuckers and when it comes to choosing between a murderer/abuser/rich/classist/gentrifying fuck and supporting your bestie uwu guess which one im fucking picking. Also, THANK YOU JUG for explaining to your friend that even though he lives in a fantasy land where northside Riverdale is the only one worth referring to when talking about Riverdale at all and thus the only one that matters and is worth protecting, the southside exists and people live and have grown up in the southside and building a prison there where it will be even more easy to profile and incarcerate southside residents under false or exaggerated pretenses ISN’T A GOOD THING. That his own friend isn’t quite apart of his and Veronica’s and Betty’s socioeconomic caste and that he’s not going to pretend like he is, he isn’t going to be quiet about it just because you’re friends again. That he’s not going to lay down and let Archie explain what a good move for Riverdale is when he clearly means northside riverdale, let him explain how the southside needs to be dealt with to someone who grew up on the southside and knows it more (not the most, I’m not saying Jug isn’t out of his depth with certain aspects of being a full southsider) intricately than him. LIKE FUCK. ARCHIE. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO. Like he just doesn’t get why building prisons and stereotyping and condemning all southsiders and gentrifying entire neighborhoods is really fucking bad and a big deal and it annoys me so much. Like yeah Arch, obviously you don’t see the big deal because it doesn’t affect you and you delude yourself that it doesn’t affect your friend either, but it actually is that bad.

In conclusion, Archie and Veronica and sometimes Betty are giving me headaches rn. Like I’m not saying Jughead is perfect at all but in this particular instance he’s the only one I agree with for the most part right now.

Yeah Arch, you see things differently because you’re not the one who’s on the receiving end of the problem

YES MOMMA ANDREWS. SNAP! GO FERAL! SHOW THAT SOB SOME CONSEQUENCES!

Ah, so this is the jarchie “break-up” scene. You know what. I feel no heartbreak. Get his ass Jug.

Get. His. Ass.

They sent Cheryl to a conversion institution. I’m literally crying. This isn’t an exaggeration. I feel like I want to cry. Just. God fucking damn it.

SHE DOESN’T WANT TO GET BETTER. SHE’S NOT SICK. YOU ARE. DIE. FUCKING DIE. BURN IN HELL. AND PENELOPE BLOSSOM TOO.

“That’s not how things go in Riverdale” is a veiled way of saying “don’t challenge the upper class and don’t try to stifle gentrification,” I hope you all know

[huntsman-ash]

RWBY LiveThoughts: V8E7

Since I finally have time for it today, lets make sure Im all caught up for the hiatus. 

Before we get fully started, an idea; Its not a war crime if they’re Grimm. Then its just self defense. So break out the napalm, the cluster bombs, the chemical weapons, the fun stuff. Make em regret it, yeah?

And we start off...on a farm. Looks like my moms old farm in South Dakota. Even on Remnant, hay is best used in bales.

Waiiiit. Thats the place the Whale set down isnt it. I see a Sayber running. Ah, and the Atlas military! Surely, the vanguard of a massive force to hold the line! Also Im glad to see a close up of the helmet for once, I want to make my own. Also, the gloves, and the rifle itself. Not sure why it doesnt have a stock, seems kind of silly...

And airships too, so they got some fire support...whats that wall behind them though?

Also it TOOK US 8 FUCKING SEASONS to get a close up of these FUCKING Weapons. 8. FUCKING. SEASONS. Okay maybe more like 5 cause they didnt first appear till 3 or so but come on. Im so picking this shit apart later. 

Pfft, bros got some nerves going on. Come on man, its just some Grimm, you’ll be FINE.

Atlas field harvesters resemble Halo’s JOTUN Farming equipment. As wel as our own. No surprise there.

Alright, bunch of Saybers, not seeing much of a threat here.

Hey, Paladins! Damn, they...look way different than I remember them to be. 

I wont lie, I dont like the Paladin design. Way to much visual noise, I cant tell where anything IS. 

Also that is the most 2D grass I have sever seen in my fucking life. What the hell are they growing here...

Huh, the whale has two sets of teeth. Wait, its just there? And its wpewing out Grimm. So...why isnt the air force firing on it? 

Yeah its not moving, its just raising its head and slamming down and vomiting out more Grimm. Im not sure what the issue is here, just...seal the mouth. 

Oh, huh. Apathys. Let me guess, RTs gonna try and tell us depression is going to kill most of Atlas. Oh for fuck sake. IM NOT IMPRESSED RT. IM REALLY NOT. IM MORE FUCKING ANNOYED THAN ANYTHING

Okay so...I see what this is. Its farm land outside of atlas proper and there’s an additional wall behind them, plus the power lines I guess? Seems like a viable place to make a stand. 

...thats it. Please tell me this is just a single detachment of the Atlas military because there is less firepower here than a NATIONAL GUARD UNIT ASSIGNED TO ONE CITY

Im fairly certain there are more people assigned to ONE UNIT attached to JBLM then I amm seeing here. 

Not to mention this is an OPEN FIELD the Grimm have to run through. This is a literall fucking TURKEY SHOOT. Running across an open field anywhere is a ticket to DYING.

Just ask the poor fucks on D-day.

Also uh...why is everyone in line formation? What is this, fuckin’ 18009s combat Napoleon style?

And did the distance suddenly change, I feel like the whale suddenly got a hell of a lot closer.

Just...I dont get this. This makes no sense. Did Ironwood learn how to deploy forces from a fairy tale book? This is legitimately some fuckin Lord of the Rings shit here.

RIP that one specific trooper hit by that Behemoth though. Dont worry friend, the thing walked next to a Paladin. Its getting its eye blasted out

And cut back to Ironwood. Doing...fuck if I know what.

Staring angrily it seems.

“Dammit, my tactical deployment by line formation and parade ground tactics isnt holding back the Grimm, curses!”

Well MAYBE IF YOUD THOUGHT TO INVEST IN SOME FUCKING AIR SUPPORT...Seriously.

I know people have told me why this is. I understand myself why this is. But it really just...does...not...jibe with me. At all. 

Okay so more details; first, apparently Atlas has a subway. Makes sense, its a big island. Inter-system transits probably a given. Second; Was that Mantis Squad Omega? Some kind of unit maybe...interesting.

 Also I love how this guy just questions Ironwood. Like, bro, if the General says do it, do it.

Hold the fuck up, why is everyone outside? It looks like fuckin’ Cali during our lockdowns...what ever happened to martial law huh?

Also “underground subway stations”. Yes, thats...kind of what a subway IS. I guess maybe they have overhead ones like New York does. Mass transit be weird like that.

I mean HELL the signs on it are almost identical to the ones in NYC too! Even with the colored circles and train cnumbers. 

According to the sign here they’re at Pickens Square Station. 

Oh boy. Ironwood just fed these poor bastards into a meat grinder. Anyone here ever played the Metro game series, or read the books?

Remember the Dark Ones? The Nosallias? Yeah. Tight corridors and monsters only work out well for angry vodka fueled Russians.

Didnt see it very well but I THINK those Mantas had some kind of wing gun. Either thats new, a separate armament setting, or RT forgot what ind of weapons they gave their ships AGAIN.

Cant get the shields back up, yeah, no shit, they DETACHED ONE OF THE FUCKING PILOTS YOU IDIOTS.

Also hah, they arrested Yang, Ren and Jaune. Not surprised.

Beta squads apperently been hitting the whale. ‘Bombs, missiles, we cant make a dent, sir.” ...while Im not surprised by this, I also hear shades of the opening of Halo 2s level Metropolis. “Where’s the rest of your platoon?” “Wasted, sarge. Blew right through us. Rockets, fifty cals, didnt do nothing.”

Honestly they could have SHOWED THAT too. Them just saying it feels like a cop out to me. Take that as you will. But if you want us to see the things hard to kill, show it. 

Not that I figure Atlas’s rockets are much more than Dust in a propellent tank. Not exactly a Hellfire or TOW.

Nice to see proper military talk for...a moment anyway.

Or what I figure RT figures is proper.

Oh so now the whales moving. Okay...huh.

Jaunes commentary is the same as mine. Though I guess the size seems to shift depending.

Ohhh. Its MANTA. As in the gunships. Alright, sure that works. And this guys making a good call. If you cant hit the big one go after the smaller. Of which there seems to be a HELL of a lot. Actually holy fuck that Grimm spew is across like...ahlf the fucking island right now. Time to fuckin torch and burn people.

Ahhhhhh and they get to the proper idea.  If you cant punch it from the outside, hit it from the inside.

I knew a crew...three madmen, names of Keegan, Lahni and Mac. The Hivebusters. Something tells me a Venom bomb would do the trick...if it can rip apart Swarm creatures as big as a Snatcher or a Swarmak and reduce them to green slime, I think it’ll work on Grimm. 

Something tells me RT isnt gonna give em a bomb though. Too obvious.

NEVER MIND. “Science team is putting together a bomb.”

Also I LOVE how Winter’s pupils expand and retract in fear as she realizes what Ironwoods asking her to do.

Awww now shes getting the shakes too.

Salem directing this shit like shes some kind of orchestra leader. I mean it FITS but...I dunno.

Ah so the command deck is directly behind the whale’s glowing nose. Basically inside where the spermacetiy organ would be in a real sperm whale.

What the fuck is Emerald doing there?

Sneaking I guess. Huh. Why’s she sneaking around the whale. Also, huh. guess seeers can get fooled by Emeralds semblance.  Is HE STILL BEATING UP ON OSCAR? Jeez dude. Take a breather.

Honestly if this was TRUE I would be okay with it. Replace the Huntsman with, I dont know, a massively overequipped military for each Kingdom, let them run rampant...stomp the Grimm out or push them back to nonexistence...everyone lives happily ever after

Lets be real here, the idea of the academies? Really really fucking dumb. Its cute. Fairy tale like.

But if theres one thing this show has taught me its that fairy tales SUCK. Reality...tends to be worse.

Ah theres one of those torture hooks they mentioned a few episodes back. Nice of the whale to have a specific interrigation room.

And at last we get some information on how Salem works. Alright so...what happens if you seperate the parts then? Sink one in the ocean, launch one into space.

Sounds like Oz/Oscars telling the fans what we’ve been saying forever, Companion Book be damned; Salem wants to die.

These mind games bore me. Its cute, but I dont like it cause I cant follow that shit. Give me a straight up fight any day, fuck this sublty backroom fuckery

No lies from them both here honestly.

Medical supplies in Atlas seem almost the same as here on earth interestngly. Also, soup. Or...coffee, tea?

Blake with the obvious here. But I mean thats not really saying much cause...well. Not hard to outfight the Atlas military it seems like.  (Long suffering sigh)

Im gonna make a seperate post about my frustrations with that and leave it there. But dont expect me to stop fully complaining about it because everyones gotta have something to bitch about with this show, and I’ll be DAMNED if I start joining the BB whiners.

Good question, Ruby. Might be that YOUR NOT LIVING IN A FAIRY TALE

I’d like to see these people dying in Mantle. I refuse to believe that there isnt SOMEONE in the nation that once brought Remnant to its heel that wont stand and fight. Unless Im wrong about that too...

May backstory? May backstory. Yeah.  Not amazingly complicated but it works. Cant tell if shes Henry though...or was. 

Dramatic lightning flash

Cute you think that Ruby. Theres sides. Always are.

Further proof honestly.

Hazels look of though is amusing. Cant tell if he doesnt believe Oscar, or if his tiny peabrain is runing full bore to think this through.

Coordination between farm boy and professor.

Oh. OHHHH. Plants the seed of doubt in Hazels tiny mind, he uses the last question for himself, sees the truth... Clever, Oscar. Clever.

Hazel peabrain go THUNK

Ah so Mercs going off to Vacuo. Guess that means everyone else is going there next too. Eat that, random Discord person, I called it.

Course, CFVYs there so...maybe we get to see Yats beat up on him.

Oh hi Tyrian. Do you just...randomly roam the halls of the whale waiting to DRAMATICALLY REVEAL YOURSELF and give violent expositon? Im very much okay with that.

Also I love how he just...accepts this. Totally fucking bonkers, totally down with it. 

Oh shit, Tyrian and Mercury going to Vacuo? Damn thats gonna be INTERESTING. I guess Tyrian’ll fit in well enough honestly.

Flying Beringal literally out of the roof. 

I remember back when this season first started and I said those weird bone platforms looked like VTOL launch bays. Guess what? They are.

Merc and Em emotion blah blah DONT CAAARRREEE

Jaune thinking tactically for ONCE IN HIS FUCKING LIFE. An I mean military tactical of course.

Also I like how the Aces say they dont let emotions cloud their shit WHEN THEYVE BEEN DOING THAT THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME.

This ENTIRE PLANET is emotionally run. Thats why the Grimm are such an issue! Makes small note to make Remnant Adeptus Mechanicus cult

Seriously though...

I wont lie though, Hare isnt wrong. Wonder what happened to that Tortuga guy. Tyrian, is my guess. Love how Ren interrupts the moment they almost mention Clovers name.

Expendable, yes. Replacable, no. You should have a talk with squadron leader Grey from Star Wars Squadrons Ren

ANNNNDDD SEMBLANCE EVOLUTION. Or the edibles just kicked in.

This is cool and all but its really fucking dumb and hamfisted. Explain all you want. Mention emotions all you want.

The Aces are fucking huntsmen. HUNTSMEN. FUCKING. SUCK. They always have. Its a dumb idea. Yes, lets stop the hordes of monsters invading this world BY SENDING IN SINGLE OPERATIVES WITH FUCKING MELEE WEAPONS

I’ll make this clear to you, Ren, right here and now. If you faced a REAL elites, you wouldnt have stood a chance. Nor would RWBY. Their bodies would have been three-shot from 20 meters out with a breach and clear and stacked against the wall like cords of wood, one final shot to the dome to make dead sure they were down. None of this stupid flipping and acrobatic crap, none of this clashing weapons and Dust and semblances...no. 

You’d be dead before you knew they were there and they would move on. You’d just be another body to the pile, one more faceless corpse to add to their kill count. A meatgrinder in human form. 

Professionals. Dont. Lose. AND THE ACES ARE NOT PROFESSIONALS!

Because thats not what RWBYs about, never has been.  And that is what annoys me slightly. That and the fact I cant distangle what I know of other universes and our own from RWBY’s. Its hard to hold a universe on its own when everything they make points towards it being like ours, but they change it when they see fit. 

I feel like thats bad writing.

Hehehe. Winter touched Elms boob.

Glad to know that Winters got her priorities right. Course, that bomb probably aint gonna do shit cause its Dust based.

...again, hoping its a chemical weapon...

Wait, the Atlas forces from earlier are STILL FIGHTING? Damn, these Grimm must suck if they couldnt wipe them out in that little time...

Also I cant tell if its getting dark cause of the storm or if its the dawn of the next day.  Or did...they shift time around? I lost track. I SWORE the sun was setting the last time we saw everything.

Also return of the shitty 3D grass...

Marrows gonna defect.

Awww poor Winters got emotions. HEY MAYBE DONT SEND A MENSTRATING WOMAN OUT ON A FIELD OP, ATLAS!

So according to May there’s still front lines. Cool. 

AYYY ITS KLIEN! HES BACK

Oh, I guess hes a doctor too. Oh he MAD.

Ayyy Whitleys being USEFUL for fucking once in his shitty life.

Shes gonna hug him isnt she.

CALLED IT. For fuck sake...whatever. Cute. But whatever.

Oh annnnddd now Grimmquake?

No. It stopped...Bolide?

No. PENNY.

Annnnddd shes leaking coolant. And sparking. And dead.

RIP Penny.

The concept art of the beached whale looks so fucking silly. Seriously, just...detach the whole section there. Drop the fucking thing. 

Oh well.

And thats it for almost two months! Be prepared for me to BULLSHIT MY WAY THROUGH ALL OF IT and continue on with my military fanwank because THATS HOW IM SURVIVING 2020!

[asexualzoro]

24 and 25 for the writing thingy

24: Would you say your writing has changed over time?

I... should hope so. i mean, ive put in a fair amount of effort to improve! 

i think ive become able to make more serious / impactful / emotional writing as of late. when i was younger, i didnt know how to make any emotions happen that werent like... 

you know that post thats like “some stories are a home cooked meal, and other stories are drive thru taco bell. and you know what, sometimes youre just in the mood for taco bell, and that isnt bad. thank your fast food writers.” i think, for a long time, all i could write was like, single serving chip bags. which, like, for a beginner writing, thats fine! honestly, that’s fine for any writer. sometimes you just want something light and airy that makes you happy for a few minutes, but is ultimately unremarkable and forgettable. 

but i definitely feel like i can do more than that now. i think i can write... maybe not home cooked meals, but definitely something better than single serving chip bags... a pretty decent restaurant, maybe? not your favorite, but still one worth recommending? i think this metaphor is getting away from me.

25: What part of writing is the most fun?

hmm. do you want a bit of a personal answer? 

well, a fun fact about me is that i dont sleep well. most nights (all nights? every night?) i spend about an hour around 3-4am (had to unplug the clock in my room bc there was a good year where i checked the time every night, so i can give this time with certainty) awake, staring at my own eyelids. even when i was passing out w my phone in my hand from trying to stay up to talk to friends in high school, i still consistently woke up at 3:40am-ish

in the few occasions ive slept thru the whole night without waking (of which i genuinely feel i could count on my hands, even if that maybe isnt true), i actually feel kind of uncomfortable about it. it feels like ive missed something? its like, idk. forgetting to grab your glasses, or put on a piece of jewelry you wear every day (those might also just be me), or any other harmless ritual you need for your day to feel right. an integral piece of my day is just not there. (bc it is integral, even if ive had my fair share of nights where i just can not wait for that hour to pass)

ton top of that, i lucid dream (sort of--i dream normally, and then usually ill pilot the dream once ive got a feel for the plot). and most mornings (which dont require me waking up, ie weekends), i spend a good hour or so (or more. two hours, honestly, to four, is probablt the best estimate) just lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. so, yanno. i spend a lot of my time “sleeping,” uh. very aware? legitimately conscious?

but in that time, i daydream (...is it daydreaming if its night?). lots of time to play with stories, and go thru scenes and scenarios and whatever else. make up bits of dialogue or scenes that make no sense or just, idk. imagine? imagine whatever bullshit i want. play aorund with scenes id like to see in the fic i was reading before bed, imagine stuff thats coming up in the story im working on, imagine all the “One Cool Scene”s of all the stories ill never be assed to write, think about alternate endings to something or unwritten endings to fics i still remember from middle school. 

most of those are all mine, and a lot of them ill forget, but,

i dont know if its the most fun part of writing, technically, but it’s something i love about writing every single day (night?). okay, im not literally writing these things out. in the grand scheme of things, ive written like, .01% of these things. but that... idk, font of imagination? of Stories? of, idk. of pure amusement for the sake of just having fun, for me and me alone?

writing can take that and make it real. catch it, and take it from... hazy colors and conversations i have to start over bc i lost track of how they started or where they were going (dreams are slippery like that), and it can put them somewhere, and say “this is what you imagined. it took a lot more time and work, but its real. it’s not ‘pinned down,’ exactly, nor ‘captured,’ but possibly ‘crafted.’ puzzled through and put together and wrapped in something as lovely as language, and it’s real.” you can shave away those fuzzy edges, every word hammering those snippets into something solid! carefully constructed words and retyped sentences refining those wisps into something!

and i dont know if that means anything to anyone else, but it means something to me. and maybe that’s corny (it certainly feels corny, ha, i even used italics!), but its something i love about writing for sure.

[sparklyicecube]

Houseki No Gift Exchange - A Gamer’s Christmas

 To: @diisuke

From: @sparklyicecube

Merry Christmas~

“A Rutile, nice! Here Phos, take it. You could use a boost.”

“Nah, I know you’ve been eyeing that gem for your collection anyway.”

“Phos. You have 13hp left.”

“But Moony, it’s a Rutile though, I know you wanted to get at least one of these~"

“Fine! I’ll take it.”

“Yes, take it! I know you want it.”

“It is a really amazing item though; it can heal your hp and it’s super valuable…”

“Exactly, so take it!”

“I will!”

“Phosphophylitte! Are you flirting with your Moony-chan again?” Antarcticite’s voice rang out from beyond Phos’s headset.

Phos went red from the comment, even though Moonwalkerpatrol and them decided to date they had not gotten used to it all. Antarcticite leaned down and pulled the mic of the headset to their own mouth, pressing their ear to the side of the headset.

“Hello Moonwalkerpatrol, as much as I enjoy seeing Phos spend time with other, respectable people, they do have an exam tomorrow and they need to sleep.”

“Oh, no problem, I have an exam tomorrow too. Phos watch out-! “

Antarc and Phos watched the screen flash as Phos got killed by a stray monster.

“I told you to take the Rutile.” Came Cinnabar’s amused voice. “Goodnight Phos, sweet dreams.”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

“I’m going to ask to meet them today, we can meet up in real life!” Phos was skipping down the pavement on the way to school, Antarc following close behind.

“No gaming in class.” Reminded Antarcticite.

“Haiiiiiiiii.”

As they entered the classroom through the back door Phos saw Cinnabar look up at them, through their bright red hair their eyes made eye contact, Phos hid behind Antarc, hiding from Cinnabar in way any onlookers would describe as comedic.

The class was still incomplete, and students were openly talking, gossiping and laughing, Cinnabar was vaguely aware of dying in the game they were playing.

“I told you Phos hates me.” Bort looked up from the notebook they were writing in at Cinnabar’s statement.

“They don’t hate you Cinnabar,” Cinnabar looked dejectedly at their own notebook, “They’re just scared of you.” Cinnabar slumped slightly lower.

“Way to go in making me feel better.” No one in class had anything against Cinnabar, they just weren’t close to them, no one but Phos it seemed.

Bort put down their pen, a slightly guilty expression on their face. “Look, Phos just doesn’t know you well enough, which is fair since no one really does, but maybe if you make more of an effort to talk to them, they’ll like you more?”

Cinnabar thought for a while, then took their phone and opened an app, a game to be precise. “You know this game?”

Bort leaned over to look at the game. “Yeah, of course I have, you play it all the time in chemistry.”

“Well, this is the mobile version, at home I play it on my PC, but either way, I’m dating this- “

“You’re dating?!” Bort wasn’t loud enough for the whole school to hear but it certainly was loud enough for most of the class to turn around. “Sorry. They’re a real person right?”

“Yes to both, I mean, I think so. We act like we’re dating, and we say we love each other before we go offline, and we send virtual kisses, but we’ve never really said we were dating? I mean except that one time but I’m not sure whether it was a joke. Anyway. I’m 99% sure I know who I’m dating.”

“You know they could be scamming you, or catfishing you, or trying to kill you…”

“Okay one, you are paranoid, and two, look at their username!” Cinnabar pointed to the username that read: Phos3.5.

Bort slowly looked at Cinnabar, then at Phos who was sitting nearer the front trying to balance a pencil on the back of their pinkie finger, back to the username, they let out a small chuckle.

“This is funny to you isn’t it.”

“I don’t know it just seems like a cheesy drama, either way if you’ve managed to date Phos in the game you definitely can date in real life, right? I mean I don’t get your taste but if you guys are already dating it won’t be that hard. Find out whether they are really the same person though, otherwise it’ll be awkward.”

“I- “Cinnabar got cut short by their chemistry teacher coming in, Bort immediately switched focus to the material and the lesson while Cinnabar took out their phone to text the number that Phos gave them a while ago.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Hi 😊

Phos3.5:                    Hiii!!! 😊😊😊

Phos3.5:                    What’s up?

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Nothing, just wanted to see how you were doing

Phos3.5:                    Im doing fine!!! Class is boring though…

Find out whether they are the same person.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     What class are you having?

Phos3.5:              Chemistry I think?

Moonwalkerpatrol:     You think?

Cinnabar looked up and stretched their neck to look at Phos, who was, in fact, typing under the table.

“Cinnabar, you seem excited, could you tell me the last step of crystallisation?” Cinnabar immediately shrunk back, looking at the board in hope that it would offer some sort of help.

“I-in an experiment for salt? O-or for gemstones?”  

“In an experiment to obtain salt.”

Cinnabar stuttered for a bit when Bort subtly slid over their notes. “Uh, turning off the heat and letting the rest of the water evaporate naturally.”

“Correct.” Cinnabar shrunk back into their seat, face burning after a having to speak in front of the whole class, sinking their head into their arms.

*Ping* *Ping* *Ping* *Ping*

Cinnabar looked up at their phone, which was dinging quietly with notifications. If that new fighting game that they downloaded was the culprit then it could be deleted, it wasn’t that interesting. It wasn’t, indeed, the new fighting game, instead they were looking at 35 new messages from Phos3.5.

Phos3.5:                    MOONY      

Phos3.5:                    Are you there?

Phos3.5:                    R u ok?

Phos3.5:                    Where are you?

Phos3.5:                    Answer me I’m getting worried

Phos3.5:                    You could see my messages then you couldn’t, are you ok?

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Srry

Phos3.5:                    OMG are you okay???

Moonwalkerpatrol:     I’m okay, just contemplating why I’m alive

Phos3.5:                    ☹

Phos3.5:                    Is it smth I said?

Phos3.5:                    Im sorry

Phos3.5:                    I love you tho

Moonwalkerpatrol:     I’m sorry, it’s not your fault!

Phos3.5:                    You’re alive cus you’re an amazing person

Phos3.5:                    And you probably are an amazing person in real life too

Phos3.5:                    You’re great at gaming but you’re also really good in making me feel good

Phos3.5:                    And you’re probably really pretty too

Phos3.5:                    But even if you aren’t you’re beautiful inside and I know that for a fact.

Cinnabar stared at the texts that had overwhelmingly positive compliments that were flowing in unprompted and unconditionally.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Sorry… just thinking of stuff and got distracted so I didn’t see your messages

Phos3.5:                    Haha, there was some poor kid who got picked on by Sensei to say the answer, I would’ve helped them but I didn’t really know the answer either…

Moonwalkerpatrol:     …I feel sorry for them

Phos3.5:                    Yeah… they’re sorta scary but they are sorta pretty too. I’m sure you’re pretty too tho

Cinnabar mentally processed the fact that Phos called their real self pretty, giving them the confidence that spurred them to text their next message.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     About real life tho, do you want to meet up sometime? Like, in real life?

Phos stared at their phone in awe, with wide, wavering eyes, ignoring the teacher entirely.

Phos3.5:                    AAAAAAA I was thinking the same thing!!!

Phos3.5:                    Wait that wasn’t a typo right? You don’t mean the Ruby Stadium on level 5 right?

Phos3.5:                    Or the Shackle Ruins that we usually meet at

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Nope

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Uh actually

Cinnabar took a deep breath, ironic as they were texting and not speaking.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     I go to a school called Gakuen Houseki, we could meet at the gates at some point?

Phos3.5:                    OMG!

Phos3.5:                    I GO THERE TOO!

Phos3.5:                    THIS IS AMAZING!

The bell rang, signalling the end of this period and the start of the next one, Bort was flipping through their notes trying to memorise as much as possible. Antarc lightly smacked Phos.

“What?” Phos questioned, still on a high.

“Class, as you – should – already know we have an exam today. Books aside, pencil cases out and phones away, I’m looking at you Phos.” Phos reluctantly put their phone away as the class plunged into a concentrated area of fear and concentration.

(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

“So, they go to our school, and they want to meet you.” Antarcticite confirmed, walking back home after school.

“Yep! We just have to decide on a date.”

“Where are you guys going to go?”

Phos hm’d for a while, staring up at the sky. “I don’t know, maybe… the Waffle House?”

“Not the place I’d go for my first date, but I won’t judge.” Phos reddened at the statement, only really registering the ‘meet up’ aspect and not considering that it might be their first legitimate date.

Once they got home Phos rushed to the computer and started it up.

“Hi Moony-kun,” chimed Phos as they connected their headsets.

“Hi Phos. How was your exam?”

“I’m pretty sure I bombed it, you?”

“I don’t pay attention in Biology so...”

“You had a Bio test too? Do you have Alexandrite sensei too?”

“Yeah, that sensei is tough, they give tests all the time.”

“So, when do we meet? Wednesday?”

Cinnabar considered this, it was Monday, but the Waffle House Cinnabar was thinking of going to only served their favourite dish on Sunday.

“Sunday maybe? I want to take you somewhere, but the best dish is only served on Sunday.”

“I have somewhere I wanna take you too! We’ll take turns then.”

The game started and they both turned from discussing their Sunday plans to screaming strategy.

(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

The days went by a little too slowly, Phos was sprawled on the grass tearing apart flowers while Antarc was trying to help teach them the homework, inside the classroom was a very different atmosphere.

“Cinnabar, are you okay?” Jade looked at them in concern, Cinnabar was killing zombies on their phone, letting off some steam.

“Yeah, it was just a dumb argument anyway.” Cinnabar mumbled.

“Well… Dia is crying in the janitor’s closet right now and refuses to come out so I was wondering whether you were okay. It’s okay to not be okay.”

Cinnabar suddenly felt the world’s eyes on them, like in a click of the switch, or the reality of Jade’s words just crashing into them like a bullet train. If Cinnabar were to be honest with themselves, they legitimately did not feel bad about the argument, it was dumb, they should apologise, and they felt slightly ashamed for running their mouth like that, but not hurt. That scared them. Now Dia, one of the softest, kindest students in the class was off crying in the closet because of something that they did. It should hurt. Cinnabar should be feeling sadness, or anger, but all they’re feeling is guilt. This overwhelming guilt and a gnawing voice that tells them that everything they touch crumbles and dies, is stained or shattered.

Cinnabar noticed a soft *ping* from their phone.

Phos3.5:                    Heyyyyyy

Phos3.5:                    Im bored

Phos3.5:                    You’re not in class right

Cinnabar thought about it, about seeing Phos and knowing and being with them in person, not just behind a screen or from across the classroom. Phos was pure, innocent and kind. They wouldn’t want someone like them anyway.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Actually, I’ve been thinking that this isn’t really sustainable.

Phos3.5:                    Busting out the big words? Haha

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Phos, I think it’s best if we don’t see each other on Sunday. This wasn’t going to work out anyway.

Phos3.5:                    I don’t get it, are you cancelling our date?

Cinnabar bit their tongue at the word ‘date’, forcing tears back into their eyes.

Moonwalkerpatrol:     Not just the date, I think we should break up.

Phos stared at the words in disbelief, everything was going fine, they didn’t have a fight or anything! Moonwalker couldn’t just… they couldn’t just leave like that.

Phos3.5:                    But why?

Phos3.5:                    What happened?

Phos3.5:                    We can work this out, talking is always the best, keeping everything inside isn’t going to help.

Phos3.5:                    Moonwalker?

Cinnabar couldn’t bear to look at the messages, turning off their phone and packing their things.

“Cinnabar!” Cinnabar spun around, trying to break the grip that Bort had on their arm, “It’s only lunch time, you aren’t going home are you?” Cinnabar bit back tears, forcing them to stay in their eyes and not drip down.

“And if I am? You can’t stop me.”

“Look, Dia is sensitive and cracks easily, but that doesn’t mean you can just run away from it.”

“This isn’t about Dia okay? Let me go!”

“No, I can report you to the teacher for trying to skip class and they’ll have record of it, do you want a black mark?”

“Oh, now you’re threatening me?” Cinnabar felt a trickle slowly make its way down their cheek. “Just leave me alone.”

Bort sighed and let go. Cinnabar didn’t bolt or run, just sat down and put their head in their arms.

“It’s okay to talk about it you know. I’m really bad with people but I won’t judge.” When Cinnabar turned their head slightly to peer at Bort the other had sat down and was looking at them with almost reassuring eyes, their words echoed Phos’s too much to ignore. Phos.

“I-I broke up with Phos.” Bort looked taken aback.

“Before or after the fight?”

“After. It’s just, whenever I do anything it just hurts everyone around me: Dia, you – I don’t want Phos to be the next one.” Cinnabar rested their cheek on their arms, eyes almost but not quite closed.

“Well firstly, it’s going to take a lot more than being a bit angry to hurt me, so I can be taken off your list of victims thank you very much.” Bort paused, sensing that it might not have been the best thing to start with. “But secondly, you have been nothing but kind to Phos. You’re a bit rough on the edges but it isn’t a guarantee that they’ll get hurt because you’re there, if that was true you would’ve hurt them by now from how long you tell me you’ve been together.”

“Phos deserves better than me.”

“I would actually argue that you could do better than Phos.” Cinnabar glared at Bort, who managed to get the point. “Either way, aren’t you hurting them way more by dumping them?”

Cinnabar felt like the world was sucking out their soul, slowly reeling it into the darkness.

“It’s better that I hurt them now rather than have them be hurt by me many times in the future.”

(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

Phos was crying, while Antarc hugged them, seething with rage but trying their best to have a reassuring, comforting aura. They bit back insults towards Moonwalker as they knew it wouldn’t make Phos feel any better, but they sit were angry that anyone would hurt Phos like that.

“I-I don’t know *sniff* why they would do that. I- *sniff* I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?” Antarc handed them a tissue.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Phosphophylitte, in no way was it your fault.” Antarc bit back the unsaid ‘It was Moonwalker’s fault’. “Come on now, wipe your tears and toughen up. We can learn from this that unexpected things can happen, even if they are unpleasant. We can’t fight it; all we can do is stand up afterwards. So get up, that’s it.” Antarc helped Phos get on their feet, still blowing into the tissue. The warning bell rang, Antarc shouldered Phos’s things for them.

Cinnabar watched them walk into the class, Phos with red eyes and sniffing and Dia being quiet and down. They buried their head in their hands.

Antarc scanned the classroom, for once not paying attention to the lesson as much. There was only one class having a Biology test on Monday and that was their class, if Moonwalkerpatrol was from their school (which most likely they were telling the truth as they could chat with Phos about a particular teacher) then they would be in this class. Antarc heard Moonwalkerpatrol’s voice before, they could remember hearing something similar in one of their classes, but they couldn’t remember who…

“Could Bort’s group present next?” Bort nudged Cinnabar, who was the other member in the group.

“Is Cinnabar okay?” The teacher looked mildly concerned.

“They just,” Bort hesitated, “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Cinnabar sat up, “I’m fine,” they said quietly.

The two got to the front of the class and presented, Cinnabar said the information they needed to, in as loud a voice as they could since the teacher interrupted them several times to say they needed to be louder. The entire class’s eyes were on them, they could feel it. They could feel the stares, the whispers, Cinnabar glanced towards Phos, who was staring at them with slightly narrowed eyes, Cinnabar broke eye contact and looked away guiltily. That made them feel worse. The other groups did their presentations, they had another class, and finally the bell rang to signal the end of the day.

“Phos, you walk home first okay? I have something to do first.” Antarc said after class.

“Oh, okay.”

Antarc walked to the back of the classroom where Cinnabar sat.

“Hey.” Cinnabar jerked their head up, looking Antarcticite in the eye, that was another reason they knew it was Phos, because they were sure it was Antarc’s voice through the headset sometimes as well. They averted their eyes to their notebook. “You’re Moonwalkerpatrol aren’t you.”

Cinnbar nodded, with only the barest of movement to indicate confirmation.

“Are you trying to pick on Cinnabar?” Came Bort’s voice, with Bort glaring at Antarc, the two locked in a fierce battle with knives and swords and saws clashing.

“Cinnabar just dumped Phos over text with no indication why after they were the one to ask them to meet in real life. If that doesn’t sound like asshole material, I don’t know what will!”

“Cinnabar might seem like an ice queen, but they can’t be because you obviously claim that throne. They feel really bad about it, and literally only did that because they are an insecure person who for some reason doesn’t think they’re good enough for someone as lame as Phos!”

Cinnabar was surprised that Bort was standing up for them but with every word from either of their mouths they sunk lower into their chair, wishing they could disappear, wishing they could go away, wishing-

“SHUT UP! Both of you!”

Cinnabar looked up to see none other than Phosphophylitte them self, arms straight out beside them after stomping their foot.

“Phos, I thought you went back.”

“Well after I figured out who Moonwalkerpatrol was, did you really think I’d go? Antarc, I get that you care about me, and that you’re angry but this has nothing, nothing to do with you.” Phos grabbed Cinnabar’s hand, who was still in shock, and pulled them out of the classroom.

(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

Cinnabar breathed out, with their breath appearing as a misty steam in the cold, winter air. They were still holding onto Phos’s hand, which wasn’t pulling at theirs anymore, there was no point for their hands to be linked except for the fact that it never felt right for them to let go. The silence was rather comforting, there was a hint of frost on the pavement and a cooling breeze. Cinnabar felt Phos shiver.

“Are you okay?” Cinnabar realised that Phos’s hand was cold and stopped.

“I’m fine, just a bit cold, I didn’t bring my jacket…” Cinnabar considered this, they hadn’t brought a jacket either, but something caught their eye.

“C’mon, let’s go inside.”

Both stepped into the Waffle House, the warmth washing over them.

“Ah, I have some money in my pocket, let’s get something.” Cinnabar hadn’t used their lunch money; they had decided to skip today, and lunch had been a bit hectic.

After both were seated with warm wraps and a milkshake, Phos decided to break the silence.

“I’ll pay you back.” They blurted, after having taken a bite and feeling a bit warmer.

“You really don’t need to; they don’t cost much anyway. Besides, I owe you.”

Phos put down their wrap. “Moony-kun, you don’t owe me anything, you know that right? Yes, I was upset, but not with you, just the fact that I didn’t know why. I understand now, and I still love you just as much.”

“Ah, see that, right there. You forgave me so easily. I don’t deserve that.”

“Yes, you do. That isn’t arguable. Now eat your wrap, it’s going cold and you look underweight.”

Cinnabar obediently bit into the wrap, it was genuinely delicious and filled Cinnabar with a warmth that coursed through their body.

“When did you become so responsible?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always been more mature than my age.” They both laughed, Phos trying to drink the milkshake and getting whipped cream on the side of their mouth due to not being able to stay still.

“There you go, being soooo grown up.”  Cinnabar said, using their thumb to wipe the whipped cream off, then promptly licking it off their thumb.

Phos gasped, “Moony-chan! - Cinnabar - that was an indirect kiss!”

“Well firstly, you can still call me Moony if you want to but my name is Cinnabar so you can call me whatever you like. Secondly,” Cinnabar leaned closer to Phos, “Aren’t we dating already?”

Phos turned as red as well, a Cinnabar, and made a failed attempt at hiding behind their wrap.

“So we are dating again. Good.” Phos lowered their wrap and looked at Cinnabar, “I’m really glad that Moonwalkerpatrol turned out to be you, you look prettier than your avatar in the game, and Aurora is pretty sexy.”

Cinnabar stared at Phos with their mouth agape, slowly flushing red. “You-you- when did you get smooth?!” Phos laughed at that and they continued chatting and talking as the clock moved its hands.

“I was planning on taking you here, they only have the blueberry delight waffle on Sunday,” mentioned Cinnabar.

“Same! For the exact same reasons! I guess if we went out on Sunday, we’d wouldn’t know what to do after Waffle House.

Just then the bells at the door dinged as it was opened, the two looked up as the shop had been fairly quiet. The two who came in were none other than Antarcticite and Bortz, bickering while holding twice the number of bags they should have been.

“Why would they come to the Waffle House?!”

“Well maybe not everyone is an ice queen and has warm blood running through their veins and so need some warmth!”

“That makes no sense, if your point is that humans are warm blooded creatures then that proves my point that your body can regulate its own body temperature.”

Antarc spotted Phos and Cinnabar, who were watching in amusement.

“There you are! You left and walked all the way here without your bag, money or even your jacket!”

“I’m fine, Cinnabar paid for the wraps and we talked things out. Everything is okay now.”

Bort and Antarc shared a look that wasn’t of pure hatred, and after putting the bags on the seats they both bowed.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you and yelled without knowing what happened.”

“I’m sorry for calling you lame and for yelling back without watching my tongue.”

Phos and Cinnabar looked at each other in pure amazement, then started to whisper to each other.

“I’m sure Antarcticite was the one who got Bort to do it, Bort has a ton of pride.”

“You clearly don’t know Antarc because when they think what they did was right they will never apologise.”

Phos noticed Bort and Antarc standing there awkwardly and pulled away, clearing their throat.

“Ahem. Cinnabar, should we accept their humble apology?”

“I believe we should.”

Bort sighed in relief. “Can we please get something to eat, those waffles are smelling really good right now.”

Antarc grabbed their wallet, “Yeah sure.”

(Houseki No Kuni Gift Exchange!)

“Hi Cinnabar~ Ready for Christmas break?”

“Yep! Ready to be done with school and finally try out that new action game.”

“You mean you haven’t tried it yet?”

Cinnabar looked at Phos in amusement. “We had like, four tests in the past week, where did you find time?” Cinnabar chuckled as Phos sputtered.

“Hi Cinnabar, hi Phos.”

“Good morning Dia,” Cinnabar greeted, Phos just waving as a reply.

“Where’s Antarc by the way?” asked Cinnabar.

“Something about making sure that the term-end project was the highest quality, they slept over at Bort’s place.” Phos grinned, “Isn’t a ‘class project’ the oldest excuse in the book for hanging out with someone?”

Cinnabar shrugged, “Hey, knowing those two they probably spent all that time actually doing the project.”

Right on cue Bort and Antarc arrived, panda-eyed and bickering as usual.

“Oh Phos, good to see you made it to school on time, hi Cinnabar.” Cinnabar waved and Phos greeted them back.

“Remember the rules,” reminded Bort.

“No flirting at the desk. We weren’t flirting though,” Cinnabar defended.

“Yeah, we were just wondering if you guys managed to complete your project.”

Bort and Antarc looked at each other, “Well we did, at 5am.”

“Who was it who wanted to add the history of it on top of everything?”

The two started bickering yet again, with Phos just shaking their head in mock disapproval and Cinnabar laughing.

“Those two just go into their own world don’t they.”

“Yep. Hey I came up with an experiment!”

“You and experiments. What is it?”

“Experiments are the only fun part of science okay? Anyway,” Phos took Cinnabar’s neck in their hands and they both kissed, deep and long with the warmness seeping in, enveloping both of them in a cosy feeling. When they were devoid of oxygen they broke apart, gasping for breath, simultaneously turning around to check for reactions.

“Aaaaaaand they’re still bickering.”

“If they didn’t notice that then they are definitely whipped.”

“Phos?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you even more.”

[kissmethroughthebone]

TW for sexual assault

I still hate thinking about my second SD, I was so young and we already had sex 14 times in a row and I eventually was in pain, and this entitled asshole, despite me saying I was in really bad pain, and extremely sore in the pussy, decided to completely, and I do mean completely, ignore me. With nothing more than a grimace and a snarky attitude that tried to insist *I* was entitled or overreacting after *14* times of getting dicked in a row from 10pm to 7am the next morning.....

And just went, "Well, we'll just have one more time and be done with it!", and scoffing, making it seem as if there was no other option.

And just for his reaction to be like that, and me being scared of losing someone who had my ideal allowance at the time AND provided me a lot of good, plus my clothes being too far away to get dressed, and remembering how I didn't eat or do anything for a long time before then..... I obliged just out of fear.

Seeing a man cum in me while I was in pain and not remotely interested? Fucking traumatizing.

Especially with a similar past. "I finally have someone who can do WELL for me", I thought. But, he hurt me.

The way he brayed like a donkey during sex before quickly went from amusing, to mocking. The way he HAAAAAAW, HAAAAAAAAW-ed in my face, (lmfao okay i chuckled when writing this line,) was tinged with a gross smugness. As if he was doing it to now go, "I get what I want, whether you like it or not. Take this and bear with it?"

Especially since the way he came so fast, it would've been easier to masturbate.

Just for a week later, all his promises fell through. Whatever illusion he had before of being some wealthy god or whatever? Fell through. It went from "I can take you to Italy, Calistoga, Paris! I can get a chaffeur to take you anywhere you wish. I can get into more food places like this too, for fine dining", to "Let me see what the cheapest Greyhound would be like.... Also, no dinner, no anything, just planning to have sex for 24 hours straight at my place in Carmel, and also my practice is reaaaaaally expensive to uphold, so I'm cutting your allowance to 250."

Ever want to slit a mans throat? I did.

And well, a part of me hates not saying no, since I believed I could suck it up if I could get an allowance the next week, or have another great luxury experience. Something good......

Traumatizing. :/

Hate that. So much.

Not the first or last assault. Similar experiences. Once more of me grinning and bearing it when some creep tried to have sex with me entirely flaccid, (i dont get it, at all,) and then had the nerve to try and FORCE it in raw without my fucking permission. I legitimately had to kick in him the chest to get him off of me. And only THEN did he suddenly get turned on, at near-raping me and having me kick him in the chest.

And then after a long break from the bowl from that, met another fellow. We clicked well, things seemed great. They looked worse with clothes off..... and, the gross degrading aspect of "i can do what i want with this young lady, since she knows that she needs the money".

You ever had a gross man lick your armpit OUT OF NOWHERE in the middle of semi-tolerable kissing up and down your face, neck, and breasts, then have the audacity to TONGUE KISS YOU AFTER IT?

And him insisting on staring me in the eyes as he aggressively pinned my breasts together, rapidly shaking his head sideways to do some weird modernized version of "motorboating", (which actually hurt, and was really fucking unpleasurable at the pointy tongueness and rapid speed he was using,) while going "Still wanna go to London with me, eh??? Not having any regrets, eh, no second thoughts????? Hahaaaa", and continuing on, in a way that seemed mocking.

It got worse, since oh look.... yet another case of "fat man tries to distract very skinny girl by using his mouth on her vagina/breasts, then trying to pin her down with his weight or hand as he sneakily tries to force his dick in, as if she would NOT notice", and then laughing when caught.

But unlike the situations before, I immediately left. Immediately. I even told him that counts as rape, and that there are entire laws against it. He was shocked when he heard I kicked the last guy in the chest for doing so. (As if I was the bad guy.... Fuck. That.)

And demanded an apology.

Took my money, took my gift, got dressed and paid for my own fucking uber home.

And it was good.

I could talk more about the other gross aspects I wish I spoke up on. Like how I didn't notice the second rapey guy had a grossly white coated tongue, and the way he eas insistent on tongue kissing, but he thought tongue kissing was to just stiffly put his entire tongue in my mouth, not move it whatsoever but aggressively let the saliva FALL in HUGE slimey pools from his mouth, with no restraint whatsoever. (I don't know why he thought that would be okay, or if his kink was grossing or weirding out women, but I stayed silent and swallowed, since well, I thought it would pass, and didn't know the option of going "this is disgusting and im leaving" was doable. And I thought I wouldn't get sick, since it was just saliva, until I saw how white his tongue was... And the stomach pains lasted for days, since it was legitimately three mouthfuls of it. I didn't have uber money either, before I knew I could ask men for it on dates.)

I was disgusted. And also angry at myself. And my life. I've been too used to tolerating so much disrespect, grossness, or bare minimum or less that I didn't know I was able to turn down whatever was unacceptable. Since I was used to a life where everything had to be accepted, and that I needed to suck it up and deal with the hour or so of struggle if I wanted that food, that money, that job, that boyfriend, that opportunity......

Ugh.

I really hope I can get a therapist and forgive myself when all of this shit ends.

I do wanna feel better eventually.

I truly do forgive myself and must remember to never let that happen again.

[hhhongseok]

PENTAGON: First Impressions VS Now! 

   since it's ptg's 3rd anniversary, and i've been an uni for over a year now, i thought it would be a fun idea to compare my first thoughts about all the members to how i think of them now! i got the idea from i got7 inspirits on youtube, so check them out if you're interested!

OT10

then:

I first heard "gorilla" back when it released, but since i avoided stanning rookies at the time- i decided to give it some time before stanning. flash foward to august 2018 where my interest is piqued again. at that time last year, i had thought that they were pretty cute but having literally only heard gorilla and then shine, i was caught off guard by their sound change. It wasn't bad per say- just different. overall, i knew pentagon would be a group that i'd like- but more along the lines of a casual thing. 

now:

y'all already know how whipped i am for these idiots!!! their music and videos and even choreos are my style completely, especially their cute concepts!! we love dancing infants! and also, they're all such throughly good people which makes me so happy. this isn't a casual stan thing in the slightest, and it's funny to think I ever believed it would be. 

Hui: 

then:

when i saw him in shine, i thought he was a d o r k. i think it was the way they styled his hair, but i was just very convinced that he was pretty lame lmao. after that though, i saw how cute he was and he became my bias for a while. i remember thinking at one point that he seemed like an exasperated dad?? i didn't really have any basis for it but that observation was there nonetheless. 

now:

exasperated dad? more like hyper 3 year old. hes literally one of the loudest and most energetic. what was i on. but i think hes the most precious and clingiest little toddler now!! i was right about the dork thing though, but its super cute how goofy and lame he is. also!! talent for days!! his dancing, singing (his falsetto is !!), composing is all incredible. the most important thing though? a godly leader. he's so caring and kind and full of love for his members it hurts me. we don't really see a serious leader hui, but thats okay because i think it means he tries to keep uni and ptg in good spirits by showing them cheerfulness. and that's amazing to me.

Jinho: 

then:

my most notable thought about jinho in shine was "how is he that small". i remember thinking it was cute how he pushed the giant one too, lmao. i didn't think much else of him beyond that, other than noticing how adorable he can be. 

now:

ok yeah, jinho is cute and tiny and whatever- but now i Understand the power that he holds. how he looks with his hair pushed back for example. or how about that bruno mars cover he did with hui. (hhhhnngg). also?? he's not even That small. the ones that make him look itty bitty are Literally just giants. but aside from his appearance, jinho is probably my favorite vocalist like!! i appreciate him s o much. (listen to his cover of gethsemane and last night of october for clear skin) of course jinho is also very cute though!! so i was right about that at least! he just also has many other great sides to him that i worry are overlooked!

Hongseok: 

then:

i didn't,,,notice him. at ALL. like i just glossed over his existence completely when i first saw shine. and even after that- it took me a minute to pay him any mind. when i did finally notice him though, i noticed his smile. i remember i was watching videos with my girlfriend and i pointed him out to her! that was mostly because i felt bad for not really having any strong opinion on him though oops. anyways i ended up just thinking he was a mom. and i was really impressed by his english and strength.

now:

real talk, it pained me to write all of that out!! bc now?? omg hong is my everything- but thats kind of obvious. anyways!! hes so  f u nn y !!! its absolutely a stupid kind of funny and hes definitely annoying but i adore it. also the mom thing is only kind of true. he has the capacity to be maternal and take care of them, but he's way more likely to make fun of literally every single member. he's more like an older brother that never leaves his siblings alone and thinks he's funnier than he is. and we hate him for it. anyways, his voice is So underrated im. angery. he has such a beautiful voice, just in general, and on top of that- his singing is lovely. like yes, more hong solo please. 

Hyojong: 

then:

i definitely took note of him immediately! his voice is very distinctive, and he stands out a lot in shine. which is really saying something. i thought he was really talented for sure! and i almost felt he was too cool for me to be looking at. i kind of got the vibe he'd be pretty icy i guess? 

now:

he's not intimidating at all. like not even a little bit. bc he's not taking himself as seriously as i thought he was lmao. also hes so   l o u d . and a plant man. but i think the best thing about edawn is his unpredictability! i never really know what to expect from him and i like that. 

Shinwon:

then:

i thought he was HOT. i already thought he was handsome in the 0.3 seconds of screentime he got in shine. but a friend of mine showed me clips of him from that couples game video and. o o f. i really couldn't get over how pretty he was. it didn't help that this was the same video where him and kino were doing that dance. personality wise, i don't remember much standing out to me. other than how easily scared he is.

now:

shinwon is soooo embarrassing. i wouldn't say hes completely shameless about it though, but he's shameless to the point of actually doing the stupid shit so im. still enraged about it. he legitimately makes me physically look away sometimes when im watching a video and he's being weird. theyre all my kids, and i love them. but he's the child im ashamed of lmao. moving on, hes a real cutie pie. that fact that he gets so scared so easily is both really funny and super endearing. but he's just a playful baby and im honestly glad that hes has so much fun.

Changgu:

then:

i noticed him less than hongseok. like i dont think i had a single notable first impression of him. 

now:

past dess was one entire Doofus huh. like changgu is a whole ass blessing to this planet and you mean to tell me that she overlooked him??!! anyways, though, he has an elephant heart for sure. such a genuinely empathetic and truly kind person!! he never fails to warm my heart with his sincerity and i love that about him. he's also part of the idiot squad though, with how he goes along with hong's antics. we hate that. and all his impressions + dumb faces. speaking of faces though,,, his acting?? i love it!! he's really talented, like when i watch pretty pretty i kind of forget that changgu is even playing a role. and his d a n c i n g!! underrated dance king! underrated king in general, how about that. 

Yanan:

then:

my first bias in ptg!!! i fell in love with him instantly! i loved how tall he is, and the white hair and his  i c o n i c "my baby"!! like i was whipped from the gate. i remember liking his duality back then too!!

now:

ok so, since he was bias immediately, i noticed more about him than anyone else. which means i have less to write oops. but thats okay because at least i had a bit of taste back then. but, yanan is hilarious. he's so clever and funny and you can tell how effortless it is. most iconic ptg sayings are something from yanan and thats just amazing. the big thing i notice now that i didn't really before, though, is that fact that his duality is so shocking because he's literally just as unpredictable as hyojong. its impossible to really tell what hes going to do next, and i think it catches people off guard more with yanan because even that aspect of him is unexpected. 

Yuto:

then:

i thought he was kinda scary!! idk he seemed so cold and i couldn't really relate to that so i didn't grow very attached to him. 

now:

he's so pure!!! hes said that he has a hard time expressing his feelings but i don't really see it? because he always seems so happy to be around ptg and having fun with them even if he isn't usually the one playing around!! he loves them so much tbh and its the sweetest thing :( everything about yuto is so sweet, because he cares a lot about the people around him and doesn't want anyone to get hurt- even if its fake or a joke. and like, he's really hardworking too!! ptg have said multiple times that he works the hardest, and that really is saying something imo! and like, you can just see it even without being told that. whether its his workout journey pentory or the fact that he's literally been learning guitar. also!! omg the lyrics he writes?? heartwarming, romantic and life changing!! seasons and cosmo made me a different person. but yeah, he's such an amazing, warm person and i cant believe i found him scary. 

Kino:

then:

i thought he was the main vocal. like no joke, he was so charismatic and flaunting so  much in shine that i was like "ah yes. the main vocalist" hhhggg. i remember thinking he was pretty though, and that his stage name was super cute. but i wasn't very interested in learning about him, despite how he really caught my eye. for some reason, though, i eventually got the thought that he was really pure.

now:

main vocal hdzfhh kino relax you're confusing ppl. of course he has an amazing voice and it always sounds incredible but!! what amuses me is the way he sings always sounds kinda like he's trying to be sexy and?? its so funny in ballads and stuff imo. but yeah, that "sensual"?? singing is what threw me off back then. buf more importantly, i just wanna mention the pure thing- because its a confusing situation. on one hand, kino has a heart of gold that not only adores uni but is also accepting. as well as how he's constantly bringing light into the world with his words and truly bright outlook. but on the other hand he's a demon that dances like That and is so dangerous when he wants to be!! so!! what's it gonna be kino, make up your mind :( anyways, listen to knnovations. esp bad timing and 224.12!!

Wooseok:

then:

i loved him instantly. he looked like an overgrown 10 year old in my eyes and that's just. precious. i thought he was pretty funny too!! 

now:

if i took off my hong glasses for long enough, id be able to say that i think he's the funniest in ptg. because he's so hilarious in my eyes like? he makes me do an ugly wheeze laugh, and a lot of my favorite ptg moments involve him in some way lmao. but he is actually a baby, so i was onto something there with the overgrown 10 y/o thing. despite being really funny though, i do think he tends to be quiet more often than like hui or shinwon and he hardly ever smiles, unless he's like laughing and thats makes me think that he's kind of awkward?? not in like a bad way, but i just kind of see that i guess. but!! something that i think is passed over a lot with woo is the fact that he usually has a hand in composing, and also that he writes his raps?? like that's so cool, we love that!! 

ok! so that was my lame little essay lmao. i hoped you liked if you read it all! im just glad to say that i really appreciate pentagon as a whole, and how much joy they bring into my life nowadays!! i feel like ive found a place to call my own with uni and with pentagon :)