#it was supposed to be a vent but i just dont feel good describing something violent i guess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fuckyeahscienceparty · 5 years ago

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hey if ur taking requests for writing...., what abt angsty among us idea- reports a body and like.. engie attends and it turns out medic was killed? and then hes heartbroken and really sad and angry at spy for killing medic? obviously u dont have to do this but the among au had me thinking about a ton of angsty scenarios lol. have a good day!!

i'm always takin requests! it may take me a while to get there but i will try my damndest to get it done at some point!

i actually had part of this in my drafts when you originally sent this ask but it's been reason enough to finish it, i think. i hope you like it, even if it's a bit messy :>

Per Aspera Ad Astra

In which an imposter experiences the loss of someone he loved and wasn't supposed to.

As Dell heard the emergency meeting alarm blare over the intercom and red lights flashed overhead, he looked up from the mass of wires he'd agreed to rearrange for Medic, furrowing his brow.

Odd. Spy hadn't made it clear to him that he was going to attempt anything that day and he knew for a fact that he himself hadn't made any sabotages since last week.

Then again, he'd noticed that this crew in particular had no qualms against using the emergency meeting button for more trivial things. Someone probably just wanted to get everyone's attention to look at some weird space bug that hitchhiked from their last stop on Pollus a few weeks ago or something along those lines. Standard procedure at that point.

He packed up the wires he'd been holding back into their panel before making his way out of electrical and towards the cafeteria, readjusting his goggles over his eyes to make sure nobody would find him out.

When he'd arrived, he could practically physically feel the shift in attitude of the rest of the crew since that morning, mentally noting that Medic was currently the only one of them missing.

"Tex, there you are. You uh. Might want to sit down for this one, lad," Demo said gravely, all the other crewmates' mumbling amongst each other dying down instantly as Spy stood to the side of the table, having said nothing ever since he himeself had arrived.

"Uhm. Sure, ok. Shouldn't we wait for Doc first, though? If it's actually important he should probably be here," He said, a confused smile coming to his face. Demo physcially winced.

"See, that's the thing, it's. It's Doc, he's..." Demo trailed off, Sniper moving to put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's?..." Engie frowned, having to take a moment before he realized what he'd meant.

It took another moment for the dread to set in.

"No. No, that- that's impossible, I- I just saw him like 30 minutes ago. I agreed to do one of his tasks for him while he finished cleaning the medbay so we could finish up for the day," He stuttered, looking anxiously between all the other faces at the table. None of them could meet his gaze even through his goggles, Spy in particular insisting on staring out the large window that peered into the vastness of space around them instead.

...Spy.

Spy said he wouldn't touch him- said he'd let him find a way to deal with all of this effectively and without having to kill this particular crew. Especially Medic. He said- no, he promised he wouldn't.

Engie's anger soon started bubbling inside of him, tightly clenching his fists that he oh so desperately wanted to sucker punch a certain other imposter in the face with. But then came the second realization of what he'd done and he felt his arms go slack again.

Medic was dead.

"...Where is he?" He finally whispered out, somewhere between heartbroken and seething.

"Medbay. Demo, Sniper, and I called for the meeting as quick as we could and did not get the chance to move his. Corpse," Soldier said, standing up straight and visibly uneasy at the mentioning of Medic's dead body.

Engie slowly nodded.

"Ok. Did you fellas, uh. Did- did you contact Pollus yet?"

"Not yet. I was gonna after the meetin's over. 's gonna take us a while to get there tho, at least 2 weeks," Scout said.

"I see. Did you three uh. Did you see anything?" Engie asked Demo, Sniper, and Soldier, all of them shaking their heads.

"Pyro, Heavy, 'n Scout were on comms because they were finished with tasks already and all three of 'em say they didn't see anyone go into Medbay after you left."

"...what about you, Spy? Been awfully quiet the entire time. And you don't have an alibi," Scout squinted. Spy scoffed.

"I was also finished with tasks, I've been in my quarters for at least 2 hours. You can even roll back footage on the cameras."

Pyro pressed a button on their suit, the small speaker on their chest panel letting out a soft 'kshh'.

"...he does have a point. Cams don't lie."

"What if he used the vents, though?"

"You really think this pansy's gettin' in any vents?"

"...Aight, fair point."

"I do not think we have enough information to make decision," Heavy sighed, every looking to each other in a vague sense of agreement.

"Skip vote, then?"

"Yeah, I think that's for the best."

"Alright lads, be on alert, then. If you see anythin' suspicious, y' know where the button is," Demo sighed, patting the plastic cover that protected the emergency meeting button.

Everyone mumbled out affirmations before getting up to head out, Pyro staying behind to raise their hand.

"Ay, what is it, Py?"

Kshh. "...who's taking care of uh. Y'know. The body."

Engie squeezed his eyes shut briefly.

"I'll do it."

"Tex, no, we couldn't ask you t-"

"Demo, it's fine. I'm not a child, you don't need to baby me. I can deal with it."

"If you're so sure..."

"It's fine. Really. You go make sure everyone else is doin' ok, lord knows they'd need it," Engie smiled softly, giving Demo a pat on the arm.

Demo's eyes still showed worry but he nodded, reciprocating the gesture before hurrying into the direction of nav where everyone else went.

Spy turned to leave but Engie stopped him, shifting his goggles back to his forehead.

"...Why did you do it?" He asked softly. He could've sworn that he saw the slightest break of stoicism on Spy's face but perhaps it was just the awful fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria playing tricks on him.

"You were taking too long. It was getting risky for us to be here. I thought it better to end it sooner rather than later," He said, any trace of emotion leaving as quickly as it came as he turned his head. Engie had no response.

"Remember what they did to us. To you. Just because one treated you kindly does not mean others will."

Silence.

"...Don't sabotage anything tonight. They'll get suspicious. Be prepared to leave this ship in a week's time, without the Medic they'll fall apart. Do I make myself clear?"

Still nothing. Spy frowned.

"I said, do I make myself clear, Dell?" He asked again, not even bothering to mask the threatening tone in his voice this time.

Engie squeezed his eyes shut again.

"...Yes. Yes, you do."

"Very well. I will see you in the morning," He said, moving so that Engie's hand no longer rested on his shoulder and starting to make his way to hallway that led to crew's personal quarters.

Spy paused to look back, a feeling that could almost be described as pity overcoming him. He sighed.

"...Get over it. You only knew him for less than 8 months, anyways," He said softly before leaving Engie alone, footsteps echoing against the metal floors of the ship.

When he felt he was ready, Engie made his way to the Medbay with full expectations of what he would find there.

He just. Didn't expect it to hurt so much.

Medic's body lay on the floor in between the scanner and the large computer it was attached to, his normally bright cyan suit soaked in red and a sizable gash made into his back. There was a broken test tube that had fallen out of his hand a little ways away and one of the lensed of his glasses had been cracked, most likely from the impact of falling onto the floor.

Engie took in a deep breath before carefully sitting him up against the nearest wall, preparing himself to find something to clean up the blood that hadn't managed to be absorbed into his space suit.

He wasn't used to Medic being so.. quiet. Lifeless, if you would. He couldn't remember a single time he'd felt a pain in his chest as intense as this.

It was then that his anger suddenly came back, barely being able to contain himself before he turned around and ended up making a decently large crack in the monitor.

He tried to control the emotions that came flooding after, tried to keep himself from feeling this way over this one human when he'd aided the destruction of countless others, but when he felt himself shaking, he fell to his knees, a sob escaping him.

He shouldn't have gotten attached. He shouldn't have, it wasn't like him- like an imposter to get attached, and yet here he was, crying on the Medbay floor as blood soaked into his already red suit and glass shards clinked against the desk as they fell off piece by piece.

Serves him right for believing in humans, he guesses. Serves him right for having the audacity to care.

...what a stupid decision, that was.

#tf2 #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 science party #medic x engineer #tf2 spy #and like everyone else but no tags for them to keep things clean #am #fic #asks #mmmilkbee #abungus #c's writing #hokay sleepy times

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elliethesuperfruitlover · 4 years ago

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tw/venting

so it’s self-hate hour <3. today was good until it wasn’t. and like??? i fail one thing that doesnt matter (except it does, but it doesnt really) it just set me off. and i havent really told any family about it. i just hate all of it so much. i cant do grades like a normal fucking person. or take tests without anxiety. i just feel like a failure. this happens every fucking time. EVERY TIME i fail one thing, it’s suddenly “im done” and a switch snaps in my brain. and i hate myself. and im a failure. and i cry and scream. and want to jump out of a fucking window, or walk in front of a fucking car. because of a grade. and i dont know if it’s because i expect myself to always be the best, and gifted kid bullshit. or because im actually losing it and nothing’s going to get better.

every time i form a fucking hyperfixation, i ruin it myself, or it’s ruined for me. i cant watch my favorite shoes because of negative memories tied to it. nobody around me likes x thing, so i would have to explain and i always feel like im being annoying about it.

i just hate it so fucking much. i feel welcome in a place, then i don’t, because things happen and people change, and people lie. and i feel like no matter where i am, i always have to watch my fucking back. and i just want to feel safe for once somewhere. here i do, but i feel like ive got to prepare myself for something else bad to happen, and it just sucks. my friends always seem to leave. or i send them away. and i get nightmares and think about it day after day. its almost been a fucking year since i got rid of someone. and i still fucking think about her. and i hate myself for it. she was toxic, i was toxic. i ignored all the warning signs (like i always do) and got hurt. and i miss her. but i dont. it was fun while it lasted, but i couldnt do it anymore. and i fucking initiated it. so i feel like it was my fault. when it wasn’t, but im sure she isn’t having fucking nightmares about me, about everything being normal. she fucking forgot about me. and so has everyone else. and so WILL everyone else.

why do i have to be like this.....i cant like things like a normal person. i dont talk about things like a normal person. and i know being conventionally attractive, or whats considered conventionally attractive to society is bad for a lot of people. but i just feel so fucking ugly. i dont see me when i look at me. i cant talk because im like “your brain doesnt match your body, you fuck” and it sucks. derealization sucks. and im just now figuring out that it’s a big issue for me. my hair becomes a sensory issue sometimes, when i wear it a certain way and im just trying to look how i want to and i cant. because i dont know who i am. i dont use the words “pretty” or “cute” when describing myself. might be a gender thing. but it’s because i, myself am confusing. god i look at my classmates and go “thats a normal looking person, thats a cute person” and i cant even look myself in the mirror and see who i am, or who i appear as to other people. gender is confusing, my own gender is confusing. i dont know what it is. and im just...confused. i need an answer, but for once, there isn’t one for me.

the one week im supposed to be relaxing and here i am, stressing over dumb shit. and hating myself. and just digging myself further and further into the disgusting pit that is my brain and self-hatred. but i cant seem to stop. so im gonna be a bit sad for a while. and im not happy that today wasnt that good. i was sad today. and i didnt fucking eat lunch because i was busy indulging in a special interest. barely had a dinner.

when am i going to stop feeling so guilty about everything i do....i want to be happy. i want to be with my friends. and give them hugs. and go shopping at the mall, and be teenagers and pick out clothes and be stupid. i want to cry in someone’s shoulder after not seeing them for so long. and watch a movie. go to the skating rink and scrape my knees, like i used to. i want to go on road trips and conventions and see cosplayers and other people and have fun and not be able to sleep because im too excited.i want to read with a friend in a field, after having a picnic and just sit there for a while. come back late. i just want things to be okay again. because i know normal doesnt really exist anymore, nor will it ever do so as it did. i miss that. i miss fun. i miss feeling happy. i just want to be okay again.

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avintagekiss24 · 5 years ago

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1/? I always get so disheartened when everything in media and fanfics cater towards white women. God, I remember being a toddler, and wishing I was white. I hated my brown eyes, black hair, tan skin and asian features, hell, I was ashamed. Jesus christ, even now, there are times where I do still feel like "wow... I hate being asian, i want to be a pretty white girl so who blushes a pretty pink color and can give birth to other white babies"

2/? im sorry, I just have a lot of pent up frustration with xReader stories where you're being described as a white girl, and maybe its cause im on my period, but now i wanna cry and smack some racist ass hoes... I always want to point it out though, but I'm scared of being attacked by a bunch of karens, ya know?

3/? Racially ambiguous readers are what we should strive for, but I feel like so many people just assume that being white is a 'default' or the 'norm' in fanfics, so when someone is finally like "you know what? Imma make a fic for specifically poc" so many people who are blissfully ignorant about what we woc struggle with, will cry and complain

4/ Like... Come on, I think people can handle a few fanfics directed towards black women, especially when woc as a whole has been forgotten and tossed aside with these "reader" inserts and mainstream media...

5/ ok wow, im sorry, im annoying, i just have a lot of things i want to get off my chest.. And i do want to ask some authors about their choice of wording, or the pictures they use, but I feel like I can't, and that I don't have a voice.. i dont know where im going with this, but i just needed to air out my feelings before i go tumbling down the same hole i went down as a kid.. m sorry, ily and ill stop clogging up ur inbox with my dumbass rambling

Don’t ever apologize for stating how you feel, babe. It’s good to let it out and I’m always here to listen.

I think every person of color has struggled with these feelings - namely, wanting to be white. My brothers and I went to predominately white elementary and high schools and my parents have said that all three of us at some point came home one day, down in the dumps, and said that we wished we were white. Being “white” has become the norm. It’s been shoved in our faces since we were babies that being light/white skinned and having blonde hair and blue eyes is what beauty is and anything outside of that is undesirable.

I understand what the original intent of reader inserts was - but it’s not what it’s supposed to be. WOC are different than white women. We have different struggles. We have different coping mechanisms. For instance, for black women, having short hair is not revolutionary like it is for white women. I remember when the chick from Harry Potter got that pixie cut and all the hoopla that surrounded it. How brave she was for cutting, how freeing it was for her... it’s not that for us. Also, having natural long hair as a black woman is not as easy as it is for white women. We can’t just wash that shit and go, lol, it’s a three hour process from getting in the shower to wash it to finally being ready to go out for the day/night. A lot of us can’t just throw it up in a messy bun.

By reading those things, it instantly excludes me, so, I can no longer view myself as reader. I wanted to change that. I try to not add specifics into my stories - hair length or texture, wig, weave, skin tone, eye color - because we all vary, but I just wanted my fellow black girls to know instantly that this piece is for you. Feel free to finally be able to read something that is geared towards you. Feel free to finally be able to immerse yourself in this world without wondering when the “whiteness” is going to creep up on you.

I just find it odd that people can suspend their beliefs for the MCU as a whole - I mean, there are two 100+ year old men, one with a metal arm, who were both frozen for a good period of their lives and then sudden de-thawed like pieces of chicken, a guy who turns green when he’s angry, another guy who eats a purple flower to make himself stronger - but they can’t relate to a black!reader insert. It’s insane. It’s small minded. It’s racist.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m not changing how I write or what I write. They can send me all the anon messages they want about it. I’m. not. budging.

You’re not annoying! You can always come here and get this stuff off of your chest. I’m actually really glad that this has happened, it’s opened up so many meaningful conversations for readers and writers of all shades. Don’t be afraid to speak up, either. There is a polite way to message a writer and let them know how you feel without being rude. Maybe they don’t realize that they’re words are exclusionary. Maybe you could be the one that helps them improve/be more aware of how they come across and how they sculpt their words. Most writers will understand and will do their best to try and be as inclusive as possible. The MCU fandom is incredibly lucky to have as many passionate, loving, talented, compassionate writers and artists as it does, and most of them want to know how they can be and do better.

I love you, darling. Thank you for trusting me enough to vent your frustrations to me. You are always welcome here.

#asks #answered

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apprenticenerd · 5 years ago

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"Anyone can send me an ask with one of the titles and I’ll post a snippet or talk about that WIP!" The Acropolis, Tacet, Checklist, A Tiny Galaxy, Hearsay, Going Back, Ella Disenchanted, Making Peace, The Slashed Circle, Wake Up, Tenno, Midnight, Heliotropism, Arrhythmia, the one about Among Us, the one about Library of Ruina, the one that’s a D&D world concept. Yes, all of them. I know you wanna talk about all of them. So go, go forth and do it!

Hoooo boy, this is gonna be a long post. Lots and lots of writing snippets under the cut to avoid dash stretch!

The Acropolis - original - length uncertain - 1.4k and counting

im not ready for this im not i thought it would be yrs i thought id at least get an english degree first

omg sal whats goin on

fuckin hell whyd it have to be now i have a chem lab tomorrow

sally-tate macpherson. u never swear. ever. wtf is goin on.

ok. jess. i need u to listen really really carefully. understand?

answer the goddamn question ur scarin me

shut up and listen and this will go a lot better

fine but u need to tell me wtf is happnenig

ok. im going to tell you a bunch of stuff. not giving u advice, thats not allowed, but im gonna tell u stuff it seems like itd be impossible for me to know.

?????????????

i said shut up this is really important dont question how i know it. just go with it and figure out what to do. and dont die. bc no matter how crazy stuff seems, if u die, ur dead. here and everywhere. ok?

This is an original story coming straight from a @/writing-prompt-s prompt about a crack in a kid’s hardwood floor that they fantasized was a portal actually being one. I originally intended to write the entire thing like this, as a conversation over text, but that may not be feasible given a certain world-building detail at the other end of the portal (and the limits of my creativity lmao).

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Tacet - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 3.2k and counting

She closed her eyes again, and there it was. Hallucination? Some new science trick with electromagnetic radiation off the visible spectrum? Evidence that she was actually going insane? Whatever it was, it burned behind her eyelids in bright, incontrovertible red - and was completely invisible when she opened her eyes again. There was just the usual mess of club posters and one big one about someone’s exceedingly dumb-looking lost cat.

Eyes open, there was only Sargent Snuggles. Eyes closed, there was the normal darkness and then three lines of text where the poster had been, wavering like scarlet fire:

JOIN TBC JOIN TBC JOIN TBC

TBC? What the fuck was that? She’d never heard of any group with that acronym before. Hardly aware of the flurry of weird looks from half the other people in the hallway, she crossed the hall to examine the lost cat poster more closely. It felt like perfectly normal paper when she touched it, and there wasn’t even a hint of red with her eyes open, unless you counted the cat’s tacky pink sweater. How the hell was this even possible?

“You’re finally cracking, Bri,” she groaned under her breath, then headed for her locker. She did have to get home. Add another big fat entry to the weird shit list.

A backstory one-shot for my Blackout Club OC Briar, telling the story of how she got into the club in the first place. I’ve been stuck in the same spot for a while now, after Briar’s friend Dani explains the club to her, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the scene’s over as is. Of course, writing the next one is the tough part.

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Checklist - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 1.7k and counting

8. You still have a headache. Shouldn’t you go back to sleep and try to do this in the morning?

9. (wake up)

10. Nah, you’ve always been a night owl, and school starts criminally early, too early to get much done beforehand. It’s quiet, except for Dad snoring. Your parents are asleep already. You can stay up until this is done, and they’ll be none the wiser.

11. Your head hurts worse. It’s getting harder to think. At only 9 pm? 9:30? Whatever. You should sleep.

12. (wake UP)

13. What are you thinking? You have to read at least a little of this chapter, or there’s no way you’ll be able to bullshit your way through class tomorrow. Besides, all of a sudden, the silence feels...strange. Heavier? You can’t describe it.

14. You need to sleep. You need a drink of water or something. You need to finish this damn homework. You need to sleep. You need to sleep.

15. Stare at The Great Gatsby. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

16. Realize what’s up with the silence. Dad’s not snoring anymore. You aren’t feeling like yourself. You need to sleep.

17. Something’s weird.

18. (WAKE UP)

19. ...No. Something’s wrong.

Another Blackout Club story and another Interface Screw, as it were, this time in the form of a (very long) checklist. None of the characters have names (yet). It describes another way a kid could find themself running around at night with the Blackout Club, this time by fighting off the Song just enough to run into a club member who could wake them up the rest of the way. As with Tacet, I still need to write the suspenseful part.

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A Tiny Galaxy - Warframe - 4 chapters planned, 1 complete, 1 in progress - 7.8k and counting

Try it if you don’t believe me, the kid in the vent had said.

It was impossible. It was physically impossible. All of this was impossible. Had the Void...? Could the Void...?

The ship was at a standstill. Her mother had tried to kill her, and something had happened. She’d made something happen. There had been no holoprojector in that kid’s hand. Nothing was impossible anymore.

Jhia took a deep breath. How the heck was she supposed to do this? Was she supposed to feel something, some internal guide? Blue Hair hadn’t said. Feeling incredibly stupid, she did a quick mental checkup on herself. Nothing felt wrong, or different - but now that she thought about it…

Afterward, she would try many times to explain it, and fail every time. The best she could come up with was that once she found the Void, calling on it was as easy and as natural as breathing. She opened her hands in front of her, concentrated on that force like an extension of herself, reopened her eyes, and there it was: a riotous little ball of energy, wisps and motes of light and not-quite-light like a tiny galaxy, the Tau system in the palm of her hand, raging.

More OC backstory time! This one’s for my Tenno, a nerdy fourteen-year-old (at the time of this story, anyway) by the name of Jhia, going through the hell that is the Zariman Ten-Zero and what happened on it. This is possibly the first part of the story I actually wrote: the roll-credits moment when Jhia realizes the Void’s changed her more already than she thought.

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Hearsay - Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina - one-shot - 1k and counting

"Oh? Did they investigate further?"

"They tried. Found a few fingerprints, but they didn't match anyone in the database."

"What's the update, then?"

"Reports from elsewhere in the district of someone not in uniform carrying a Zwei sword. They're slippery, good at avoiding us, which would suggest Syndicate operative to me and HQ. Except that in every one of the descriptions we managed to get, our sword thief is a child."

"What? How?!"

"You tell me, Iona. You're the one who went to the crime scene."

"Right... Jeez, if it's a kid, I guess that'd explain why Petrov thought they weren't a threat..."

"My thoughts exactly. HQ has a fair amount of hearsay to go on, but nobody can quite agree on how old the child is, or whether or not she's with a Syndicate. Most agree that she appears to be a girl, tall for a child, auburn hair, clothes and demeanor typical of a Backstreets native."

"We got a name?"

"They've heard Yeri, Kali, Redbird, Suma, Aelfin... No one knows which is her real one, or if it's even any of them at all."

"Damn. ...Say, are you going to drink that entire pot of coffee?"

"Help yourself."

This is one of those stories that turned into an accidental AU when more of canon came out. The idea behind it is that it’s Kali’s backstory told entirely in conversations in which she did not participate, showcasing the fact that a Fixer’s fame is their livelihood and Kali was about as famous as they come, before the whole L Corp thing happened. Of course, the vast majority of the headcanons here got invalidated with a certain Ruina update, so my motivation’s kinda down on this one.

---

Going Back has already been talked about here!

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Ella Disenchanted - The Blackout Club - one-shot (maybe two-shot??) - 1.4k and counting

She woke. Her stomach went through a series of panicked flip-flops as she thought something strange had done it, Dad or a little-kid-nightmares shadow beast had made noise, but no - why had she fallen asleep in the first place? Her butt and shoulder were sore where they’d been leaning on the bottom and side of the windowsill, presumably all night, since the sun was full up over the trees on Old Growth Hill.

All night. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep, but she did anyway. God dammit.

As she unfolded herself from her cramped ball, though, she froze. Under the comforter she’d pulled around her shoulders for warmth, she was wearing her gray jacket, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers getting dried mud all over the carpet.

Last she remembered, she’d been in her pajamas.

In which a Blackout Club kid’s little sister wonders where he’s gone when he runs away to the boxcar, and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery herself. Usually she’d be too young for the club to recruit, but her investigations and an incident involving SAO are more than enough extenuating circumstance. Unlike most of my other WIPs, there’s a whole outline at the end of my doc for this one.

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Making Peace - Warframe - multi-chapter - 1.5k and counting

“I…” Iksoh finally said. “Sorna, I hope you realize. I’m not into this. I never - I’m not doing this. Whatever you’re doing, I can’t.”

“I know,” Sorna said softly. The decision tore at her heart again and she almost backed out of the vent, but no. She had to go. She wouldn’t see another innocent crumple in her rifle sights. “I hope you realize. I’m not coming back.”

Behind her, Iksoh let out a long, shaky breath. “It’s taking all I’ve got not to report you right now. Sorna… the Queens’ll have my head for this. Please, please, let it be worth it. Go. Don’t let them take yours.”

“I won’t,” Sorna promised, and meant it.

Later, after her last fight for her freedom was done, on the Steel Meridian ship headed for Kronia Relay, Sorna looked out at the planet retreating behind her and thought of Iksoh. She’d just learned a new word from a Meridian soldier: vaykor tal, the defector’s spirit. Iksoh had let her go, at risk of their own life. They’d had a bit of the vaykor tal themself, even if they hadn’t known it, even if they’d thought it was just some weakness that was bound to get them killed.

“Ranre treri, duf krun,” she whispered into space, a Grineer well-wishing passed down from sergeant to tube-fresh lancer since time immemorial. May your hands be steady, and may life be kind.

This is an AU born of me and some friends wondering why in the heck Perrin and the Meridian hate each other so much in game. It’s about a group of Kavor - Grineer defectors distinguished from other Meridian members by their pacifism - who get to a Relay and start wondering the same thing. Besides Sorna (and, later in the story, Iksoh as well), there would have been Chakh, Beket, and Sydon, plus at least four of the syndicate leaders and a bunch of side-character OCs, all caught up somehow in what turns out to be a surprisingly far-reaching web of intrigue.

The Slashed Circle - Warframe - one-shot, probably - 429 and counting

In addition to their written and spoken language, the Grineer have a full language of hand signs. It has its quirks, as all languages do - be careful of confusing it with the Corpus sign language, in which the sign for “to pay” roughly approximates the Grineer sign for...a certain portion of the male anatomy. Among these is the common Grineer sentiment against those who defect from their ranks, baked into the sign just as much as their spoken words.

The sign of the slashed circle, the sedashkur - a finger drawn in a circle on the chest, followed by a diagonal line - is the highest of taboos to any loyal Grineer. It shows support for such scum as the Kavor and Steel Meridian, enough so that it forms the basis for the Meridian’s battle standard. To sign the sedashkur is to betray your siblings, commit a grave insult to your superiors, paint a near-indelible target on your back. It is an object of hatred and fear throughout the ranks.

She fears it, yes, but she does not hate it, for all her life and into her death as well. It shouldn’t trouble her now, though. It is easy to hide a language, and she burned her journals before she was called to the fortress.

This is a fic about Jhia and her one (1) converted Kuva Lich, namely about the process of said Lich’s defeat and defection, that kinda never got off the ground. Contrary to this snippet, I think most of it would have been written in what are essentially space emails back and forth between Lich and Tenno? I definitely got as far as Jhia sending an audio recording of a bass-boosted dog fart, anyhow.

---

Wake Up, Tenno - Warframe - one-shot - 950 and counting

“Wake up, Tenno.”

She wakes. She is - she is Tenno, right? She is a Tenno? Her mind is confused, so full of fog and dead ends - how long was she asleep?

The voice that woke her seems familiar. She might have loved the speaker, in her scrambled past life, the woman in the purple helmet, the one called Lotus in her HUD vision. Her surroundings are a ruin of some sort. Her body is—

...what?

She can move just fine. Her fingers and arms and legs respond with suspicious ease, given how long she must have slept to be this scattered upon waking up, and yet there’s some fundamental disconnect. This is her Warframe, her body, but it’s not her body somehow.

...wait, where did the term “Warframe” come from?

A Tenno, unnamed but intended to be Jhia on my end, wakes up on Earth at the very beginning of the in-game storyline. Since the tutorial has gotten an overhaul in recent months, I may have to modify even what little I have on this a lot.

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Midnight - Iconoclasts - poem - 280 and counting

been anything smaller than been anything

never been anything smaller than

“good morning, how’s miss grump doing today? i heard about that last mission...if you didn’t sleep well i can call you in sick, it’s alright-” “oh, shut up, grey”

there has never been anything

“oh, shut up, grey” “love you too”

smaller

“love you too”

than

A very fragmented, stream-of-consciousness-y poem meant to represent Agent Black’s failing sanity near the end of the game. The words of her famous one-liner (“there has never been anything smaller than me”) are interspersed, out of order until the end, with poetic descriptions of other characters and bits and pieces of a flashback involving Agent Grey.

---

Heliotropism - Iconoclasts - one-shot - 1.1k and counting

Lily, though she’s superstitious, will have none of these self-important truths, none of these semblances of certainty when really all it is is wishing on Ivory and hoping for the best. She calls for Miss Andress instead.

A stout but severe woman with ten grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way, Miss Andress is perhaps the quintessential matriarch: nurturing, selfless, brutally honest. She is the one the people of 17 trust when they feel they can trust no one else. Lily needs the kind of reassurance only she can give, with the authority of ninety-one years and the wisdom of two sons, one daughter, and some five dogs raised under her care.

When Miss Andress visits House 4, she asks Polro and Lily to each bring an object they cherish the most. For Polro it’s his largest wrench, pitted with use but still polished to a brassy shine; Lily surprises everyone by pulling out a tiny, unloaded stun-gun, and surprises them more by not explaining it at all. Miss Andress doesn’t question it. She just turns the two tools over and over in her hands, head bowed, squinting at them as if trying to read the secrets of the universe in the scratches carved into them by time.

Finally she straightens up and sighs, pushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her forehead is slick with sweat, though the night is cool outside. “I don’t know what she’ll do,” the wise woman says, heavily, as if delivering bad news. “I just know she’ll change the world.”

Can you tell I like backstory fic? This one is for Robin, with one short anecdote for each year of her life, up to age 17 and the events of the game. It’s also an excuse to world-build a bunch, lol.

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Arrhythmia - Crypt of the NecroDancer - one-shot(?) - 4k and counting

The creature didn’t say anything, just beckoned to the shadows. Before I could move, two other creatures came for me, sending the other humans - former humans? - scrambling away in panic. One landed a hard blow on the back of my head that sent me to my hands and knees, seeing sparks; the other said “Freeze!” and I could only watch as ice sprouted from the leaf litter, cementing me to the ground.

The one who’d hit me produced a dagger from the inside of its cloak. I tried to pull myself up, to do anything at all to keep myself from getting shanked, but it was no good. There must have been a secondary effect on that spell; my limbs wouldn’t respond. I felt the dagger tear cloth in the region of my back, and prepared for the pain.

It didn’t come. The creature cut a slit in the back of my tunic, then another. Neither one touched the skin at all. I can’t really describe what happened next - my brain was having trouble computing how my arms were in front of me, visible, unable to move, but it felt like the creature was pulling them through the gashes in my tunic, but that was wrong, they didn’t feel like arms at all.

“Holy fuck,” I heard someone say.

The ice holding me down melted into nothing as the spell wore off. I jumped back up, head spinning a little, ready for another fight, only to spot two flicks of scarlet in my peripheral vision. I spun around, but they moved with me.

I think I already knew what they were. I just couldn’t admit it to myself.

You’ve already seen this one, Nick, though I’m pretty sure it was well over two years ago. It’s a pile of old headcanons, some of them now outdated I’m pretty sure, about how Nocturna ended up a vampire in the first place and a little bit about how vampire society works. According to Google Docs, I’ve been stuck on this one since March 2018. Whoops.

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untitled (working title “adult citra meets an impostor bc what is self-control”) - Among Us - one-shot - 572 and counting

“I know. You’re stuck, aren’t you?” Having well and truly gotten their full attention, Citra continues, “God, I can barely imagine. Having to take a weird-ass host whose biology might even be toxic to you, I don’t know. Needing to get to a whole other galaxy, feeling like the only way to do that is by deception and death.” “How…?”

She sighs. “I told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. One of your kind saved my life when I was a kid. Since he’d killed Mom and Dad had been out of the picture long before, he stayed here and helped raise me afterward. It’s how I learned to pronounce...a few of your words, at least.”

“You missed the ‘H’ sound.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s literally impossible to do right with Terran anatomy?”

“Maybe. You think I know Terran anatomy all that well?”

Citra chuckles. “Fair point. You let us find your buddy and fix the ship, I’ll raise Xai when we get comms back and he can try and help you get home. Deal?”

I found an Among Us comic on Tumblr, absolutely ran into left field with it to make a couple of OCs, and then made AUs of those OCs because of course I did. This one is from a future scenario in which Citra (typically orange) meets someone rather familiar on a mission with the crew of the Skeld.

---

untitled (working title “library of ruina but they adopt half the guests”) - Library of Ruina - length uncertain - 1k and counting

“And what happened to not caring about others because it’s a waste of time and heartache?”

Now it’s Roland’s turn to sigh. “I don’t care about him. I just don’t want the guilt of killing - look at him, he can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen!”

Raised eyebrow. “Finn will be twenty years old in fifteen days’ time. He is a legal adult. I fail to see why this should matter to either of us.”

“He’s fresh off his first Fixer license! I have years of experience! He had no idea what he was getting into when he signed that invitation and you know it!”

Angela fixes him with a glare that turns his stomach, his freshly remade body reacting to the memory of its sudden, and extremely painful, dismemberment. “I could quite literally hold your soul in my hands if I wanted,” she reminds him in an undertone of steel. “I must do the same for him, following the invitation’s guidance, or my entire plan will be lost, my coworkers’ sacrifices all for naught. Do not disappoint me or ask any more impertinent questions. You know what to do, and what will happen if you do not.”

Look, some of the people you fight in this game deserved so much better, okay? I came up with an AU concept where if a guest willingly concedes the fight and agrees to stick around, you can get their book without killing them. Finn doesn’t die; neither do Tomerry or Shi Association; all the former employees realize exactly what’s going on with Philip after the Wedge Office fight and manage to calm him down, avoiding the whole Crying Children situation. (And then Gebura makes him collect his jaw off the floor by revealing herself as the Red Mist.)

---

The one that’s a D&D world concept doesn’t have anything concrete written for it yet. (Don’t read this bit if you might want to play in my campaign at some point!) Instead of your typical Forgotten Realms planar setup, the world at large would be called the Seven Spheres, each of them different in terms of climate, geography, native species and magic, etc. The First Sphere would be the most “generic” one (to our way of thinking) and the main setting of the campaign; it would also be the smallest of the Seven, its primary continent home to a former empire of dragons that spanned most of the Sphere until its mysterious fall a thousand years ago.

Now, since the empire fell, the dragons and their children have slowly been dying out. Best estimates are that there’s only a thousand or two left in the entire First Sphere, with fewer eggs hatched every decade. The player characters enter a world with pretty typical low-level quests to start with, but every so often, especially if they engage with optional story stuff (this would be a more roleplay-focused than combat-focused campaign), they get wind of changes in the air - a failed harvest here, an unusually hot and stormy summer there, a trade war once they start hitting mid-levels.

It mimics real-world climate change in all but cause. As coastal cities struggle to contend with rising seas and, more alarmingly, wizards all over the Sphere start to notice their magic falter and wane, the PCs’ goal becomes getting to the bottom of this. And what’s at the bottom is...your typical Nerd fusion of science with fantasy settings.

The Seven Spheres are not planes of existence in the normal D&D sense, but seven planets in the same solar system, each with its own ancient god far more powerful than any god in any mortal pantheon; the First Sphere is so named because it’s closest to the sun. These planetary gods are incredibly large and incredibly alien, thinking in geologic time and concepts far too broad and slow for most sapient beings to comprehend. A thousand years ago, the fall of the dragon empire was caused by an ill-advised ritual meddling with the god of the First Sphere’s natural process of rebirth, causing said god to die without a replacement.

It’s taken this long for the First Sphere to feel the effects because, again, geologic time - a thousand years is a blink of an eye in this kind of time scale. But now the ancient earth-magic that had kept the Sphere’s climate temperate and its magicians in business is failing. The dragons, as beings of magic intrinsically, have been failing all along. And now it’s up to the PCs, up at level 17-20 if not higher by that point, to figure out how to fix the situation and find a new planetary god for the First Sphere before the whole Sphere burns to death.

#bulletnick #wow this got long #you're right i did want to talk about all of them though

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dissociatedabyss · 5 years ago

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just need to put this whole therapy session down and i feel like it was “successful” so i want to share it

TW for anything related to the end of the world, the rapture, religion, church; idk i guess thats it im pretty vague i think

started therapy talking about this fear of the world ending and us never seeing our family again. i explained how it felt impossible to comfort this part, and she asked something about an antecedent. she asked if there were ever a time in my childhood that i had this fear.

the first thing i mentioned was learning about the rapture. i can’t distinctly recall learning about it in church, but i know i did. i knew that one day, randomly, the sky would open up and angels would come down and take the good people to heaven while everyone else perished with the earth (as i wrote this i felt a part cry out that they want to stay on earth). i shared how the other day amidst inner chatter related to this ongoing anxiety, one of us thought something like “well yeah we were (under 10) years old in 2012 when they said the world would end!” and a different part followed with “...what’re you talking about we were 16” so clearly a young part was around then when we were feeling that anxiety even though we “knew” it wasn’t real and couldn’t really be predicted. we had a basketball tournament on that date, and i remember joking about it all day with my friends like “haha if the world starts crumbling in the middle of our game i’m gonna take my jersey off and run around screaming” and that humor was probably a defense against the fear i felt.

but then we focused on my childhood as a whole. she called it hell herself after i spoke about it. and i guess i tend to see it from an adults perspective now, but the young ones in me know.. it was hell. it was constant chaos. that’s the easiest way to describe it. i spent my childhood escaping it. she asked me how i coped with it and managed and i said i didn’t know. i just went to school. i played sports. hung out with friends as much as i could. and when i couldn’t avoid it, i turned to maladaptive tools. as a child. she said “it may not have been a conscious thought, but as a child living there, everyday you were afraid the world was going to end for you”.

and i thought yeah that makes sense, but why would i want to spend the end of the world with my family then.. and she said i was probably scared to lose them and when i thought about that, i told her it never really stuck out to me until now that no matter how much i vented to my friends about shit.. i never once opened my mouth to an adult or anyone similar that would result in attention on what was going on at home. because then my world really would have ended.

so helping this part see where the fear is coming from, rather than trying to reassure her that these things won’t happen, is the route to go i suppose. and then we spoke about a part that we became really unsure about after we ended with our last therapist and occasionally believe he never existed. and some things clicked into place that made me understand why its hard to distinguish him and how that distorted our view of another part who we initially thought had “two sides”. i dont think he enjoyed being discovered the first time, i dont think he is now either.. 😅sorry man.. she helped me figure it out i was barely trying to.

this has been so much and we’ve become increasingly dissociated and honestly really unsettled. i think i need to write more in our actual journal but this part is not happy about everything i thought about (not even related to the main theme of this post) so okay thanks for reading this long ass post lmao

#personal #religion #church #christianity tw #the rapture tw #end of the world tw #idk what else #ask to tag #parts stuff

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lossofdecency · 6 years ago

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To the Nerdy and the Weird

An open letter.

To the Nerdy

I suppose it must be stated that I fit the parameters for what people describe as “nerdy”. I am okay with being a nerd, given that I am also okay with being me. I am not always a fan of being called a nerd, for the mere popular denotation that us nerds are somehow aberrant souls in society, recluses that live in basements and/or frequent comic book stores. But the thing is, it’s not aberrant at all to live in basements and/or frequent comic book stores, or obsess over your favorite characters and TV shows. So it does offend me that people think these are bad things, weird things, just because they might not do them (openly, I might add). In my opinion, being a nerd is so much more, and pretty cool, and some people just do not agree. And that’s okay. All I’m saying is that if they did, and it was a more positive term for the world, I would be alright with being called a nerd by everybody. But for now, I’m alright with a select few calling me such.

Many people use the term “nerd” as an endearment, but it would be considerate if people actually let us know. Otherwise, you think that they’re attacking your personal ideals and activities, calling you “different” with another noun. Even if they do call it a term of endearment, do they mean it? Or is it just them calling us a name and trying to get away with it? Ah, people. Gotta love ‘em and their ulterior motives.

In an ideal situation, you would have a conversation with your friends, foes, and family regarding what it means to be a nerd, how it’s not bad, and whether or not you’d like to be referred to as one. It’s perfectly okay for some people to be called a nerd, but for others, not so much. It’s not necessarily because they believe nerds are bad and they’re ashamed of being one -- perhaps they want to be called by a nickname or something else entirely, like “bandersnatch”. Who knows? But it is vital to respect other people’s wishes. If you have the slightest inclination that the person you are calling “nerd” doesn’t like it, maybe stop. Just be a nice human being.

To the Weird

Me: [Shares opinion in what I assume to be a supportive, understanding environment, not at all expecting a personal attack.]

Friend: You’re weird.

Wow, thanks for not respecting my opinion. I really appreciate it.

*sigh* Some people don’t have filters. And some people are plain mean. The mean variety tend to gravitate towards hurtful adjectives, hurling them at you like they’re candy at a parade. The mean variety might also be insecure, or think they’re always right, and then continue to hurl the previously mentioned candy.

I’ve been called weird by my own friends. And it sucks. And it’s hurtful for me. Accompanied by a sardonic tone, with an ounce of I’m-not-going-to-try-to-understand-you, “You’re weird” hits me hard. I have a hard time sharing my thoughts with people, and being totally brushed aside with that one statement is truly frustrating. Maybe people don’t mean to be mean when they say it, but it’s just rude. All of my opinions aside, saying that to someone else is rude. Way to kill the conversation, pal.

I know I’m weird -- we all are. No person is completely average and normal. Normal exists in our idealized fantasies and on coordinate planes. But being called weird seems close to being rejected for our thoughts and actions. It seems like a dismissal, a “you’re not good enough” in fewer words.

The thing is, “You’re weird” can be substituted for so many other, kinder statements!

“That’s interesting. Here’s what I think…”

“Hm. You’ll have to tell me more about that sometime.”

“Oh, okay. That’s pretty unique.”

“You’re a fascinating human being, and I’d like to get to know you.”

“That’s a little different from what I think, but that’s okay.”

“Cool.” ----> (Use this one, it’s super safe for conversation.)

So, proclaimed weird ones, go find someone who supports your decisions and respects your opinions. Life is too short to let people dismiss you like you don’t matter, because you do. You matter so much, weird or not. Don’t try to be normal. Be yourself, and be weird.

The Finale

Thanks for reading, folks! I really needed to vent about these things, and I felt like it needed to be shared. Sometimes we think we’re alone, but we’re not. We never are. Someone, somewhere, feels the same way I do, or you do. Maybe this post will help someone, or just prompt some chuckling.

I am nerdy, and apparently I am weird. And both of those things are okay. As long as I am a decent human being, who does my best each and every day (no matter what my best looks like), I am okay. Don’t let other people belittle you for who you are. Embrace your inner nerd, and your weirdness. Make life interesting. A true friend would love to listen to you obsess over your favorite characters, or get excited about a new comic book. A true friend would love you and all of your weird, and would never even think about dismissing your opinions.

I hope you have a wonderful day, and a terrifically weird life.

Sincerely,

Obsedia

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bl00dh0rs3 · 2 years ago

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I posted 12,237 times in 2022

That's 3,423 more posts than 2021!

250 posts created (2%)

11,987 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ /edge-lorde

@ /hannahblock

@ /utopians

@ /megatronismegagone

@ /tezzbo

I tagged 1,341 of my posts in 2022

#horse.txt - 128 posts

#wizardposting - 38 posts

#vent // - 22 posts

#six eared macaque - 9 posts

#man - 8 posts

#sun wukong - 8 posts

#jttw - 7 posts

#please - 7 posts

#yeah - 7 posts

#jackart - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#this design was kinda thrown together randomly but im ngl. kinda digging it. i see you with that little ponytail sir i see you i see you 💅

My Top Posts in 2022:

If Empires s2 Mythical J. Sausage was a romance trope. He would be a purebred Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Tell me this isn't some Grade A, Typical Sausage Behavior.

Tell me it's not. You can't.

21 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

I seriously cant stop thinking about the six eared macaque like this is a Problem. Just the whole PREMISE behind the character. Like on a basic literary device level hes just a glassic evil twin/doppleganger--he exists in the story of the Journey to the West to be a metaphor for all of SWK's worst traits and impulses--hes what SWK could be if he wasn't actually trying (at least a little bit) to be a good Buddhist on this taxing roadtrip to India with his companions. They are repeatedly described by the Buddhist concept "being of two minds" (one being baser/simple/the one youre Born with, and the other more. Conceptual and heightened but to a negative degree, i suppose? The translations im looking at rn are rather vague but thats ok i get the feeling its kinda meant to be), and SWK killing him can be interpreted as him finally surpassing as well as accepting those darker parts of himself, and melding his two minds into One. So like the SEM EXISTS to further SWK as a character, obviously.

BUT. HES ALSO GOT ALL THIS OTHER SHIT GOING ON THAT ISNT NECESSARY RELATED TO HIS CONNECTION TO SWK????

Like the fucking six ears! I feel like im going crazy im just repeating the same shit over and over but i seriously CANNOT get over the implications of how his powers of hearing are defined. LIKE

KNOWLEDGE OF PAST AND FUTURE? COMPREHENSION OF ALL THINGS??? AM I FUCKING MISSING SOMETHING HERE??????

The absolute fucking TRAGEDY of the sux eared macaque being set up with these INCREDIBLE powers and existing in name as a play on a very interesting phrase (“The dharma is not to be transmitted to the sixth ear [i.e., the third pair or person]” (fa bu zhuan liu er, 法不傳六耳)), ONLY TO THEN BE LIMITED TO EXISTING SOLELY FOR SWK'S BENEFIT. And the consequence of him trying to OWN this connection by taking SWK's title and completing the Journey on his own is. Being fucking murdered.

Literally rolling around and flailing violently on the floor. What the FUCK man.

24 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

I really need a name for this au. Anyway i nailed down their color schemes (flats and some character design-y thoughts notes below)

Aw man im really about to go in on this here, ok--ill stick to just design stuff and a bit of Their Deal^tm for now! ill explain the au in full some other day, with a more polished drawing.

Alright so. I am still doing research, its ongoing, but i think ive decided that, in this au, their relationship is something more akin to... in a past life they were the same, but for spiritual development reasons, the qi that made That person split, and went on to reincarnate as Them--narratively this is going to make them function like. Just normal Foils lmao--just with an added umph of it being somewhat literal for them, in the scope of their world, if that makes sense! I dont want to put myself in the box of calling them brothers, bc it just irritates me, but they are Not going to be romantically involved in this au either--SWK has enough trouble in his weirdly uneventful but still tumultuous love life as it is (👀 at Erlang and ZBJ), im not going to torment him by adding his evil clone to that list LMAO. Also LEMH aromantic as hell bc i said so.

Also their both trans thats very super important. Trans monkeys forever obviously

Anyway, So theyre still sort of "the same person", yet not, as they had still Never properly met (until Liu'er chapter)--their both incredibly similar and incredibly different, due to the imbalance of the energies within them and the actions they took for the majority of their lives. SWK is the yang, extroverted and bold and destructive and take-no-shit, while LEMH is the yin, (at least in this story) by being reclusive and a bit of a pushover for the longest time--the, erm.... Outburst, being the result of built up resentment and imbalance within himself spurning him to overcompensate for what he was lacking. It's kind of complicated and intricate and i like it that way if describing it is kind of rough Pfft--but anyway!

Point is, i wanted ALLLL that to be reflected in their designs by giving them plenty of Contrasting but Complimentary, and even sometimes juxtaposed details! The incorrect yin yang belt buckles/brooches are the most obvious one i think, next to the general warm vs. cold color palettes--then there's Liu'er being shirtless and with shorter hair, just to bring a sense of masculinity into his appearance, counterbalancing the fact that he's otherwise very feminine and in line with his Yin nature. Id say i made SWK's hair longer for the same kind of reason, but given that long hair isnt seen as inherently feminine, mileage can vary on that--if one reads it that way then yay, fun detail, and if not, then you still get to be looking as a SWK with long hair, and thats always a win in and of itself.

The red parts of their face are also matching--SWK's making up the over eye and LEMH's the under eye, to visually indicate the "this is the same person split in two" dealio. I also tried to make SWK appear a bit more Rounded and Soft, curving his cheek tuffs and little beard In a bit more (belying a gentler nature and other. Yknow, Round thoughts underneath his theatricality (contrasting with his yang-ish behavior), while LEMH's is sharp and feathered out (bringing to mind hostility and action and other Sharp thoughts, equally in contrast with his usually yin-ish nature).

They were initially going to both have the fillets on their heads, for reasons Like the ones above, but without a shirt Liu'er torso was feeling empty and i felt like he needed something to break up the grey of his fur--so, necklace. Hes bouta get choked tf out dont worry about it ❤

Uhhh thats all i can think of writing down right now, feel free to let me know if any of it is kind of Eh, constructive criticism and all that--if you saw any typos no you didnt, thank you for coming to my ted talk and have a groovy day

27 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

Thinking about au where Liu'er joins them on the journey to the west instead of being killed immediately..... something something swk denying himself and begging the Buddha to destroy SEM for him but obviously he wont because thats Him thats His vices personified its His responsibility so now. Hes being forced to confront his worst self on the daily in order to learn to accept and control it.

Something something swk turning to Tang with bags under his eyes after stopping SEM from doing something Awful and asking "was i really this difficult when we first started out?"

63 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I have so many fucking. Posts i want to redraw as Them. But for now all i have is. Zhu Bajie.

284 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Incredible.... zbj taking my blogs credibility to the next level #Thanks sir

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just-nothing-forever · 3 years ago

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So little life update I keep forgetting to write about. I really hope I can save these Tumblr posts as a sort of journal cause that's what I've been using it as.

October 19th, 2022 I was sent to the hospital and was incoherent for 3 days

That previous night, Wednesday, I remember working and we also had a staff meeting. I remember they got us Panera bread and then I went home, talked with family, and after that everything is blank.

Apparently my mom woke up the next morning, Thursday, to hear me yelling "ow". She said I had spittle, not exactly throw up, all over my face and that I was combative and confused and kept trying to hit her. She and dad struggled to get me up the stairs and into the car to go to the hospital.

I remember absolutely nothing. Apparently when I first came in, the doctors thought I'd overdosed on something. But the only thing I remember doing was smoking weed, as is typical in my daily routine, maybe I had alcohol but I really don't remember.

I was in the hospital for 4 days, 3 of them barely coherent. It all felt like a dream to me. I specifically remember one, where there were people in masks and white protective gear surrounding me, telling me it's okay but I still struggled, but then I saw my mom. She was also wearing the gear and a mask, and her hair in my memory was super frazzled and frizzy, but I recognized her eyes, and it calmed me down.

My mom told me later they'd had to restrain me at some points, it was that bad. I truly have no memory of anything, except that "dream"

When I first woke up and was actually cognitive, my mom said the first thing I asked was "is today Thursday?" Cause I was worried about having to work.

But my workplace was super understanding and oh so nice, they gave me and amazon and Visa gift cards. They're so generous, especially since they'd already helped us out with gift cards when we went though the basement floods a few months ago. I honestly loved that place, one of the best Ive worked at.

Back to the hospital though, I woke up and found they'd put a diaper on me. It was very embarrassing and when I had to pee they brought me a portable toilet to pee in front of everyone. I thought I'd get pee shy like the last time I was at a hospital but I was still so out of it I didn't care.

Mom also brought her tablet for me to watch things. I remember putting on the new "Light-year" pixar movie but remember nothing from it except lesbeans. I remember the doctors coming in and asking questions but I still was just barely awake to answer them. I knew the date, but just from what my mom had told me, I didn't truly understand what day it was. I forgot the passwords to my phone and laptop; I remembered my phone after about a day but my laptop took forever to remember, even though it's the easiest password, 1234. I also forgot how to write for a bit, even my name. It took at least two more days after being released to remember my signature and laptop password, which was very scary. Forgetting things that almost seemed like second nature?? I can't even describe the feeling. Hopeless and helpless are the best I can get I suppose.

They did a lot of tests while I was ,"asleep," but when I woke up they did a Lumbar puncture, CT scan, and MRI. All showed normal results.

It was a terrifying experience. I lost four days of my life without even knowing it, and all a month before I'm leaving for Europe. Im so upset by it, I was exercising and practicing languages and so much before the hospital, then it happened and I just couldn't get into a good routine again

Just thought I'd write the experience down so I dont forget

Currently in Europe but I'm keeping a physical journal to document experiences, but I may make a few more vent posts here

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noxrynne · 7 years ago

Text

tbh i think back on relationships/interactions ive had with guys who wanted relationships and i dont really have any good thoughts or memories either just the awkward always-talking-about-themself w/o talking *to* me stuff and jus being a silent listener the whole time

or the ppl 30+ mins late to a set date and time i showed up to, on time, waiting awkwardly for them to actually show up and knowing if i leave ‘cuz they didn’t show in a reasonable amount of time im liable to be bombarded with confrontational messages

or the ppl who pressure me into sex in the first 15 minutes of a first... well, date; and im not mentally aligned well enough to give a proper “no, i’d rather not” and instead jumble out something that’s supposed to essentially be that, but then ending up continually pressured

or the ppl who are like “hey let’s just go for a walk it’s nice out yeah?” and im like “yeah sure its p nice out and i like the breeze and being able to stretch my stupidly long legs cramped in this shitty seat” who then do what the guys in point 3 do but in a space where i cant really just... leave (yes im an idiot for putting myself in those situations, yes im an idiot for not just leaving, yes i can explain why i end up in those positions and it has a lot more to do with feeling obligated to be there which idk where that comes from it just does and makes it a lot harder to just... no longer feel obligated)

then theres the like, major shit that happened in the past. (ive mentioned it before a long time ago, but i dont have the mental fortitude to go back into this rn)

and also the whole... god i dont know how to really describe this, because i’m still understanding im not being smart in this situation but i dont really have the guts or the confidence or the sense of self-security to be smart abt it, but:

someone who tells me everything i want to hear “you’re beautiful” or “you’re amazing, wonderful,” and even the “you’re sexy and like a dream” stuff for *years* i dont really end up believing it any more than the first time, but im 99 percent sure i latch onto those comments b/c of how self-conscious and even self-hating i can be a lot of the time (like “oh this aspect makes me look too masculine, my voice is too masculine, my shoulders are too masculine, my eyebrows are too big and messy, my forehead protrudes slightly too much, i have a bit of a stomach even losing 50 pounds hasnt really fixed, my boobs are small, i still grow facial hair and the stubble bothers me and makes me feel upset... etc...) and it’s a lot of that dysphoria that’s ever present for me and then hearing “oh you’re a wonderfully beautiful girl” (well, succinctly put) and i just latch onto that need for validation, for that “i want to feel like im attractive, that im feminine, that i dont look like a boy”

and they tell me these things for years, for years and years and i end up unable to separate myself from it, and even feel like i *need* that attention just to feel like a worthwhile human being

peppered in with lots of flirtatious comments, etc...

and i end up of course crushing on said person b/c im an idiot and respond like bird to a shiny object (me = bird, shiny object = compliments) with that

and eventually i develop feelings and everything, i approach the topic b/c “well he’s been flirtatious for literal years, he’s said im literally his “dream girl” before (verbatim quote btw), he’s even said he loved me and cared about me and so on

and then it’s weird b/c it’s still this way and i learned he was dating someone for a *year* or more and i just

i know it’s wrong, and with some of the stuff we’ve kinda done, it’s... basically cheating? maybe full on cheating, i dont know. i just know if the roles were reversed and i was in that girl’s shoes i’d be upset (no idk her or her name or anything)

and im here, i know it’s wrong, i feel guilt every time i think about it all, but i cant bring myself to approach it in any stern manner b/c im scared to lose that wealth of... validating compliments? i guess? and im scared to lose like, the 1 person i can (tbh) count on to be around when i actually *do* need someone to talk to (either b/c im having a paranoid episode and feel scared, or b/c i had an extremely rough time, or b/c i need to just work through things like depression when it comes up and i rely on the such... ever-present socialization).

i mean fuck, he’s told me he’d *rather be dating me* and i dont... know how... to parse that. i dont know what to say? what to even think? i know what i should think, what i probably *should* say, but i just... im too scared to, because im scared about losing (again) the main source of... i guess, comfort? maybe? i have? and maybe that’s because i care so much about what other people think of me i project their images of me unto myself b/c the image i have of myself is *that bad*.

idk it just... makes me feel like... im a terrible person in the end, b/c i dont have the guts to do the ethically correct thing

and it feels really shitty.

and yeah today something else happened that made me feel a lot more hollow and disconnected, but that’s not the last point (the last point is me venting abt a different guy, but like... idk, it fell under the umbrella)

tbh the thing that happened today was more me realizing that... idk, it’s complicated because i dont want to go into some stuff publicly over privately idk

#im just venting

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possibly-meaningless · 6 years ago

Text

Dailies - France

19.06.19

I feel myself travelled through by something flammable, down the mouth, but not ignited. I remember knowing that I was drilling my eyes next to her plate, and hearing only what I allowed myself to hear. “The desire to be needed?” I did the dishes like a murderer washes their hands, put up the laundry like a sociopath smiles. In the morning, the sky is gray and I cannot read.

20.06.19

An especially specific thing to do with a three year interval, participate in a study. I’m healthy enough that hospitals are a fascination. I ask about the make of the machines, and what work in the unit is like, about the roof gardens and the validity of measuring BMI. When I wrote about being picked up from a hospital by Akira Touya, I did not know how to say it. Now I am different than fourteen, and could tell you how these rooms are made, and look up who might be allowed to pick me up at all.

It was misty too that freshman year, I remember it more like myself than anything else from that time. Funny that, once again and exactly, I ordered the salmon, and noticed the drum flourish of the MRI scan, turned at the incongruous smell of the hallway cafeteria. I suppose this just means that I am still myself, in a way separate from the certainties I have and how I feel, that my eyes and senses are still the same as those that worried on the dirty floors of our Bingham suite. Or at least that they are enough like all human eyes that not much would have changed anyway.

Le musée par contre, c’est différent. On peut y aller pour pleurer. Je rejoins Millet sous le ciel et je déborde d’amour, mais j'oublierai les noms des impressionnistes, comme d’habitude.

21.06.19

I am preparing myself to go home, weighing the luggage of my person. I am practicing retorts to catcalls in my own language. I will leave the house on Sundays. I have stopped paying attention to New Haven. There is a transitory phase.

22.06.19

Retourner est comme une obligation. J’échange mes inventions du livre comme une exercise. Thumb the blue house of New Haven between the cracks of my phone. Je sens le pli de l’inquiétude dans mon sourcil, et je sais que ma prose en anglais est longue comme du français, l’as toujours été. Je retourne vers les femmes-mères de ma vie, les femmes-famille qui se marient, et laisse derrière moi les ébauches de mes femmes-amour.

23.06.19

I wonder how long I will last being happy to be home. With some grit, until the end. Right now, I have no reason to doubt it. Our candles match the pool chairs, the avocado the grapefruit salad, the water the sky. Children on the plane ask a million good questions, my mother reminisces that that is exactly how I was, I hope that is how I have remained. I look at my cat and think no wonder the Egyptians worshipped you, perfect thing, little piece of god, scarab-sniffer. I’m glad to be back.

24.06.19

Ça commence bien avec Marie. Maman me regarde dans mon costume masculin depuis le fauteuil et ne sourit pas. Elle veut bien, je fais ce que je veux, mais elle ne sourit pas. Marie me demande si je suis “entièrement lesbienne.”

25.06.19

Getting home and dropping into the pool is the kind of thing maharaja’s son does. I take the long way home. Eating fruit here is so much better. I forget my mosquito bites. The women on the metro are, god. Something about it. I smell the air deeply. I think how I would hold Eda’s face if she were here sitting on the banquette next to me, I grip the head of my hat, the woman’s bag on her lap looks like a stomach, I talk about Adrian’s sectioned jaw, Marie’s friend is studying to be a nurse, bonne maman is the eldest child who did not run away she said of earrings “there are things you have to get used to. I got used to my husband, thank God.”

26.06.19

The weather is an occasion for us all to wear sweat. Some things get especially sticky, like the kitchen table, and my computer charger. Everyday utilities gain the properties of an oven. We migrate out of our beds and into the ground for the night. I feel I deserve to live only in the morning, when the air is cool and clear like the first bite from a fruit.

27.06.19

Une brise clémente détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise. Comme les corbeaux je pends mon cou le bec ouvert, et je me crois intime avec les morts. Je verse la larme d’une femme dont le mari et la fille sont morts il y a cent cinquante ans. Les sépulcres sont C.A.P. Faire corps avec l’histoire plutôt que le présent est quelque chose que je dois aux BDs en partie. Adèle Blanc Sec, Corto le faisaient, et leurs auteurs... un cimetière n’est jamais une mauvaise idée, à New Haven non plus, certains coins se recoupent avec celui de la Côte-Saint-André, ca se sent à leur odeur. Un vent clément détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise.

28.06.19

Paris drunk is not the same as New York drunk is not the same as Paris drunk is not the same as New Haven drunk. New Haven drunk has the weight of all my questions in it: whose weight do I want on mine, what kind of love will I accept? Paris drunk has all my answers: not yours, not yours. Even if you are very polite, and you scout out mines on a ship of 26 for the government « secret defense » you are getting off here and I am not giving you my Facebook contact.

29.06.19

Grotte musée, j’en fais l’usage convenu, les yeux humainement levées dans la pénombre, je somnole dans l’abri indéniable. Et en le pensant je m’écorche sur les mots d’hier, peur très peur de l’arrogance. But what of it? If I were a man, I would have no qualms in seeing myself like Picasso saw himself, megalithic, and right, the figure-man in his cave.

Une nostalgie infinie pour la main sur le bois, sur l’os, les salles de cinéma où on s’enfouit, la poussière et le sable, le geste comme l’insecte, l’artiste qui pense, et comme tout au final se ressemble un peu, toujours.

30.06.19

Punition pour ne pas avoir écrit: un rêve qui me détruit.

01.07.19

Compliqué de décrire ce que c’est de parler à quelqu’un derrière un clavier. Grey et moi parlons dans un monde baignée de leur odeur orange, un soleil américain, le ton de la voix surgit des détails du textes, et du choix des mots. Je ris tout haut, oui je vous jure. Et avec Claire c’est l’argent, le violet, c’est une voix qui est comme grave même si je la sais aiguë.

Je peins n’importe comment, mais je peins.

02.07.19

Si je rate, j’écrirai

03.07.19

The idea I have of the metro north when I am away from it is just of a yellow line zipping down a glittering sea. Not much of that is true to what you see (red seats and yellow floors, complications regarding what you are eating or will eat, and who will take you where and how) but of the experience that is it: I am zipping down on an eyeless snake, and the light is always golden.

04.07.19

I haven’t found a way to describe this sky that isn’t electric blue. The air from the window feels like a classroom fan blowing on just some of the leg, someone across the street it seems is eating at a table alone, in an apartment being painted auburn, but I cannot see clearly through the balcony. I keep getting these feelings, dredged up like photographs of a childhood moment, and that way of seeing the world seems so much less complacent than how I currently see it. Not that I am unhappy now, or inattentive, but perhaps feeling for children is more, stronger, stringent and my mind has mellowed to a hum. Feel strongly, think right. Feel strongly.

05.07.19

You got up too late again. You eat like you’re choking and there’s something missing from your movements but licking the spoon of jam clean is the same as many times before bitter on exactly the same parts of your tongue, and reminds you what awakeness can be.

At the section of light before the airplane door all the colors are bouncing out: the raspberry pink of a woman’s dress, the orange chitin of the plane, the misalignment of the pilot’s teeth. Baldwin’s words are still in my head, categoric.

We pass by clouds that look sculpted by a frantic hand which still had in its terrorized tendons, all of herds crossing a path, broccoli and cloaked monks, a monstrous overgrowth of cotton on the stem, the photo-perfect disposition in ranges of mountains as if for a family photo, all of these, behemoths in flight, animals the size of maps, on which you find your way from the relief, shielding your eyes, and in this, smaller yet, I think of Claire’s Leviathans coming often to this playground, so tiny that they would need to shine like pin-prick mirrors to be seen at all.

06.07.19

Il fait gris ce matin. Poppy doit être en train de flipper. Je rythme des sabots au pas est quelque chose auquel on n’est plus habitué. Si je voulais l’écrire il faudrait le décrire plutôt que d’avoir confiance de le trouver dans un esprit ka-pok ka-pok ka-pok. On s’extirpe d’une région sonore à l’autre, oiseaux, grillons, cloche d’église. Je partage le hamac avec deux mouches et au final je vais quand même choper un coup de soleil.

Moment cinématique de la soirée: je m’éloigne de la fête pour regarder l’horizon violet hors du terrain de lumière. Le DJ, fils du propriétaire, pas clairement fille ou garçon au premier coup d’œil, est assis et nous regarde comme le personnage principal fumant, le misanthrope magnifique.

La grande tente a attrapé un frelon. Tout le long du repas on le trouve toujours là, changée à peine de coin. J’y vois un mauvais augure, chiante que je suis.

07.07.19

Fantasy maps tend to be like bowls: a valley of the known hugged into certainty by mountains. I was seated, slouched and film-able, in monoliths

The gravel driveway, too, was a circle of light. Darkness waited at the gate, knowing itself to be charming, and did not speak to me.

The fact I was well dressed matters. All that femininity can be, staring like only jaded men who know they are of adventure’s mettle, out the lip of this great shivering bowl.

08.07.19

Mon impression de la Poyat est comme rayée. Je sens les choses une fois (l’eau de la piscine qui monte au nez, le hall de la maison en odeur de béton et de carrelage, les pages de livres pour enfants qui s’affinent et jaunissent comme la peau d’un rat âgé) puis, plus rien. La musique de mon telephone est une petite voix microscopique sur ma couverture. Les personnes âgées parlent de la maladie comme de plans de vacance. Mes cheveux sont rêches, je ferme les yeux et je vois une forêt noire aux troncs nus et propres.

09.07.19

I’d like to think all of us do this, go up to the attic to sit on the side of the bed and look at Stephane, photo paper stare phasing through our own which traces smile-crinkled eyes and heavy eyebrows, a fringe which would certainly have disappeared by now. I wonder if that is what cuts through my mother’s mind: what he would have looked like now, where he would hang in the house instead of like a funeral mask on a wall of the attic, what it would have looked like to see his face next to ours rather than in them.

10.07.19

La lune est à Demi dans le ciel poudré, je trimballe avec moi une boîte chantante, le chat est là, mais je me teins les mains comme un ancêtre avec des baies mauves. Le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre, nous n’avons fait que grouiller dessous, heurtés toujours par les mêmes choses: l’eau, l’odeur de viande cuite, la capacité à peindre nos corps, à se sentir être là. On s’entoure de nos créations dans un jardin en perpétuelle construction, mais le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre.

11.07.19

Le soleil me cuit lentement, et miroite à grandes volées sur la plaine. La peau rougit comme une question posée, répond du doigt pressé comme un photon sur la rétine.

12.07.19

Media is the perfect litmus test for maturity. I watched Breaking Bad having honestly no idea how to follow, what meant what, what was real and what was fanciful, how adults act in hospitals, at work, at home... now I’m an inside interpreter, more or less, I’m keeping track of the script. It’s funny to see Adrien make these assessments, I have no way to tell if they correlate to understanding. It’s like when we trap a wasp under a glass and he asks “do you think it knows it’s under glass?” and I tell him there’s no real way for us to know: our best bets would either be observations of its anatomical function, or tested behavioral response, but the proof that it can conceptualize as we do, that we will never have.

13.07.19

There’s a cat in heat outside. I have my period. I told my grandmother that no one I was sleeping with had the ability to make me pregnant. I say to Max and Adrian “that’s why it’s easy to substitute the idea of entropy for the idea of death, and life for what goes against entropy.” I wear the bathing suit that hides my body the most. I wear a white dress and a pad. I tell them “wait, I’m going to change my mood.” I don’t want to fold napkins with you old women. I want to write about religion and autonomy and women who are in love and make the case for complexity and the risk in having a conscious mind. I’m wrong in thinking these activities preclude one another. I try to think through clamorous music. I want to hit myself to accompany the fact that I cannot be a student of every subject. I want to stay up and write. I will likely fall asleep.

14.07.19

Il n’y a que le quatorze juillet où l’on se surprend à être dehors en robe d’été alors qu’il a commencé à faire réellement frais. Le vent est aussi inutile que les foulards que l’on se pose sur les jambes. Le chat passe, oui gris. Et le feu d’artifice on l’a déjà vu. Ce qu’on remarque peu c’est le rouge attrapé par le ventre du nuage, et la lune qui nous regarde, la nuit qui fuit volontiers à nos yeux tous les soirs, et nous qui si rarement nous éloignons de nos propres lumières.

15.07.19

On s'arrête au long de la ligne, une excroissance routière où les camionneurs passent leurs vies. Petit royaume tout de même, j’y trouve l’abandonné (un terrain de basket), l’explorable (échelle de la station service), l’histoire (coquilles d'oeufs durs, rib blanchi) et une colline d’où tout voir. Les champs, comme toute surface vue de si près, restent infinis. Ils sont disponibles pour s’y perdre, même si ça ne se fait plus beaucoup. Et moi, mon humeur j’en veux bien: je chante comme jamais.

16.07.19

I refuse to tear the weeds out of fear they might be saplings. The stem is too tender not to feel like murder. So it is perhaps with my crying teenage self, who I let possess me, out of fear she had not lived as she deserves.

17.07.19

Lever les yeux dans le métro pour voir les yeux d’un acteur se baisser. Toucher pleinement l’arme flic à Opera. Cette ville que je croyais me scruter à présent c’est moi qui la tourne, mes yeux sur la foule qui danse, et moi dedans. C’est avec Jack que j’y danse, c’est mon visage qui s’ouvre sur la porte de la pharmacie. J’ai la dépose d’un gamin et du lévrier sur la scène, le regard qui ne se rompt pas. Les miroirs, j’y suis, je porte un costume d’esprit. La ville, c’est moi qui l’aime. Je suis acteur, j’ai vue sur la scène.

18.07.19

It’s late, and I’m making use of a moment of outsider eyes I’m being granted by rereading my own writing, my site’s curation. I test my mouth, considered cutting into my tongue to speak more slowly, comment on deep voices, try on a beard. I lean into the mirror and try “I’m gonna fucking kill you.” I draw looks on and off my face. I wonder if I will ever be depressed again (which would mean I have learned nothing). I consider feelings had weeks ago, picking them up and examining them. I dreaded going back, now I dread going home. I wonder if I can be depressed again. I can do things like love Jesse, although not quite the same. I suppose it’s up to me.

19.07.19

The man in Saint Eustache I suppose he is praying, knee-leaning, alone-eveninged, humbly day-rumpled. He is as serious, as husky as the nave-drawn lights, gold folding on skinny shadow. He sighs, or at least it is as if he does. He has as much to say as the church’s Igor, the Latin mass, but as incense he says none of it.

When I pray, because I do pray in holy-water-sampling, pretty-moved, starwards-gazed and history-guessing, it is not for the lovely waitress and the kir, not for my mother counting change, my grandmother and her therapist, the piss and cracker on the street, the fire set to oil or the motorcycle-kicking kid, the woman stroller-helped over over the fence. It is for nothing if my own wonderment, if for the light itself.

20.07.19

The day I leave the weather is unbearably pleasant. The wind is the kind you personify on the mosaics of a villa-home, passing low to bless the living. You are the kind of hand awoken by a clean damp cloth. And the day I go home, the shower-fawn is still there yes, her color has changed with the towel behind the tile. Storm coming like an undertow.

21.07.19

The more I think of it, I haven’t landed in America, idea of itself as a loud city and wide upset nature, America thing, but home, my home in a different kind of air to breathe. I’ve returned to the place I named myself, the place that saw me different, the beast I saw insane across the valley and touched of my own knowledge-less hand. America has kept a piece of me in it, more than the other way around, more perhaps than good old continent.

Through the windows of the Whitney the world itself is diegetic. Circle ‘round or stare through, the wind is installed for now, I placed this tarp just here, ordered the leaves and printed the sky. Can you tell what it is I wanted to make? What the making of it was like? Take care how you look at it, or you’ll be missing out.

I want to be with you, lullaby-flat, baby-funny, rub-the-face. There’s no shame, no shame at all, when tenderness is in the game— if the note is soft and so is your skin, why in the world should it matter what we listen to, what we look like? We’re children, monkeys, old ladies with Alzheimer all at once, we paw and glance and try the world in our hand— hold me won’t you? It just seems it’d make sense.

22.07.19

Everyone in my part of the train is sleeping. The Paleocene outdoors barely watches us go. A strange world is better than one I should get. Storms are uncertainty I’ve come to adore. I’ll go get the mattress, I’ll call up a friend, eat something untimely from the fridge or the table. We are hacking through tropics up to alien machines, weirder and weird but delightful.

#creative writing

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gloomychic · 8 years ago

Text

Iola + Nyx Support (C-A)

C-Support

((Bgm: Unfamiliar Streets Outside of Nyx’s quarters))

Io: "Hello Miss Nyx, I have a delivery from the bookstore for you today."

Nx: "Thank you, courier. The package arrived sooner than I expected."

Io: "Of course! By my duty, I always seek to make deliveries as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Nx: "... If there's nothing else you need from me, please leave me be."

Io: "Actually Miss Nyx, If you dont mind me asking... You're the dark mage from legends right? Er... A young mage prodigy whom wrought destruction amongst an entire village, eternally cursed with the body of a child'

Nx :"This again... yes, child. I am the vile monster you've no doubt heard of.

Io: Ah... ! My friends used to tell stories of you to frighten us. Everyone would get a good laugh at the terror caused by your tale. and while I did find you quite scary... I was also very intrigued by you.

I- I've been wanting to meet you since I was a young child... Since before I joined the knight-hood

... I eventually gave up on that dream though. I never thought I would meet you under any circumstances, and yet... Here you are . . !

Nx: "Hmph. Is that all? Well, your curiosity should be satiated. Now, if you'll excuse me.

(Nyx Leaves)

Io: "Ah-- W-wait, Nyx! -sigh- By the stars... she's a lot more frightening than I could ever imagine"

B-Support

((Bgm: Pray to the Dark In the Encampment))

Io: "er... hello Miss Nyx."

Nx: "Iola, You're not here to gawk at me again, are you?

Io:Ah, no... my apologies, that was never my intention. T-Truth be told... your presence is actually pretty intimidating... I was finding it difficult to muster into words what I wanted to say...

Nx: "You must have something important on your mind, yes? I'm listening."

-Iola nods- Io: I . . . I actually seek your advice... Y-you see... Even when I was young, I related to your story greatly. Not so much with your destructive magic though . . .

Nx: "You don't mean..."

Io: "... yes. It might not seem obvious, but I... I, too bear a curse.

Nx: "I see. I sensed something amiss from you and assumed it was just nerves. Perhaps it is something more subtle... Now, what is this curse that ails you?"

Io: Truth be told... I feel ashamed to talk about it, I've only mentioned it to my former Mistress.

Io: "From a young age there was always a feeling of discomfort with myself. . . I was never able to understand why it was happening. The older I grew, the more I started to notice this disconnect between my body and mind. Eventually I realized I was cursed to grow into a body I did not want . . .

Io: My own body. . . defiled by masculinity. I've prayed to the stars and moon in a vain effort to change myself. My Mistress has taught me an incantation to ease my soul, but it does not feel like it's enough.

Nx:"Are you looking for me to break this curse, Iola?"

Io:". . . . . . If it were me when I was a child I would have said yes without a second thought... However, I've already come to terms with this. I... I dont think theres a cure out there for me...

Nx: "Iola..."

Io: -sigh- I've lived a fairly long life, and despite my efforts,i've been unable to find anything resembling a cure.

Io: A-anyway... the question... I just want to know... How do you cope with your curse, Miss Nyx? There have been so many times where I've had these moments of weakness... It always manages to wound me, and I don't really know if I'm handling it right...

Nx: "Iola, it is true that our conditions are similar. But you must remember that my curse is a punishment for all my sins... I cannot promise you that my own solutions will mend your pain, but perhaps it will give you enough insight to alleviate your being just a little bit.

Io: "T-thank you Miss Nyx. . . This really means the world to me."

Nx: Now, Take heed at what I'm about to tell you. We've a lot to discuss.

- A-Support ((Bgm: Reminiscence Outside of Nyx’s quarters))

Io: "Hello again, Miss Nyx. I've got another delivery for you from the bookstore.

Nx: "Ah, thank you, Iola. I see you're as speedy as ever."

Io: "Heehee... Your eyes always light up whenever I bring your new books to you. It's always quite gratifying."

Nyx: "hmhm, I suppose it's difficult to hide my excitement.

Io: Before I go Miss Nyx. I... I have to thank you for the other day. I really appreciate talking about my curse with you. It’s been far too long since I’ve discussed it with anyone... It feels like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.

Nx:"You're welcome, Iola. That discussion has eased some tension from me as well."

Io: I don't think it's something I'm ever going to completely overcome... But it's actually nice to know I'm not alone in this endeavor. ... and you're not alone either, Miss Nyx.

Io: "I... I know you've described yourself as a 'vile monster' ... I know my words don't mean very much, but you're anything but that. Even though you push people away... you're a lot kinder than you let on . . . I greatly appreciate your wisdom. I know things arent always easy, but I want you to know... I'm always here if you ever need to vent your frustrations.

Nx: "... Of course. and that goes for you as well.

-Iola meekly smiles at Nyx-

Nx: "One last thing, Iola. "I've prepared something for you. . ."

Io: "Yes, Miss Nyx?"

(Nyx brings out a small wooden box from her quarters)

Nx: That incantation you mentioned- I found a way to improve it. There are some ingredients I've provided for you, along with instructions to utilize them. Although the original spell is powerful as is, this should make it more potent... Any physical changes wont be immediately noticeable, and over time... well, you know what to expect. It's not a perfect spell by any means, but I hope this helps.

Io: "Incredible. . ! -Iola's eyes start glistening - Io: I dont know what to say . . ."

Nx: "This is not something you should rush. Just remember to slowly ease into it and all the pieces will fall into place.

Io: "Aha... of course. Thank you, Miss Nyx. This is more than I could ever ask for.

Nx: "Think nothing of it, Iola. It's the least I can do for you."

#iola murmur #fatesona #fatesona supports #this took me ages to finish but I'm glad I was able to do it #I started this before I even did Setsuna's too...#I hope this is adequate..

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