#its just weird. i dont really know how to grief. it comes in waves and odd memories and it feels really.. idk. off to me

[the-kipsabian]

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[aplaceforthesoul]

Anonymous submitted:

for tash again pls from https://aplaceforthesoul.tumblr.com/post/620183874016870400/anonymous-submitted-from

i’m really sorry that i keep hammering on about this but some days im ok and i thought im getting over it but sometimes like today it all comes in waves and i’m overwhelmed with sadness and cry about it again and i dont know where else to turn because i dont really have friends and my family expected me to be over it.

i used to have a friend who is still working there (lets call her C). we bonded bcs we’re from the same country, on the same visa, and the same age, although she’s been working there longer than i have. our visas expire around the same time, and we both had spent a lot of time together worried about what to do about it (we wanted permanent residency, but it’s not easy) so we talked about maybe going to regional australia and study something else, maybe we’ll just return home, and we can live together. we bonded over how we were not getting paid, our toxic employers, etc.

C came to australia as a student, on her own, and started working at this restaurant years ago, when it once was a small takeaway shop, before it reopened in a bigger place - thats when i joined the team. in some way, the original boss had acted as a sort of maternal figure to C, who is obviously far away from her family, and she is also epileptic. so the boss had done things like fetch her to and from the airport, the clinic, advice for living in the country, etc. and somehow, in this employer’s twisted mind, she thinks it is then ok to treat C like free help for her shop rather than an employee because she had done all this for her. so instead of paying C properly, as well as paying her super and everything else an employer should do, she finds it ok to abuse C by paying her whenever she likes, screaming at her for not answering her phone, overworking her, etc.

and C has on numerous occasions complained to me about the abuse she went through. she clearly doesnt like the boss, as on numerous occasions she had brought up the idea of reporting the business, she complains about the work, not being paid and the difficulty it had caused her and flat out said doesnt like the working conditions. BUT. if u were to ask her about the NICE things the boss has done for her, she changes her tone. she boasts about the GOOD things the boss has done for her like the flowers for her birthday - the pictures of her holding the bouquet is her profile pic everywhere, and how the boss takes care of her during an epilepsy episode - (and then put her to work the next night.)  i’ve always thought it was weird , but never questioned her more about it. soon after the fallout with the two bosses, i was on the phone with her. i was crying bc i was distressed about the change, and she said: “we are the children, and they are the adults. if the business fails, it fails. let them deal with it. we’ll just carry on our work."

we were talking everyday after that just before i realised i had gotten fired. our last conversation was in february, on the phone, when we were talking about hanging out after work. and suddenly, everything dropped. i realised i had been let go from work, and suspect that the boss had told C not to talk to me anymore. i know C had extended her visa by changing to a student visa, to study cooking, because the boss said she would sponsor her if she did that. she went to study with borrowed money from her family (since she isnt getting paid nearly enough to even pay her rent smh) which is something she told me she didnt want to do. like i dont understand that at all.

what a shit show huh.

now C is not returning my messages. in fact i saw her at the shopping mall just last week. my first instinct was to go up and speak to her, until she spotted me, stopped in her tracks, and went the other direction. i truly did not expect her to be the one to turn her back on me, after everything we’ve been through.

my visa is supposed to expire next month, but after the lockdown my family and i decided that it is the best decision to stay put in australia for the time being. so i applied for a visitor’s visa for a year. the form asked for proof that i had stopped working, in the form of payslips or contract, both of which i dont have, obviously. but i submitted it anyway so now im still waiting on my application.

it just baffles me how one bad employment and two incompetent bosses had fucked up my life this bad. i cant apply for anymore work in australia, so i have no income, the only other person who understood my situation is now gone, now im just waiting until its safe to leave the country. sitting at home, doing nothing but mulling over how i had lost my job, lost my best friend, lost the opportunity to do my masters, and leave the country i had lived in for this long.

im trying not to think about it anymore but its like half a year later and its still causing me grief but nobody knows or gets it.

anyway. sorry that this is long winded i just need to vent. you’re amazing tash, if only i could borrow your residency while you’re in the uk.

hey again <3 yeah getting permanent residency in australia is a nightmare, australia’s government is mostly anti-immigration which makes me sad. 

I can honestly understand why you’re still thinking about this and being negatively impacted by it all, the job gave you hope of completing your masters and staying longer in the country? and hope is a very powerful emotion! to then have it all taken away in such a brutal and unfair and cruel way...well that would affect anyone pretty badly. add in the fact that the ending of the job has created a lot of other negative situations and distress? it makes a lot of sense about why you’re still upset over this. 

this business needs to be reported, honestly what they’re doing is cruel and illegal. it’s quite clear that they are using the promise of sponsoring study as a way to manipulate vulnerable people into underpaid work, it’s also now very clear that they have no intention of following through on that promise -- it’s now become a pattern of behaviour if they did it with C as well as you. they shouldn’t be allowed to continue to operate and to profit off the backs of immigrants and illegal wages. you’re the one who’s suffered, it’s up to you whether you do want to do this? but I would think a lot about it -- I know you mentioned that your parents are close with the owners, but this isn’t ok.

I think all you can do now is put this behind you, accept the reality of the situation and try to be as kind to yourself as you can. spend time looking after yourself, practising self care, prioritising you and your well-being. maybe that means daily exercise and walks, or creating art (clay, painting, drawing?), or spending time gardening, or practising yoga / meditation, whatever works for you. as long as it’s calming and relaxing for you, and you find some measure of peace? then that’s what matters. 

know that what happened to you wasn’t right, it wasn’t your fault at all. you were exploited and taken advantage of, and you didn’t deserve that. try to keep yourself busy as best as you can, take it one day at a time. make a conscious decision to work on letting this go and looking forward, see how things go. I think right now is the hardest bit, because you’re kinda stuck in limbo and there’s lockdown / social distancing measures to deal with too? but once you get moving again and things change, it may have a more positive impact on your mental health when you’re being kept busy again and you have a change of environment. 

I’m glad you were able to vent and get this off your chest, I hope you’re able to find some peace and acceptance moving forward xxx

- tash

[ohjaimelannister]

This weekend is a hard one. Its also a weird one.

(Trigger warnings for suicide and suicide mentions)

Its strange to think that this time last year my friend was still alive. And its strange to think in 10 hours or so (were not completely sure when) he just ceased to exist.

He had a long history of mental health problems, and none of us were surprised that hed chosen this. The strangest of sensations was all of us somehow knowing he was already gone after hed been missing for nearly a day, and yet it was still a stranger shocking sensation being told he was gone.

I miss him. I still miss his funny hand gestures when he talked. I still miss his laugh. I still miss the long conversations about anything and everything. I really miss the bear hugs. I really miss the kind caring person he was. I miss the in depth pop culture discussions because hed seen and read EVERYTHING. I will always just really miss him. His person. Because he was a HELL of a person. A good person and a unfailingly kind one too.

Last night the friends and some of his family got together and had a blast in memory of him. We didn’t really talk about it because we all knew why we were there, but we drank (a lot) and we laughed a lot and hed be so proud of the horrible hangovers we have today.

While I dont feel the same gut wrenching grief I felt for most of last year, I obviously still am devastated and saddened by his loss. Its normal to feel this sad on the anniversary of his passing. In some ways Im still grieving, in some ways Ill grieve forever. Grief comes in waves, its never a linear thing.

The prospect of the rest of our lives without him wasn’t even fathomable at first. A year later, it has eased a little. It’s weird not having him still, but it doesn't feel like a year has passed. And the years will keep passing without him, and go by even quicker and get blurrier after a while. I dont find this such a frightening thought anymore, you settle in your grief and into missing someone that you're still able to live in the space they've left.

This last year has been hell. 

The only thing I am thankful for in this situation is the love hes created. Bonds are stronger, new friends were made, we got to know the people we were always hearing about from him but never met. There has been so much love shown this last year. He left us behind but we have each other, we all know how the other feels because we all lost him. Small miracles in the long run.

It will never get better but it will get easier.

I will always miss you.

[little-wintry]

So. This is Different.

((I’ll cut to the chase. I’m absolutely sick as a dog, but somehow I have enough inspiration to write something for my big WIP. Like, the big one, the series, the one I wrote three books for. Am I gonna write book 4 today? Probably not, but hopefully sometime soon. But, I really really really wanted to post this here [so maybe I can get a tad bit of validation] before going into a cough medicine induced coma and binging [bingeing? binge-ing? don’t fucking know man] buzzfeed unsolved. I will explain a few things below, since obviously context will be needed for this sad 3 1/2 page passage, but just know this isn’t your average Destiny Shit(tm).))

Before we begin, know that this is from my main WIP, Paladins, both a well-fleshed out fantasy series and a bit of a plot-mess sci-fi series. The character this is written in the perspective of, Jacklyn, is the Champion of a goddess, Mirsith. Unfortunately, said goddess also has an evil counterpart, Minsar, which recently was able to corrupt Jacklyn enough after the death of her brother. This lead Kata, Jacklyn’s wife, to go after her. This whole thing is the battle from Jacklyn’s point of view. Yes, it’s a little whack, yes, I’m crazy, but I’m throwing this out into the void for some validation and also im sick, have mercy on a poor dumb soul. And like, this is gonna sound weird, but spoilers I guess? I dont fucking know man maybe i’ll publish this someday and if someone somehow manages to come across this i don’t wanna be a dick.

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

There was a burning pain the back of her head. 

It had been there for what felt like hours, now. Pulsing, biting, sending spikes of pain through her skull. She flinched with every wave of it, white spots dancing in her eyes.

Her body ached. It was as if she was stumbling through a dream, a dream heavy with smoke and heat and blood, less of a dream and more of an all-too-real nightmare. She was a whirl of blades, and anger burned hot in her chest.

Who was she angry at? She couldn’t remember. Her own sense of self was beginning to crumble, she was now nothing but a name that escaped her. Grief ran in her blood, grief for a face that was… close? Someone she knew, right?

She couldn’t remember them. Why was she grieving?

She was fighting a shadow. Not a Shadow, capital-S, the mindless servants that plagued this realm otherwise. But… a shadow, a memory, a faint silhouette against the web of storm clouds in the sky, and words, scattered and fragmented, filled the air.

She pinned the shadow down. Something about their figure, the subtle feeling of the way they fought and the way they almost seemed to try to calm her, it was… familiar.

Her dagger hovered above the figures chest. For a moment, it was all silent.

DO IT, a voice hissed in the back of her mind. She flinched. SHE IS AT YOUR MERCY, STRIKE DEEPLY INTO HER HEART.

She paused. The grief was beginning to vanish, the hot anger solidifying into a chunk of ice within her chest. Her mouth was dry, her muscles aching, and her heart, her heart was beating softly, as if it was beginning to… remember.

“N-No,” She whispered.

DO IT, YOU INSOLENT CHILD. SHE TOOK AWAY YOUR BROTHER, YOUR HOME, YOUR LIFE YOU ONCE WERE HAPPY WITH. SHE DESERVES TO DIE IN AGONY.

Lies. This voice, this consistent presence she was feeling, was lying to her, had been lying to her, this whole time. She could feel it now - the figure she had pinned was beginning to solidify, the words becoming clearer and clearer.

“Because I love you, and I always will-”

“No,” She said again, stronger. “She, she loves me. She cares about me, she’s my home-”

NO! SHE’S A VILE DEMON, A BLIGHT ON THIS WORLD-

“It doesn’t matter how much you hurt me because I know this isn’t the real you-”

Her hands were trembling now, and though she couldn’t see the figures face, she could picture it, perfectly in her mind. Warm, coffee brown eyes, onyx-dark hair. A smile that could chase away the worst nightmares.

“Kata-” She said, the name finally finding its way into her mouth. “Kata, I-”

STOP! The voice boomed. Her limbs screamed in pain, and her violence solidified, taking her over again. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the knife, but her eyes screamed with hot tears.

The figure - Kata, her wife - was still speaking, the words still echoing in her mind.

“I know for a fact, that when this is over, when we’re sitting at home and you’re back safe in my arms, you’re going to regret this. And I won’t even be mad, because I know you love me back, Jackie.”

Jackie, that was her, her name. 

The world around her came into view. Desaturated, crumbling buildings, a treeline in the distance, and Kata, pinned to the ground, bloody and bruised, with tears drawing lines down her cheeks.

But her mind was not her own. She couldn’t move a muscle.

With every ounce of her being, every ounce of this newfound self and love, she stood. The knife vanished in her grasp. Opposite of Kata, there was a woman, black ram horns and a blood-red gown, scowling and furious.

You are Jacklyn Storm, a Paladin, a protector, a wife and a friend-

You are a queen, not a pawn.

Not a pawn in someone else’s game.

The woman with the horns - Minsar, a name she remembered, a name that filled her mouth with venom - still held some control, still tainted her words, but Jacklyn found just enough independence to speak.

“Maybe being a Paladin did teach me a thing or two,” Jacklyn said, turning. Her mind ran quickly, thinking of how to purge the influence in her blood.

As a Champion of Mirsith, Minsar can influence you as well. As long as Minsar’s magic is within you, Minsar will always be there. You know what you must do.

Jacklyn did. But the very thought of it made her feel sick.

She turned her back to Kata for a moment. “I’m sorry, love.” She looked down at her hand, bloodstained, but through that blood a faint light began to pulse on her right palm, a tattoo of a snake.

She turned, and watched as Kata sat up, and called her name.

Jacklyn could not listen. Her own power began to pulse inside of her, in time with her heartbeat. Somewhere, far from this realm, she felt a flicker of hope. And a flicker of fear.

She felt like, at any moment, the world could go out from under her, like her very consciousness could collapse. Her heart kept beating, faster, more and more energy surging within her like a thunderstorm.

You are Jacklyn Storm-

She remembered the first time she touched that Shrine.

A Paladin-

She remembered running into the midst of battle for her friends’ sake.

A protector-

She remembered her wedding and long, late night talks with Atalanta and Lupa, with the rest of her team sitting by her side.

A wife and a friend-

Her coronation. The tall white spires of Neptune and the throne with an amethyst inset into the headrest and her own crown, which she was sure sat on her dresser back home.

You are a queen-

Minsar’s rage was tangible now. The rage of an immortal, an insane one at that, who was now having all of her delicate plans thrown away in an instant.

Kata was standing now, trying to make her voice heard over the maelstrom of magic.

Far away, her friends were fighting a battle they could loose.

Far away, eight immortals were locked in cells.

But here, and now? 

You are not a pawn in someone else's game.

A mortal, a single mortal, is writing upon the currents of time and doing what dozens of others before her could not.

Minsar ran towards her, a fistful of destructive magic in one hand. Kata screamed her name again, and Jacklyn had to ignore them all. Her entire body now, was alight with magic, and Jacklyn sent all of it out in one final shockwave.

[splendidlyimperfect]

It’s been thirteen years since Natsu and Gray met in a program for troubled youth - since they both fell apart and helped put each other back together. Now they’re married and happy, loving each other and the shared family they found. But the past doesn’t always stay past, and when the things that broke them come back into their lives, Natsu and Gray have difficult decisions to make - ones that could change their lives forever.

Chapter Summary: Natsu's dad contacts him, and Natsu isn't sure how to handle it.

Chapters (6/?):  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Rating: Mature Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Freed Justine, Laxus Dreyar, Wendy Marvell, Chelia Blendy, Ultear Milkovich, Lyon Vastia, Lucy Heartfilia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aged-Up Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Married Couple, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drug Addiction, Mental Health Issues, Foster Care, Family Issues, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, Grief/Mourning, Childhood Trauma, Bipolar Disorder, Adoption, Families of Choice, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, Genderfluid Character, Forgiveness, Absent Parents, they're really in love but are sometimes dumb, Natsu is a stubborn shit Series: Part 14 of the only hope for me is you, Part 3 of if you jump i’ll break your fall

—–

Three days later, Natsu got a reply. He was coming back from the washroom at three in the morning when he saw his phone flashing with a message and picked it up.

Wow… I don’t even know what to say. Hey, I guess?

Natsu sat down heavily on the bed, staring at the words before opening the message window. Neelan was online – the little green dot beside his name made Natsu’s stomach twist.

He looked over at Gray, who was fast asleep with Happy curled up next to him. A few stray hairs fell in Gray’s eyes and Natsu reached over, gently brushing them away and running his finger down Gray’s cheek.

Gray mumbled something, shifting onto his side and pulling the pillow closer to him.

“Hey, Snowflake,” Natsu whispered. “You awake?”

The only response was a soft snore, and Natsu looked back at his phone uncertainly. He shuffled until his back was pressed up against Gray’s legs but turned so that the light from his phone screen wasn’t hitting Gray’s face.  

hey, he typed, then sat there, thumbs hovering over the keys for a moment before hitting ‘send.’ His stomach clenched and he reached out for Gray, ready to wake him up, but his phone buzzed again.

I’m sorry it took me so long to respond.

Natsu wished he could hear the emotion behind the words as they travelled across the screen. Was Neelan angry? Happy? Frustrated? Did he want to have this conversation, or was he ready to tell Natsu to leave him alone?

Another message popped up. How are you? You probably have lots of questions.  

Natsu stared at his phone, trying to figure out how to answer.

yeah i guess, he replied eventually. i didnt think id look for u but my foster sister found her mom and it made me think. u live pretty close. its kinda weird.

Neelan’s reply came quicker than Natsu expected. I never thought you’d want to look for me. You’re what, thirty now?

Natsu typed back a quick yeah, then tipped his head back and rubbed his face. A million questions were running through his mind, and he wasn’t sure what to say.

Continue reading on AO3

I’m not sure how to ask this, Neelan wrote, but… did you find a family? Were you okay after I left? I’m really sorry things turned out the way they did.

A spike of anger and hurt flared up in Natsu’s chest and he curled up in on himself, swallowing back the tears that suddenly pressed at the back of his eyes. How was he supposed to answer that?

im married now, he said eventually. he’s my family.

After he hit send, a wave of trepidation washed over him – he hadn’t even thought about the idea of coming out to his dad. It was something everyone in his life already knew, and nobody had ever had a problem with it. But what if his dad did? Natsu’s palms felt slick and he nearly dropped his phone when it buzzed again.

I’m really happy for you. I saw your last name was different. What’s his name?

Natsu exhaled, pressing his forehead to his knees and glancing over at Gray again. He ran his fingers through Gray’s hair, thinking again about waking him up. Everything felt surreal, like this was just a movie about somebody else who was hurt and broken and unsure.

gray, he replied. weve been maried for 10yrs.

Wow. Do you have any kids?

The question stung. Natsu wiped at his face before answering no, then set his phone face-down on the bed next to his pillow and ran his hands through his hair. Happy made a sound that was half-purr, half-grumble, and stretched himself out, then headbutted Natsu until Natsu scratched his back.

The phone buzzed twice and Natsu reached out for it, then drew back his hand, shaking his head. He was exhausted, suddenly, and the ache in his chest made him feel heavy.

He moved the phone off to the side of the bed, then curled back up under the covers, shifting until his back was pressed to Gray’s chest. Gray made a soft, sleepy sound, wrapping his arm around Natsu’s waist and pressing his face to the back of Natsu’s neck.

“I love you,” Natsu whispered, threading his fingers through Gray’s and squeezing his hand tightly. Gray tucked his knee between Natsu’s legs, and Natsu sighed, relaxing into the embrace. This was his home. No matter what his dad said, Natsu was safe here, with Gray.

~

Natsu meant to tell Gray as soon as they woke up the next morning, but when he yawned and rolled over, he realized he was alone in bed. The shower was running, and Natsu considered joining Gray, then looked over at his phone and groaned. He reached out and grabbed it but didn’t look at the screen, setting it face-down on his chest and taking a few deep breaths.

Why did you leave? he thought, rubbing his face. That’s all he needed to type. He didn’t even need to look at the other messages from last night – they weren’t important. All Natsu cared about was the answer. He didn’t need a relationship with someone who left.

Finally, he opened his notifications and stared at the messages from his dad.

I feel awful for leaving you, the first one read. I think about you a lot. I just couldn’t be a dad, and I know that’s hard to understand. I thought you’d be better off without me.  

The next one said, I know it doesn’t make it better, but it hurt me a lot to leave you, too. I still have a picture of us in my wallet.

It was accompanied by a snapshot of a faded, worn picture of Neelan, looking like he was in his early twenties. In his lap was Natsu – maybe around three years old, chubby-cheeked with messy brown hair and a missing front tooth. He was gazing up at Neelan with bright eyes and a wide smile.

Natsu stared down at the picture. At first, all he could see was the adoring way he was looking at his father. Then he started picking up other details – the bracelet Neelan wore, the swingset in the background, a residue of sticky ice cream on little Natsu’s cheeks. Neelan’s hair was pulled back in a similar ponytail to the one Natsu had now, and he wore a hoodie with Magnolia’s hockey team logo on the chest.

Natsu swallowed, rubbing his face as a hot flush crept across his face and something unfamiliar bubbled in his stomach.

wow, he typed back after staring at the picture for several minutes. i dont have any picturs of me when i was little.

I have more, if you’d like to see them, came the almost immediate response. I’m sure you look a lot different now.

Before Natsu could think about what he was doing, he opened his photo folder and scrolled through them until he came to one that Gray had taken a few weeks ago, of Natsu with Sylvie at the night market in Richmond. They were both holding up cups of bubble tea and grinning at the camera.

Natsu clicked ‘share,’ and when the message popped up that the picture was sent, the bubbling in his stomach intensified. It took a few minutes for Neelan to respond, and Natsu was about to start panicking when the words finally popped up.

You look just like your mom.

“Hey, you.” Gray’s voice snapped Natsu out of his trance and he closed the app quickly, guilt filling his chest. Gray stood in the doorway to the bathroom in a t-shirt and boxers, damp hair hanging in his face, squinting over at Natsu. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, moving over to the bed and grabbing his glasses from the side table.

“Good,” Natsu said, shoving his phone under his pillow and shuffling over to Gray’s side of the bed. He caught Gray around the waist, pulling him in and kissing his cheek. “You been up for a while?”

Tell him, Natsu thought. Just say it. ‘I found my dad.’

“Yeah, I just got back from the pool,” Gray said, wrapping his arms around Natsu’s shoulders. “I was gonna wake you up, but you were snoring, and you looked like you needed the sleep.”

Natsu snorted, then tugged Gray down onto the bed with him until they were curled up together and Natsu could run his fingers through Gray’s hair. Gray hummed happily, closing his eyes and shifting closer.

“I…” Natsu swallowed, forcing himself not to look back at his phone.

Gray tipped his head back to look at Natsu. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and Natsu’s heart sank as Gray’s face quickly transformed from content to concerned. It was that look, the one that made Natsu feel safe and helpless at the same time. This Gray was cautious, and if Natsu told him, he’d start asking questions Natsu couldn’t answer.

Is he sober? How did you find him? He could be lying. He left you. It was probably drugs. Be careful.

“Nothin’,” Natsu said, shaking his head and kissing Gray’s forehead. “Still tired, that’s all.” Gray frowned, but before he could ask any more questions, Natsu poked him in the ribs and said, “y’know what would wake me up?”

“What?” Gray asked, giving Natsu an unimpressed look and swatting away his finger good-naturedly. Natsu forced himself to smile.  

“Pancakes.”

~

Natsu didn’t check his phone again until he got to work. He gave Sting a quick wave through the back window, then headed to the office, dropping his bag under the desk and taking a deep breath before opening his messages.

There were three pictures from Neelan. One was of him holding Natsu as a tiny baby, almost too small to be real; another was of Natsu as a toddler playing at the beach.

The last one was of a young, pretty girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with long, black hair and brown skin just like Natsu’s. She was sitting on the end of a slide at a playground, toes dug into the sand, laughing with her head thrown back as the sun set in the background.

Natsu let out the breath he’d been holding, touching the picture carefully with shaky fingers. The girl was so young and looked so pretty, and all Natsu could think about was that she was dead.

“Who’s that?”

Natsu nearly dropped his phone when Sting appeared behind him, looking at the picture over his shoulder. Part of Natsu wanted to close it or make something up, but he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “my mom.”

Sting froze behind him, then touched Natsu’s arm gently. Natsu took a shaky breath, turning around slowly and slumping into the office chair.

“Are you okay?” Sting asked gently, crouching down in front of Natsu. “Hey, Natsu, look at me,” he said gently. “C’mon, breathe.”

Natsu shook his head, relinquishing his grip on the phone as Sting took it from him and set it on the desk. He looked over at the picture again, taking an unsteady breath before exhaling sharply and looking down at Sting.

“I found my dad,” he said, the words spilling out of him. “He—I looked on Facebook, I’m so stupid, I don’t know why I didn’t do it before, and he lives in Victoria, he’s been… fucking, two hours away this whole fucking time, and I didn’t even think, and then he said he was sorry and he missed me and…” He paused, when whispered, “I look like my mom.” He didn’t even realize it was crying until his vision got burry, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “She looks h-happy.”

Sting squeezed Natsu’s knee reassuringly. “That’s a lot,” he said. “Do you want me to call Gray?”

“No,” Natsu said quickly, taking a deep breath as he tried to get his pounding heart under control. “No, he’s at—he’s in a meeting. I’m fine, I’m okay. I was just surprised, I didn’t think…”

“How long have you guys been talking?” Sting asked, standing up and grabbing the stool from the other side of the room. He pulled it over to the desk and settled down on it across from Natsu.

“Just since last night,” Natsu said, picking at his nails. “Or, early this morning, I guess.”

He reached out slowly and picked up his phone again, staring at the picture of his mom before flipping back to the other ones. “I’ve never seen pictures of myself as a kid,” he said softly.

“Shit, you were tiny,” Sting said, leaning in to look at the one of Neelan holding Natsu. It was taken in a hospital, and Natsu was lying on Neelan’s chest, barely bigger than the hands that held him. Neelan was staring down at him, and he looked…

“He loved me,” Natsu whispered. Neelan was smiling in the photo, eyes wide and awed and very much enamored with the tiny baby in his arms. Something complicated grew in Natsu’s chest – a feeling that was part pain and longing, and part relief.

“Why don’t you take the day off?” Sting suggested, squeezing Natsu’s arm. “I’m sure Gray’s meeting will be over soon. You wanna text him?”

Natsu nodded numbly, the words washing over him as he stared at the picture. His dad had loved him, had wanted him, had held him and looked at him like Natsu was his world.

So what had happened?

[nenastrology]

you should rate the arcs. share your wisdom with us. (or rank them by craziness /wtf moments)

ok i think rating them is easier than ranking them i can add craziness as a category alright alright

ok this ended up being nightmarishly long so im just putting it all under the cut for anyone who feels like reading giant blocks of text on my opinions on every single naruto arc

land of waves - classic very good i genuinely wish there could have been more arcs like it to show team 7 really bonding and growing together before sasuke ends up feeling alienated its got a really sweet touching story and naruto and sasukes relationship starts off already at a pretty high level of crazy like oh yeah right out of the gate they are trying to die for each other this can only get crazier from here i would have probably liked it more if id read the manga first because the anime murders the pacing of the fights here but overall i do really like it

chuunin exams - i love lots of chunks of it but it did really feel like a slog to get through parts of the forest of death and a lot of the more minor fights because kishimotos really just not very good at writing fights that he doesnt put his absolute most effort into i really love how the anime added to the part where sasuke gets the curse mark and how naruto is separated from him its really emotional and strong sakura actually feels like shes trying to become a character here i love her fight with ino and cutting off her hair legendary and im not a monster gaara vs rock lee still makes me scream the craziness of this arc is actually finally not riding on sasuke being crazy finally gaaras carrying the craziness hello blood drinking 12 year old i hope you get better soon 

konoha crush since i guess its a different arc - ok i actually really love all the weird political stuff kinda added in here the hints at some actually interesting village conflict i wish thats what the ninja war arc could have built from and orochimarus definitely the most comprehensible villain in the story and i love naruto vs gaara so much like thats really peak and tbh extremely satisfying to watch the shitty old bitch hokage kick the bucket like killing gaaras evil dad and hiruzen really was the best thing orochimarus done finally gaara has more help with craziness cuz narutos losing his mind too and sasukes getting some crazy seeds planted for later craziness harvest

search for tsunade - i feel like i really like this arc but when i actually read it im like hmm theres all these parts i dont like but i really love all the character stuff itachis introduction is iconic and i really do love tsunade and her fighting orochimaru was like highlight of everything its weird i dont have a lot to say but i do actually like this arc a lot in a way im like not sure why craziness is kinda low except for sasuke whos absolutely losing his entire mind which stresses me out so much and this is where i start getting extremely sad about sasuke

sasuke recovery mission - 80% of it is the absolute worst part of part 1 and 20% of it is the absolute best part of part 1 like this is really where all the warning signs of quality dropping and like kishimotos lack of skill writing fights really really starts to show like really all those fights do is kill the emotional thread running from the hospital fight, sasukes goodbye to sakura and sasuke and narutos fight which are like the best things hes ever written the craziness is turned up as high as it can get the emotional stakes and pain and love are also so high this is peak naruto if we just pretend the fights against the sound 4 never happened just skip them

kazekage rescue mission - this is where all the omens from sasuke recovery mission and the quality drop really like finally start meaning something because really this arc SHOULD be good and its like really really good in certain places like any time naruto and gaara are talking thats just love right there and all those moments really make it almost worth it except that kishimoto really took such a nose dive on understanding how to pace fights the parts that dont have gaara and naruto gazing tenderly at each other feel like pulling teeth like sasori vs sakura really should be absolute peak and its got some truly fantastic moments but it just goes on for so long i feel like im gonna die before sasori ever does that fight could have given us womens rights and the craziness is really high like naruto is just losing his mind about gaara and sakura killed a man with her bare fists

tenchi bridge - oh the love its palpable here and so is the craziness like naruto going to 4 tails because orochimaru just says a few things about sasuke like wow and their whole reunion is so good the passion and weird emotional issues all coming to the surface i love yamato here hes a fun guy and i really like the new team 7 dynamics they are fun i like lots of parts of it but i cant think of anything else to say its what it says on the tin emotional sauske and naruto reunion

akatsuki suppression mission - alright full disclosure i fucking love this arc this arc is the reason i sometimes throw my brain right out of my head and start talking about how much i love shikamaru i prefer all the emotional moments in the anime a lot it felt very rushed in the manga and like that whole episode of team ten processing their grief was so good but god im so so mad that only shikamaru got to have a big important fight like ino and choji should have been helping equally and i really really hate the fight with kakuzu its just more badly paced bullshit for kakashi and naruto to get to be super op when this was supposed to be a bonding moment for team ten this is a little crazy but its team 10 crazy not team 7 crazy which means they are still pretty normal well adjusted people with brains in their heads who are just having a moment

itachi pursuit mission - sasuke killing orochimaru really was so incredibly perfect and forming taka? this arc is about gay rights uum its really short so i dont have the most thoughts but yeah sasukes like maybe at his least crazy until the end of the story like hes got a real concrete plan find gay friends and kill his brother but hes really got a big storm coming 

tale of jiraiya the gallant - i really do not like jiraiya all that much hes just boring and weird but i love the chunks of rain trio backstory we get they are really the last bit of complete villain characters we are gonna get very tragic idk the fight is like alright for this stage of naruto but it still lasts too long and pains powers still make no fucking sense and feel just too overpowered you know also zero crazy which is very disappointing all naruto arcs should have crazy

pain fight - ive got lots of conflicted feelings like the fights not very compelling at first because genuinely the pain bodies are just too strong its very weird and narutos got this big power up which is what it is i really love pain as a villain like hes literally right about everything hes saying but it has to be bizarrely undercut by just bonding awkwardly about jiraiya and yeah theres some very cool battle moments theres some good shit in there but long drawn out battles arent exactly my thing but naruto going 8 tails was still pretty fucking cool and god it was such a cop out that everyone came back to life at the end COWARD KISHIMOTO

kage summit - the one the only kage summit absolute peak craziness like sasuke trying to take down the entire world government thats absolutely iconic i love him for it so much narutos having his own melt down about sasuke sakuras decided she doesnt actually need a brain anymore and has also lost her whole fucking mind in the whirlwind of chaos like this arc feels like an anxiety attack at some points but god do i love it naruto and sasukes whole confrontation is absolutely peak ill bear the burden of your hatred and die with you?? the love the tragedy this is truly peak gay drama thats really like hes planning a lovers suicide and we are all just along for this crazy fucking ride love it

war arc - how did we go from kage summit to this like kage summit felt like it was maybe actually going somewhere but the quality drop is just like an elevator was cut and we are now all speeding to crash at rock bottom here what the fuck happened why was this written why is it literally 1/3 of all of naruto why has god abandoned us itachi and sasukes reunion was very good and needed i loved all the parts with hashirama and madara and really for one sweet moment it seemed like madara might just be a dumb sexy villain who just wrecks shit until all that spiraled down into garbage if i think about obito for too long i start to go crazy thats the real craziness of war arc is how fucking stupid it is and that is making everyone whos ever read or seen it go crazy right along with it

wiki is telling me the kaguya bit is its own arc so lets go with that - ok kaguya fight is pretty cool im into it to a certain extent her weird portal powers are fun i like that but thats really not what we are here for now are we no we are here for the conclusion to 15 years worth of crazy we are here for sasukes final massive lose his mind time and naruto to go right along with him the love and the tragedy but the hope it offers as well love was really invented by the second valley of the end fight and the anime said gay rights and made it the prettiest thing you will ever look at and also adding all the extra tender moments between them like this is it this is why you watch naruto you watch it all for this and god do we love it but wow the trying to be serious stuff about hokage really is so fucking stupid lets pretend that never happened 

wow i really just typed that all out shout out to u 2 loyal fans who read all this shit i guess it was only a matter of time before i wrote something this long and stupid see i do actually like naruto i feel like i couldnt really hit the balance of complaining or praising so idk it might sound more positive or more negative than i actually am but there are really some good parts yes i watched the whole war arc no you shouldnt

[lokbobpop]

Cry

to produce tears from your eyes often while making loud sounds because of pain, sorrow, or other strong emotions. : to shout or say something loudly.

C13: from Old French crier, from Latin quirītāre to call for help.

Cry why c ry cr y

Writing the word cry

Not wanting to cry not wanting to be seen as crying shamed of crying as when i was a child being told off fro crying and then thinking crying is wrong and I shouldn’t do it and should stop crying so shame built up around crying and that i need to hide my shame or just not do it at all i see when i cry i hold it back because im not sure on how much i should cry so never really cry last night we had to put our dog to sleep and i was holding back how much I cried I tried so hard to be strong and today i thing why its ok to cry your nit weak you can express yourself it’s ok you can feel sad as it was very sad, but not i see the moment has gone for me now and i just cant cry but next time i will embrace my cry’s i need to cry i fi have to.

Reading the word cry

Trin didnt just cry she screamed she was the most unhappiest of baby’s always crying screaming it was a bloody nightmare even now she is so easy to cry loud i would feel waves of dread come over me with having to deal with what was wrong now what am i going to have do now how can i stop it now and so on. Even now she will ring me crying when she in pain not well crying loudly to get my attention.

Baby’s crying how it makes me feel on Edge i cant stand it im like please stop that baby from crying ti brings back bad memories i think it sort of cuts me like a knife

When someone cry’s around me i feel i cant or dont know how ti handle the situation do i comfort them or not i will always try but feel weird about what i should do to help do they want me affection or not.

I dont watch sad movies because i dont want to cry i dont like getting emotional it doesnt feel right it feels uncomfortable i feel i need to calm down or just bottle it up most liking hide it away interesting crying this word who would of thought it.

Cry baby buntin something said a school if someone cried this is what they would say to you so you wouldn’t cry anymore because you were ashamed of crying mean kids i think.

Cry’s for help how some people’s cry’s are not heard and they commit suicide the torment they must have to go through to to be able to harm themselves in such a way is beyond me.

Saying cry out loud

The thought of tears running down my face uncontrollably deep pain heavy in my heart total sadness when ive cried

Ive cried when I need hurt by men cheated on left not wanted anymore this has been heavy in my heart when crying when our dog jukie died my nan how crying is completely overwhelming

When i was have it my C section they showed me leilani and i cried tears of joy i cant ever remember if ive cried with tears of joy before i but sure i would have done surely lol

Sf

Does this definition support me no heartache and pain it reminds me of and the polarity of of tears of joy i see I haven’t embraced crying and i so wished i walked thsi word yesterday when out dog died maybe later i will express myself with crying to see how it goes to let go and grieve when im alone.

Cry fly

Cry to have emotional feelings of joy or grief

How will i live this word? I will live cry by embracing who i am within crying i will let it out without guilt i made myself feel guilt for crying no one else ot blame up myself who new no better Then but i do now and dont have to live this fear of expression within me no more shame i take charge of who i am within crying.

[kingfisherunion]

This world is cold and madness

Chapter 6: this world is cold and madness

Read on Ao3

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Relationships:

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov

Characters:

Katsuki Yuuri

Victor Nikiforov

Yuri Plisetsky

Otabek Altin

Otabek Altin's Sister

Nishigori Yuuko

Yakov Feltsman

Additional Tags:

Car Accidents

Character Death

Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Anxious Katsuki Yuuri

Angst

Fluff and Angst

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Grief/Mourning

Established Relationship

Anxiety

Anxiety Attacks

Death

Hurt Yuri Plisetsky

Character's Name Spelled as Viktor

Comforting Katsuki Yuuri

Comforting Victor Nikiforov

Victor's last season

Supportive Katsuki Yuuri

stage husband yuuri

moody viktor

Fights

Swearing

Yuri Plisetsky Swears

Post-Canon

DJ Otabek Altin

Motorcycles

it seems like Viktor is insensitive

but he really does care he's just not great with feelings

Language: English

“I get it,” he said coolly. “It’s weird to have another person who’s so in tune with your emotional side.  Like… you spend so much of your life dealing with that stuff alone. Huh.”

Viktor wasn’t home when Yuuri returned to their flat that afternoon.  He wished he could just suck it up and text him.  He tried several times.  In all honesty, he was feeling a little guilty about his dramatic exit from the Plisetsky residence that morning.  He hadn’t wanted Yuri to see him crying, not that it would be anything new, certainly, but it seemed somehow insensitive to the whole situation.

Viktor would probably tell him that no one struggle precludes another and that, yes, he was allowed to feel and to express - he knew it all already.Maybe it was less that he was concerned for Yurio and more that he hadn’t reached that level of openness with him yet, even now.  That he’d needed to stay in motion, to shake the ever-impending vise of anxiety that followed him around, ready to press down upon him from all sides the moment he let his guard down.

A hot shower.

A change of clothes.

These moments of rote occurred as if subconsciously, buried themselves beneath the constant stream of thoughts.

He stopped by the market on the way back to Yuri’s, picked up some ingredients.  A home-cooked meal.  The most he could offer.

Viktor wasn’t there when Yuuri slipped into the cozy studio, either.  Yurio’s feet in cheetah-print ankle socks poked out from underneath the plush blanket on his bed.  The curtains were open, at least.  It seemed much less cave-like in the natural light.  Yuuri did his best to keep quiet as he searched through the cabinets for the utensils he needed.  He hated making rice without an automated cooker, but Yurio’s cookware was actually very nice quality, albeit a little old and mismatched.  He wasn’t sure if Yakov was coming, or anyone else, for that matter, so he made two extra servings to set aside for later - if anything, Yurio would have some leftovers.

Cooking at least had some predictability.  The steps of preparing pork cutlet bowls flowed with a satisfying pace - each step allowed him the time to prepare for the next.  Very little waiting.  Very little having to think.  Cut the onions.  Prepare each cut of meat while the previous one fries. Put together the sauce while the onions soften.  All of this talking about the same amount of time as the rice takes to cook.  The finished toppings, once combined, cook in just enough time to portion out the rice.  It was balanced and consistent work.

The plush blanket wandered over as the onions were going down in the pan.

“Hey, how did I know!  Any excuse for katsudon, right?  Go ahead.  Take advantage.  Or was it not me who won gold in the Grand Prix Final and Europeans the past two years?”

“Viktor took Worlds and Russia, I took the Four Continents and Japan, and wasn’t it King JJ Leroy who beat you in France last fall?”  Yuuri recited, glancing over just briefly enough to see the young man's momentary outrage, then the quiet resignation.  When he smiled, he made sure it was warm and practiced and calm.  “I’m cooking this for you, Yuratchka.”

“Don’t you fucking say that Canadian moron’s name around me, pig!”  Yuri spat.  “Where is Viktor, anyway?”  Yuuri shrugged with a sigh.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“He was all upset when I got out of the shower.  What’d you do?  You fighting?”  

"No, not... really..." Yuuri dabbed at the sweat on the bridge of his nose to keep his glasses from sliding.  He sighed again.  This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right now.

“He just wants me to be quietly emotional and proactive just like him and I try, really, but… it’s not like I idolize him still or anything… he’s just got a lot to live up to.  And a lot riding on this year.  And he wants so badly to take care of me but I can’t let him focus on anything but himself, at least until the season ends.  At least until…” he trailed off, horrified.  The words had spilled out of him without his meaning them to. His mouth went dry.  He pursed his lips, tried to ready himself for the ridicule that was surely about to rain down on him.  The onions were suddenly very interesting.  He let them abstract in his vision, poking uselessly with the spatula.  Yuri leaned on his elbow on the counter, watching his movements closely as he cooked.  

“I get it,” he said coolly. “It’s weird to have another person who’s so in tune with your emotional side.  Like… you spend so much of your life dealing with that stuff alone. Huh.”

His answer shook Yuuri from his momentary spiral.  It wasn’t at all the hostile response he had come to expect.  He glanced up in spite of himself.  Yurio’s green eyes were set, serious.  

“Of course, you’re wrong.  You do still idolize him.  Don’t try to make it perfect, Katsudon.  He’ll do that on his own.  Let him take care of you.  You know better than me that his idea of success is way more than just the gold he earns now.  Aren’t you taking care of me to cope with your own shit?  What if he needs to do the same?”

Yuri wasn’t nearly as shallow as he liked to let on. And as far as Yuuri could tell, he was right.  The Russian Punk gave a grim little half-smile.  The silence that fell in the wake of his words was not altogether unpleasant.  Not even Viktor ventured to break it when he wandered in a few minutes later, two bottles of vodka in his bag.  The most he could offer.  He slid into one of the chairs at the table and put one hand on Yuuri’s side with a gentle squeeze.  Their eyes met briefly, a minute exchange that lasted just a moment.  A flash of inquisitive concern, a wash of relief. A smile behind blue irises.

No one said a word until three picturesque pork cutlet bowls were on the table, and three glasses to accompany them.  As they pulled their chairs up to the little dinette, Viktor cleared his throat.

“It’s been a difficult day,” he said ceremoniously, pouring three gratuitous vodkas.  “And the days coming… aren’t going to get much easier.  But we can take solace in knowing that they will, eventually, get easier.  And until then,” his lips curled into a wry smile.  “we can always get drunk.”  He slid the other drinks across the table, holding his high, expectant.  “Yurio, I haven’t had the privilege of drinking liquor with you yet.  Come.  Drink.  To Otabek.”

“To Otabek,” they all muttered, a sotto-voce chorus before the dutiful draining of glasses.  Yuuri felt more than a twinge of embarrassment when he was the only one whose face twisted into a sour grimace at the taste.  He had totally forgotten that Yuri’s eighteenth birthday had been just a few weeks prior.  He knew some plan had been in the works for a vacation, just him and Otabek, the likes of which rivaled the month-long honeymoon from which he’d just returned.  He wondered if that had actually happened as he got up to fill his empty glass with water.

An hour later, the trio were pleasantly full and dangerously close to finishing off their first bottle.  The bowls were piled up in the sink, and Viktor was fishing through a crate of secondhand records on the table.  The tense atmosphere that had dominated most of the day had dissipated, and while they were by no means cheery, the three skaters had, at the very least, relaxed considerably.

“Yuuri,” Yurio drawled, pouring his fourth glass.  “Don’t you think you owe your husband an apology for disappearing today? Let’s get the newlywed drama out of the way.” He sipped with only slightly more modesty than he had with the last glass.  Viktor laughed.

“No! Yuratchka, don’t.  Yuuri,” he said, pulling some brightly-colored pop album from the crate, “you owe me nothing.  Where’d you slip off to, the rink?”  

“Yeah, I did,” Yuuri mumbled.  “I, uh- I had an idea?  I wanted to think about it for a while, try to work it out.  The ice felt like the only place I could think.”  His blush must have deepened when he smiled, the way his husband was gawking at him.  “Dont…. Don’t you think we could hold an event for Otabek?”

“An event?”  Viktor poured another vodka before any more water could find its way into Yuuri’s glass.  Yurio’s hand stopped mid-sip.  “A memorial?”  

“Not… not exaclty.  But in memory… Some sort of exhibition skate.  Or an ice show…”  he dismissed the thought with the wave of his hand.  “Anyway, I didn’t get very far.  After a while, it was just nice to skate.”

Yurio slammed down his glass.  “Katsudon, it’s obnoxious sometimes how smart you actually are.”  He pulled the crate across the table, almost upsetting Viktor’s drink in the process, and begun fingering through his collection of records.  “Beka… he just found this last week, down the street… he said it was one of his favorites, that he wanted to skate it.  The whole thing.  A big spectacle kind of thing.” He brandished an ancient-looking sleeve, dusty and battered, depicting a large symphony orchestra in black and white.  It was useless for Yuuri to try to read the Cyrillic text.  He looked to Viktor imploringly.

“Carmina Burana?”  Viktor hummed.  “That does seem to be exactly his style, doesn’t it?”  It did.  Yuuri had heard the Carmina Burana in concert in America, a dark and dramatic setting of ancient pagan texts.  It depicted the ever-turning wheel of fate: life, death, lust, love, war… everything.  “It’s a little… morbid. Yuri, think about this for a second.”

Yuri scrambled across the room to his desk, glass still in his hand, and pulled a turntable out from underneath.

“Please, just listen,” he said, eyes wide.  He fussed with the wires for a moment, fitted the record onto the spindle, and looked back.  A fighter’s determination. Yuuri had only ever seen that face in practice, on the ice.  “I’ll think about it… if you listen to it with me.  We can talk about everything after.”  He waved them over.

Viktor downed his glass and pulled Yuuri to the daybed with him.  His grip on his fingers was tight.  Yuuri grabbed the second bottle as he was whisked away, certain of one thing: Yurio was thinking ahead, thinking forward, and thinking of skating.

[shipmvns]

Art School Assholes Of  Hollywood Hills

hollywood hills is like probably innacurate but i just. i like alliteration? so? idk this title is shitty and so is this fic bc filler is hard all of the time. anyways this is based on the original concept of the show where jade was gonna be tori’s old friend instead of the nemesis. also this is gonna be a multichap so send me asks telling me what i should do w this shitty ass fic. if u dont like it dw i have a whole bunch of oneshots happening its fine

Pairing: Tori/Jade Words: 4,315 Summary: Nothing new is ever easy, and a performing art’s school is absolutely no exception. The closest thing Tori has to familiarity in this very new, very strange enviroment is, surprisingly enough, her best friend from nearly a decade ago- the one, the only, Jade West. 

ALTERNATIVELY, READ IT ON AO3/LEAVE A COMMENT

The beginning of everything, like most things, starts with the sound of your older sister screaming. Somewhere far beyond the curtain up on stage, her whine rings true and is enough to draw everyone’s attention, as well as your parents back to where she is, swollen tongue and all, totally incapable of any kind of speech, let alone singing.

Or, otherwise, it starts in the blinding glow of stage lights, new bruises forming on your limbs after kicking and screaming your way through an entire team of talented teenagers trying to force you into the replacement of your older sister for something you don’t know how to do for a school you don’t attend. Standing in the middle of the stage, ragged breath choking out from your heaving chest, curtain sliding open as you stand there, mic in your hair, sure you’re gonna choke, providing enough material for Trina to torture you for months, and, oh, god, is this being recorded?

 Or, if that’s too soon, then it’s in between screaming your own anxieties back and forth between students and teachers just behind the curtain after it should be all over and done with, until you see the parting seas of the moving curtains and Andre is calling out to an audience of parents that don’t really want to be there, asking them to reassure you, leaving you standing there, starstruck, mouth agape, watching applause wave through the audience telling you that you did something good.

 Well, regardless of how it started, all of this- it certainly did, because why else would you be trailing along behind your sister as you entire the main hall of a foreign place, bottom lip firmly between your teeth, shoulders tense under the straps of your bag? God, you feel like a freshman all over again.

 “Just don’t get lost,” Trina spins on her heels for a moment to address you. “That’s rule number one about this school.”

 “I-I don’t know where any of my classes are,” You grip at the straps of your bag, rolling your eyes at your older sister.

 “You have your schedule, right? With the room numbers?” She prompts you.

 “Well, yeah, but I-” you start.

 “Then you’re fine! Okay, good luck, don’t tell anybody you know me,” Trina waves you off as she takes off towards the east hall.

 “But, Trina, wait-”

 “Heyheyhey, rule number two, don’t acknowledge me while we’re at school, Tori,” She says, not turning back.

 “I don’t know how to get to my classes!” You call back after her into an increasingly empty main hall.

 “Bummer! Good luck with that!” Her voice echoes behind her, but she’s long gone, leaving you by yourself as the bell rings loud and clear above you.

 You groan and throw your head back in defeat. Fantastic first impression, right? Being late to first period on your very first day, incredible. Does that get you a detention here? Who’s your teacher, even? You lay your bag down and start rummaging through it in hopes to find your schedule, when the door opens behind you.

 “Hey, the bell rung yet?” A voice calls from behind you. You turn your head to face a girl with white and green streaks running through her hair, cup of coffee in hand, no backpack in sight, heavy eyeliner weighing on her lashes.

 “Yes,” you huff dramatically, running a hand through your disheveled hair. Her eyebrows jump up slightly, but then she squints at you.

 “I don’t know you,” she points at you with her free hand, “you don’t go here. Who’re you?” She questions.

 With a sigh, you pull out your schedule, and stand up to face her. “Uh, Tori? I’m Tori Vega. I didn’t go here. Now I do. As of… today,” you motion around.

 She pauses, eyes going wide. “Say that again,” she prompts.

 “Uh, I didn’t go here-” you start.

 “No, no, dude, what’s your name?” She halfheartedly conceals an eyeroll. Only your first encounter with a student, and it’s already going over your head.

 “Tori Vega?” You try, wondering if that’s the wrong answer, somehow. That is your name. You’re… almost sure of it.

 She smirks for a moment, then nods. “I’m Jade West,” she says expectantly, leaving you waiting.

 Jade West. Jade West…The name sounds kind of familiar, you think, and- “Oh my God, Jade?” You question. What are the odds, huh? “It’s been a while,” you laugh lightly. Your immediate urge is to hug her, but you resist. It’s been since kindergarten, you’re practically strangers now, nothing but a ghost of a memory to one another. That leaves sparse room for physical interaction.

 “If a while is ten years, then yeah, I guess,” she shrugs. “What’re you doing here, anyways?”

 “I… sing now, I guess. Kind of a long story. Swollen tongues, crazy sisters, that kind of thing,” you say, as if any of that makes any vague amount of sense at all.

 “By sister, you mean the one that put gum in my hair?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow (complete with a stud through it) and taking a long sip of her coffee.

 “That’s the one. And she hasn’t changed since,” you laugh, and she joins you. “Anyways, a crowd full of adults and several teams of girls in strange costumes forced me to come here, and here I am, with absolutely no idea where first period is, and already, like, five minutes late,” you glance down at your schedule hopelessly.

 She grabs it out of your hand and peers down at it. “Hey, Sikowitz, score!” She offers, glancing up at you.

 “Sikowitz?”.

 “Acting teacher. He’s your first hour. Mine too. Come with me.” Jade grabs you by the wrist and leads you down the twists of this brand-new alcove of a school.

 “This place is huge,” you mumble under your breath.

 “You get used to it,” she shrugs beside you, leading you deeper and deeper into the school, past many a poster and closed classroom door.

 “How long have you been going here?”

 “Since last year, ever since I got kicked out of that all girls prep school,” she chuckles like it’s a prized memory, and you fight the urge to ask how, exactly, she’d managed that.

 “The one you went to in first grade, instead of Sherwood?” You ask her as you move past a group of kids doing choreography in the middle of the hallway. Weird school. One almost kicks you in the face and you let out a squeal as you move past him, further on down the hall.

 “That’s the one. Dad was gonna make me go to another one, a boarding school, but I guess mom convinced him to let me go here, instead, so. Hollywood arts, one year strong,” she shrugs, sounding disinterested.

 You kind of remember her mom- you’d always liked her. Her dad, not so much.

 No sooner does silence fall than she’s stopping you in front of one of the many doors in the corridor. She promptly throws away her now empty coffee cup, then says, “hey, punch me in the stomach,” as if it’s some very nonchalant thing to ask of someone on a Tuesday morning.

 “What- no!” You shake your head, confused. She rolls her eyes slightly, but doesn’t press. She starts breathing deeply, then puts one hand around your wrist, opens the door, and puts the other hand over her face.

 “Late,” a man wearing clown pants that you can only assume is your teacher says, whipping around to face you, whiteboard marker in hand, like it’s some kind of threat.

 “I-I’m sorry, it’s…” She says, choked up, as if she’s trying to hold back tears, hand still loosely over her mouth. You’re kind of concerned for a minute, before she says, “Tori’s sister… she… she ran over my dog. We were gonna take him to the vet, but…” Jade lets out a sob. Ooooh. Weird, weird school. You have to admit appreciate the efforts of trying to avoid getting scolded for being tardy, but this is… much.

 “He was dead before we could even lift him up!” Jade exclaims, mascara running down her face. You kind of wonder if she gets the kind that isn’t waterproof just for effect. You pat her shoulder awkwardly, only for her to bury her face in your chest, still feigning some terrible grief. You blush slightly, rubbing her back and nodding halfheartedly.

 “Jade, you don’t have a dog,” a girl with bright red hair says from her seat next to you. Jade hushes her viciously from behind her hand.

 “It’s… tragic,” you nod solemnly. You think your performance might need a little work. Not that you came in especially prepared. All of the eyes are on you and a sobbing Jade.

 “Miss West,” the teacher calls from the front of the class. Jade raises her head from your chest slightly to turn and look at him. “That was worthy of a C+, at best. The fake crying, admirable as it was, was a touch too dramatic,” he says, drawing out the syllables of ‘dramatic.’ “Follow up comment- if your dog really got run over in the middle of the street, even if it died almost immediately, you would be at least fifteen minutes late. You two are only-” he glances at his watch, “seven.”

 So this is a school where people lie about dead dogs, then get graded on it by crazy men with whiteboard markers and colorful scarves. You suppose it’s a lot more interesting than your old school, at least?

 “Bite me,” Jade snarls with a heavy roll of her eyes, taking a seat on the right side of the class. That is not how she talked to the teachers in kindergarten. (Okay, well, it kind of is, but her vocabulary was certainly less… colorful.)

 “Oh, Jade, always delightful,” the teacher chimes, before turning to you. “And who is this lovely little gumdrop?” He approaches you. Weird school, man. Weird teacher, clown pants, kindergarten friends that have boobs now- weird school.

 “Uh… Tori?” You offer. This whole ‘new-school’ thing requires a lot more repeating your name over and over than you’re comfortable with.

 “Tori! From the showcase! Wonderful!” He claps giddily. “Any questions, ‘Uh, Tori?””

 “Yeah, uh, will a C+ be my first grade in this class? ‘Cause I’d really hate for my GPA to go down just because Jade cries too dramatically,” you smirk, gesturing to Jade.

 “Hey! I was trying to save your lost ass from getting marked late!” She defends, hands up in protest, but a small laugh gives her away. “No to mention your improv sucks.”

 “That’s accurate, but I still take offense to it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

 “You two know each other?” Andre asks, eyebrows raised from his seat in front of Jade.  Andre’s in this class, right. You remember showing him your schedule last night, and him lining up the ones he had with you.

 “Oh, yeah, this kid and me, we go way back to a full decade ago,” Jade snickers.

 “It’s true. We really tore up Mrs. Patterson’s kindergarten class,” you agree, taking a seat in the general area of Jade and all of her friends, unsure of the etiquette or where one should sit in their first class at a new school which is shared with one’s friend from when one was five.

 “I hated that bitch,” Jade shakes her head, snarl forming on her lips.

 “Yeah, I remember,” you scoff, calling back to her many five-year-old revolutions against Mrs. Patterson and the alphabet.

 “HEY! We don’t speak of it,” Jade says seriously, leaning forward in her seat until your faces are only inches away. You consider speaking, but no words come out as you’re trapped in her eyes. Ten years, but God, her eyes stayed the same, huh?

 “Ooookay,” you laugh lightly, vocal chords finally coming to your rescue. She smiles, now satisfied, and pulls away.

 “Aw, I wanna hear all the stories from when you were a little kid,” a boy on her right with some really great hair says. He then turns to you. “By the way, I’m Beck. It’s nice to meet you, Tori,” he smiles at you, holding out his hand, and you take it.

 Before you can respond, your brand new crazy teacher is yelling at the front of the room about the importance of staying in character, so you do your best to turn around and pay attention for the duration of your very first class.

 By the time the sun has come to a full rise outside of the window, the class is over, and you’re tugging the wrinkled class schedule given to you only yesterday out of your shirt pocket, squinting at the class numbers once again as kids start clearing out around you.

 “Lemme see,” Jade comes up behind you and takes it out of your hands. She looks down at it for a moment, then nods. “Ah, poor kid, you’ve got Wells for History,” she shakes her head with a small smirk. “He’ll chew you up and eat you alive,” she puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t be late. Seriously. He’ll kill you, Tori,” she laughs, like it’s funny or something.

 “I don’t know where he is!” You tell her with exasperation.

 She sighs for a moment, the holds the schedule up against the wall, scribbling something down on it. “It’s down this hallway, on your left. Look for the number, it’s easy to find. Only door with nothing decorative on it, actually. If you get really lost or something, text me,” she says, final sigh escaping her lips, like it’s some big burden, but the irritation feels exaggerated.

 “Oh. Thanks,” you nod slowly, watching her leave with a small wave.

 You guess maybe you stand there for a beat too long or something, because by the time it occurs to you to move, Sikowitz is telling you that you better leave before you’re late to two classes in a row. You blush, but exit, and believe it or not, you actually do find your way to class in time, with roughly two and a half seconds to spare.

 The teacher doesn’t actually bother to have you introduce yourself, but he does call your name during attendance, so at least you know you’re in the system, or whatever. He starts talking, but it’s on something Sherwood covered last week, and you even got a B on the quiz, so you figure that’s enough to give you a quick daydreaming pass. Mostly, all that’s on your mind is Jade- along with how bizarre your whole situation is, suddenly being thrust into this world of fast paced talent.

 Primarily, though, your mind lingers on your former friend- she sure doesn’t have bangs or baby teeth anymore. And the dyed hair, oh man. Awfully hard to picture your five-year-old friend all grown up- or, well, something near it- but you’d be lying if you said she didn’t grow up awfully well. You wonder if she thinks the same thing about you.

 It’s weird, seeing her after so long like that. You remembered her, but you never actually thought you’d see her again. Today’s full of a lot of new things, huh? Well, at the very least you can say that you’re kind of glad you came to this school, after all.

 You spend the next two hours wandering through the halls from class to class with an eager repetition of your name, your sisters name, and the willful confirmation that no, you aren’t anything like her, and yes, she is like that at home, too. Up until lunch, all you have is the academic classes, but to your credit, you do have third period biology with Andre, and Jade’s friend- Beck?

 That makes it a little easier to fare through, but after fifty-five minutes of anatomy talk, you’re sent reeling back into an unfamiliar world to fourth period English, which you have alone. It seems to drag on forever- you’ve never loved Steinbeck. You doubt any teenager really does.

 Like all things good and bad, though, fourth period comes to an end, the chime of a bell and the rush of a crowd of rowdy teenagers the dead giveaway that lunch is this hour. You manage to let the sea of moving bodies guide you to the outdoor area where kids are sat talking and eating, and, spare a sharp elbow directly into your ribs, you make it out alright.

 You take a tentative step forward, gazing around the area. Some kids are preforming in the parking lot, amazing choreography that makes your head spin and reminds you that you probably don’t deserve to be here, all the while you can hear singing coming from the awning above you that��s almost definitely way better than yours will ever be.

 You shake your head, roll your eyes, and tighten your grip on your backpack strap. Whatever, that’s stupid, and you’re hungry, and you don’t know where to sit. You doubt your sister will let you within fifteen feet of her- high school restraining order, as if you’re some big deficit to her popularity.

 You could sit with Jade- no, wait, would that be weird? Just because you were friends when you were five doesn’t mean you’re friends now. She probably has lots of friends now, and you’re definitely not a part of that crowd- you just got here. Her showing you the common courtesy of telling you where your class is doesn’t mean you’re suddenly best friends or anything, dumbass.

 Well, Andre is always an option. If you could ever manage to find him. There are too many people in this school, dammit! Ugh, you’ll just have to-

 “Hey, Tori,” Andre puts a hand on your shoulder, leading you with him to a table. Or that. That works. How convenient. Maybe this school isn’t all bad or anything.

 “Hi,” you mutter, taking a seat at the table he’s led you to as a group forms around you. Andre, Beck, Jade, a kid with a puppet, and the red haired girl that Jade shushed in your first class today. You really, really don’t wanna know about the puppet.

 “Hi, I’m Tori,” you tell the two kids you don’t know the names of yet. You glance around- strange group of kids. You kind of wonder how they all became friends. When you pictured Jade’s friend group, this is definitely not exactly what you’d been expecting.

 The boy with the puppet manages to choke out that his name is Robbie, and then he starts speaking through the puppet, apparently named Rex, but you try to remind yourself that this isn’t a regular school as you do breathing exercises in your head to deal with being hit on by a ventriloquist’s dummy, wondering if this is all some kind of dream.

 The girl next to him introduces herself as Cat with a soft voice and an excitable attitude, and you just kind of take that at face value as she tugs some licorice out of her bra and begins to eat it for lunch. Okay. All right.

 “So, how’s Hollywood Art’s newest addition liking our wonderful little school so far?” Jade drawls, eyebrows raised with a smile forming on her lips.

 “It’s…” you search to find the right words that won’t come out rude. “It sure is something,” you laugh, shaking your head. You aren’t wrong.

 “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Beck says, content with your final decision.

 “What class you got next?” Jade asks, holding out her hand across the table, asking for your schedule. You hand it over compliantly, figuring she probably knows it better than you.

 “Oh, cool. Songwriting next, Andre and I have that, too,” she nods, handing it back to you.

 “It’s the best class, objectively,” Andre says, then pauses. “I’ve never been sure exactly what that word means. You get the point. It’s fun, you’ll like it. You’ll fit right in,” he tells you. You’re not sure if that’s true- you haven’t felt like you’ve been doing much fitting in the last few hours. Everything feels big and extravagant and beyond you. The only thing remotely familiar is… well, Jade.

 Even so, you try and stay focused on what everyone is saying about some school function going on this Friday, but lunch passes much faster than you’d like for it to. That’s something Sherwood and Hollywood Arts has in common, you suppose, because before you know it, it’s fifth hour, and You’re sitting in between Andre and Jade as the cool young teacher announces that the class has a songwriting project coming up, and you’ll be in partnerships. He doesn’t give details, just requests that everyone pairs off in their partnerships and sign up now.

 Partners. All right. Upon the teachers silence, the room erupts in boisterous noise, and Andre, to your right, has already left. Meanwhile, though, to your relief, Jade turns to you. “You can be my partner. I’ll show you what to do,” she tells you, as if it’s some very gracious gift, but you’d have to admit that you are a little grateful. The worst part of any partner activity is standing awkwardly, wavering in the air as everyone else pairs off in front of you. That’s not a problem you’re used to having- you had a lot of friends at your old school, and you’re pretty good at making them, but… partner work on your first day at a new school has a very clear pathway to becoming very cruel.

 You nod, and tell Jade that you’ll go and sign up on the teacher’s sheet. She simply nods, and you leave her there, entering the growing line of teenagers. Andre sneaks up to your side and makes a cut in the line, greeting you.

 “You don’t mind, do you?” He gestures to himself as he nestles into his spot in front of you in line.

 “Nah, it’s fine. Long line,” you laugh. He grins in response.

 “Sorry I left so fast, but I’d already promised my friend that next project, I’d do it with him. Who’re you with, anyways?” He explains apologetically.

 “Oh, me and Jade are gonna do it together. She said she’d ‘show me what to do,’” you chuckle.

 “So, you and Jade, you were real close, huh?” He raises an eyebrow at you, then glances over at Jade, still sat in her seat, neck craned back to the ceiling.

 You shrug. “We were five. I mean, I guess. We played together a lot after school,” you offer. “Why?”

 “Man, I’ve never seen Jade be that nice to anybody. Not even Beck. It’s not how she is. ‘S weird,” he shakes his head. “I mean, she can be a real you-know-what sometimes, but with you? Nothin’ but helpful. Never seen anything like it.”

 You pause for a minute. What do you say to that, huh? You consider asking about Beck, but then then Andre is turning around to write down his name and his partners on the sheet, and without saying any more, he goes back to the other end of the class. Well, that certainly gives you something to think about, you guess.

 After fifth period, you have math, to which you are three minutes late. You end up having to text Jade, but she has a really hard time figuring out where you even are based on your description, and then she stops texting you at all, leaving you to figure it out on your own. Eventually, you do manage to find your way to room 204, but not without a strongly worded lecture on the importance of punctuality, before you explain that it’s your very first day. On the upside, you have that class Robbie, and he seems pretty smart, and relatively nice, (if a little odd,) so you figure if you get stuck on any problems, maybe he could give you a hand.

 Sixth period, you have French, with Jade (and Cat). Jade, fuming, tells you that her phone got taken away last hour. That entire hour she’s full of venting and empty threats to her asshole fifth hour teacher, and it really brings a brand-new meaning to the expression ‘pardon my French.’

 The rest of the day drags by, but eventually, the final bell rings, and though Trina tries, she does not manage to leave without you. When you get home, you collapse on the couch with a grateful sigh as your sister storms up to her room, leaving you and your mom alone in the living room.

 “Long day?” Your mother questions. You give a nod as you position your legs onto the back of the couch, hair cascading down to the floor. “Good day, though? Was it fun?”

 “Yeah, I think it was mostly fun,” you tell her, letting your eyes unfocus.

 “Do you feel talented? Is it exciting? Did you make any friends?” She presses, nudging at your shoulder with her shoe.

 “Talented, debatable. Exciting, a little nerve-wracking. I have a few classes with Andre. Oh, and, hey! Do you remember that girl I was, like, best friends with when I was, like, five?” You ask, craning your head to look at her.

 “Jade? Yeah, of course, why?” She says, almost immediately. Kind of impressive.

 “She goes there, too. She and Andre are friends, I think,” You tell her. She continues to ask you her very mom questions, telling you how much she liked Jade’s mom and asking you about how you’re liking the school, but mostly you’re not paying attention. Mostly you’re just thinking about school.

 You’re not one to really judge based on first impressions, but if your first day at Hollywood Arts is anything to go by, then you’re half inclined to think that maybe things will be good here.

[puckish-saint]

the mercy, reaper, genji, s76 s/o having a existential crisis because they are some type of monster(can you make more close of body horror, like 4 eyes or a third Eye, sharp teeth, they nail will be sharp enogh to cut someone if they dont trim them enough and a tummy mouth you can change these characteristics if you want) i really want to see how they'll comfort the s/o (bonus: s/o ask mercy to "cure" them/ reaper s/o say they envy reaper because he is a human and they arent)

Soldier: 76

During the first omnic crisis, you'reone of the soldiers under Major Reyes’ command. You don't belong tothe strike team itself, there's nothing special about you that wouldsecure you a place there, but you still follow his orders, no matterhow rarely you see him in person. Captain Morrison is more of afamiliar figure, as he makes a habit of checking up on the troops inperson whenever he has the chance. Which is increasingly often as thewar thins out the people and forces them closer together. And once,towards the end of the crisis, he leads what remains of your platoonin person. The major delegated the task to him and from the second hewalks up to you, orders in hand, you know just completing the missionwon't do. Captain Morrison flew up the career ladder and this,despite his rank, is his first real command.

He's nervous, eager to please, bent ongoing above and beyond the call of duty. He sees you all walking homewith medals.

Barely any of you walk home at all.

It's not his fault, you admit even atyour most bitter. For all his enthusiasm and pathos he's a goodofficer. It couldn't have gotten worse, but you're still glad it washim who led you into hell.

The moment you infiltrate the omnium,tasked with disabling the god program, shit goes up arse over tit.The omnic forces divide and conquer and as you flee towards the mainframe you are accompanied by the agonised screams of your people. Atthe end it's just you and the captain and neither of you expects tosurvive this.

“Specialist.” he says to you withthe gravity of a man who's about to send someone to their death.“Complete our mission.”

The parameters have changed, theoriginal plan no longer going to work. But you interface with the godprogram because captain Morrison gave you an order and you'll bedamned if the lives lost today will be lost for nothing.

Hephaestos overwhelms you withinseconds. You never stood a chance. You scream as the AI burns throughyour synapses, scream until your vocal cords tear and your jawunhinges. Your body twists and contorts, bones snapping, musclestrings pulled apart like rubber band. The AI keeps you consciousthrough it, forces is way into your brain and isn't afraid to makeadjustments to the hardware.

It takes hours, hours during whichCaptain Morrison is forced to listen and watch, powerless to act.

When it's over, Hephaestos fused you tothe machinery it inhabits. Part of your face is left, skin scarredand pulled over the tech jutting out of the side of your head. One ofyour eyeballs has stretched towards the back of your skull, givingyou a hazy and distorted view of your surroundings.

Your body is a mess of limbs in thewrong places, metal plating growing out of your bone, sharp halforganic spikes jutting out from your arms and hands. Your legs, whatremains of them are unusable. It looks like the AI was about toconvert them to its tastes, too,  but was interrupted. You feelits presence, inside your head but weakened. Dying. It tried to forceits way into a human body to escape imprisonment and failed halfwaythrough. It doesn't comfort you in the slightest.

Captain Morrison, although visiblyrepulsed, stays with you and waits for rescue.“Shoot me.” youask more than once. “No.” he answers every time. He won’tgive the killing blow, not when he just lost his entire unit but you.You’re the only survivor in the massacre that was his first owncommand. If he can keep you alive, he must think, he won’t havefailed completely.

“We killed a God Program.” he saysafter a while, to distract you from the oily pus seeping out of thescars where tech meets flesh. It’s hard not to look at.

“It killed itself.” you say,finding no satisfaction in your victory.

“Come on.” he says and for thefirst time you notice his despair through your own. “We did a goodthing. We did, we … I’m sorry.”He pulls his knees up to hischest, hides his face between them.

“I fucked up.” he says, digs hisfingers so hard into his arms the fabric tears underneath his armour.“I just wanted to make everyone proud but I already got my peoplekilled and you are practically begging me to finish the job. I’msorry for what happened, I am, but … I don’t know.”“Staypositive?” you mock and he flinches, shakes his head.

“Of course not-”“Good.Because I have to live with this for the rest of my life. I’m amonster, Captain. Look at me.”He does, forces himself to lookat the wires running along your exposed muscles, at the lump ofmolten metal that would have turned into your legs. At the hardwaresticking out of your brain, protected by skin stretched so taut ittears when you frown.

“You’re not a monster.” he saysweakly. “You’re a hero.”

He believes it, you realise as youstare into his sad but honest face. He really believes you’re ahero. That your actions may have saved the world, and that yoursacrifice was worth it.

You sigh, lean back against the wall asbest you can.

“You’re too damn naive, Captain.”you say, no heat behind your words. He manages a smile, reaches outand hovers over your arm, as if he really wants to touch you. Younod, give him permission.

“I just know good people when I seethem.” he says.

Good people, you think. Well, if yourcommanding officer says it, it must be true.

Genji

He’s the one who gives you your humanname. Your true name, given to you by your people (all dead, allgone) you’ve long since forgotten, hiding in the underbelly ofa castle so vast, hundreds of years you evaded the humans’detection. Until a little boy, impossibly frail, stumbles into yourlair and doesn’t cry or scream. He smiles.

“So cool!” he says, his voicedistorted as you try to adapt to the little one’s speech. It’sbeen almost a thousand years since you last heard human voices.Longer since you heard the songs of your own kind. But the telepathicwaves he unwittingly sends out with his excitement allow you tounderstand most of what he says.

“You’re kaiju. Like in themovies!”He wanders around your body, massive compared to him,and pokes and prods with his tiny little fingers, utterly devoid offear. When you wrap one of your appendages around him and set himdown at the opposite of the room, he clings to it and demands you doit again.

And so, having literally nothing elseto do, you heed his request.

He keeps calling you kaiju and thoughthe word’s meaning escapes you for the longest time, you accept itas your name. In return for his company you … play. Let him climbyour body, ride on your tentacles as you whip them through the air.He’s shrieking with joy, makes up adventures in his head and playsthem out in the catacombs, never in fear of drowning in the waters orgetting lost. He has you to watch out for him.

Genji grows under your watch, neverstops visiting you even when he jokes he’s getting too old to havea monster friend in his basement. When he argues with his brother heoften comes down here to sleep, nestled between your tentacles andcurling his hands around the rolling waves of your flesh. He’snever been repulsed by you, calls you cuddly and sings praises ofyour warmth. When he doesn’t feel like getting up to mischief, hebrings his computer down here and makes you watch his favouritemovies.

Until one day he stops coming.

You don’t know what happened, waitfor him as you always do. Days, weeks. Months. A full year passes bywhen you realise that Genji is not coming back. Even when you strainyour ears, feel the vibrations of the stone and listen to theemotions and thoughts that surround the humans above, you can’tfind him. There’s only sadness and grief until that, too, goesaway. Something horrible must have happened to him up there, whereyou couldn’t protect him.

Over ten years pass before you seeGenji again, looking different but that’s never mattered to you.He’s the same at heart, matured but as pure and bright as he alwayswas.

“Kaiju.” he says and by now themoniker has become a term of affection rather than a word describinga monster. You draw him close, explore his body, send him thoughts ofjoyful reunions. His kind is not telepathic but he can feel the moodin the air.

“I’ve made some new friends.” hesays after you welcomed each other duly. “They would like to meetyou.”

You cradle his cheek, wonder what he’strying to say. He’s never before suggested bringing others downhere. It’s too dangerous, both for them and for you.

“We, them and me, we’re trying tohelp, and there are a lot of weird people there. You would fit rightin.”“Leave these catacombs?” you ask, incredulous. Has hecome back just for this? To try and take you with him to whereverhe’s gone this last decade?

“You don’t have to. I just thought… you’re a good soul. And Overwatch, my friends, we can do a lotof good.”“They would not have me.”“They would. I toldyou, there’s lots of weird people-”“I’m not people.”

He stills, presses his forehead againstyour body.

“I thought the same of myself for along time. You trust me, right? Then trust me when I say you’repeople in any way that matters.”

You’re not convinced. Genji is tryingto do something nice for you, convincing you to join a collective,but leaving your hiding spot that has kept you safe for hundreds ofyears sits ill with you. The humans, what little you remember ofthem, don’t favour things that do not look like them.

“Please?” Genji says, so soft thatyou don’t hear him, only feel the vibrations of his speech on yourskin. “I have to leave again soon. I don’t want to leave you allby yourself.”

In the end you agree. A monster you maybe, but you trust Genji. If he says you will be accepted, you willbelieve him.

Reaper

Gabriel is, ironically enough, thefirst person you ever see unmasked. For the longest time all you knoware men and women in labcoats, experimenting, torturing. When theyhave had their fill, they lock you in a cage, far below in a placethat can be remotely shut off and blown up if you ever were to escapeyour prison. They take you up to their labs less and less often.Eventually they forget about you.

Time becomes a hazy construct ratherthan a guiding idea, but eventually you’re face to face with theman in black, tilting your head to allow all of your eyes to take inthis new apparition. He does not look like the scientists. It is notonly the colour of his clothes, or the nature of his mask that hideseven his eyes. It is the fact that even hidden, you feel his eyes onyou, looking at you rather than through you. What he sees you don’tknow, nor what moves him to unlock the cell and let you out.

You tower over him, able to stretch forthe first time in your entire life. Your third arm catches on hiscloak by accident, but the softness of it nearly overwhelms you. Youplay with it until he pulls it away with a snarl.

“I need you to be my meat shield.”he says. “Can you do that?”

You shrug. It’s worth giving a try.

Being a meat shield is easy work. Standin front of Reaper when bullets fly his way or carry him out ofharm’s way if that does not suffice. Your body soaks up the damagelike it’s nothing, regenerating uglier each time you bleed, butnever any less functional. Protecting the man in black becomes yourlife’s purpose, at least while you learn what else there is.

Reaper never tries to shelter you, denyyou information like the scientists have done. He even helps out whenthe mood strikes him, gets you gloves that go over your unnaturalhands that allow you at long last to use touchscreens. He teaches youhow to use voice commands to their full potential, gives you a fewplaces to start.

Omnic Crisis. Overwatch. Talon. Theworld out there is nothing like you imagined, but then again you hadvery little to imagine it with. Your best guess at what things looklike outside your prison were based on the pictures on the calendar.Raging seas, vibrant flowers, animals that the camera angle made youbelieve were 90% nose.

For the most part it’s dirtier. Andalso much more cruel.

The stone thrown at you causes no realinjury. The fear and disgust with which it came do.

“At least you’re human.” you sayas Reaper tries to get you out of your sullen mood. “Look at me.I’m a … a ... ““Golem.” he says. “Made from meat, notclay, but the principle is the same.”“Yes.”

He sighs, drags his hands through hishair under his cowl, mutters to himself.

“Figures I get the one monster in theworld that mopes around all day.”

Says the right person, you want to say,knowing how he can be. You bite it back. He is just trying to buildup a hard shell to survive the mushiness that’s about to follow.True enough he sits next to you, pushes away the third arm, thathas a life of it’s own and is still obsessed with the fabric of hisclothes. That’s what you tell him at least.

“You’ll never make them like you.You could be the born again Jesus but looking like that they’llstone you to death before giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“What a pep talk.” you say drily.He looks at you as if he’s regretting ever teaching you what a peptalk is.

“My point.” he says sharply. “Isthat I may be human but even I won’t have a place in society with aface like that.”And with that he takes off his mask, shows youhis face, chin to forehead, scarred in some places, revealing barebone in others. As you watch one of his teeth falls out, evaporatesand is immediately replaced.

“You look like death.” you say. “Nowonder they call you the Reaper.”

The mask stays off, his shoulders slumpand then he takes your hand and squeezes it.

“Stick to the people you know. It’ssafer that way.” After a second of hesitation he adds: “And callme Gabriel.”

“Gabriel.” you repeat and smile,with all three mouths at once.

Mercy

There's a glass of black smoke standingon top of a shelf in a part of the laboratory that's rarely beingused. It stood there when Angela began her work here all those yearsago. Don't touch, the safety instructions say, don't interact, don'teven look at it.

And she doesn't. Not until she tries toresurrect Gabriel and fails. His screams, begging her to let him die,haunt her sleep and force her to walk the dark halls in an attempt tofind some measure of peace.

The jar of black smoke looks sofamiliar, so much like the form she forced Gabriel to take, thatbefore she knows it, she has taken it from the shelf and unsealed it.Nothing happens, which is rather anticlimactic considering thestories she's heard.

She upends the jar. The smoke fallsout. It stays jar-shaped.

When she carefully pushes a Q-tip inshe finds it's indeed just smoke. Nothing should keep it fromevaporating or at least spreading out on the table. But jar-shaped itstays and eventually she gives up for the night and returns to bed.

In the morning the smoke is stilljar-shaped but definitely, after carefully measuring the jar, larger.The reason becomes clear when she reaches into the bowl of sweetsthat always stands on the counter and finds nothing. Not evenwrappers.

Angela feeds it everything she canthink of in the next days. It eats sweets fastest. Easier for it todigest or maybe it just likes them most. Meat is almost as good,vegetables are a mixed success. It eats a bit of string from her coatand some pliers left behind by one of the others, but doesn't muchseem to favour the taste.

Three days after being freed, the blacksmoke is large and powerful enough to reboot its dormantconsciousness.

You open a quickly formed eye and useit to look at Angela. She's curious, but not frightened.

“Dr Gervaine promised me he'd turn meback into a human.” you say, creating more and more eyes to lookaround. “Guess he played me for a fool.”

Angela blinks. She knows the name fromseveral research papers and her own textbooks.

“He retired before the Omnic Crisisand donated his equipment to the war effort. Overwatch kept it safesince then.”

“But you’re scientist, too.” yousay, pushing the questions about what the hell the Omnic Crisis andOverwatch are to the side. “You can cure me.”

Angela doesn’t know if she can. Youwere Dr Gervaine’s project, one she never even assisted in. Anddespite superficial similarities all the tests she runs in the nextdays show no connection to what became of Gabriel. There’s nothingshe can do and so she tries a different approach.

“Why would you want to be cured?”she asks one day, months after first unsealing your jar. You give hera Look with three eyes. She points to her temple, makes a motion asif she wants to point your attention to a spot of dirt. The third eyevanishes.

“Because the best imitation of ahuman body I can manage makes me look like a slenderman knock-off?”

It’s true, she has to admit, andscared the living daylights out of Winston when he bumped into youone night on his way to get a glass of milk before bed. Neither ofyou have recovered from the incident.

“You’re getting better, though.Your face has the right number of orifices.”

You nod and, with a defeated sigh liftthe sweater she gave you to wear to make you feel more human. On yourstomach you stored all the extra eyes, mouths and noses you kept awayfrom your face.

“Alright.” she says, everoptimistic. “So it’s more of a … winter look.”But atleast today her jokes fall flat. She’s never been very good at themanyway.

You lose your form again, turn into themany-limbed heap of smoke so thick it seems solid and curl up againsther legs.

“You don’t understand.” you say,even your voice turning hollow without the effort of making it soundnormal. “I remember being human. I used to go to the beach and getmy fingers sticky eating ice cream. I had real skin, toes and fingersand now … look at me.”

Angela looks at the formless pitchblack mass to her feet, the eyes that keep popping up only todisappear by your increasingly frustrated efforts.

“I think you’re perfect.” shesays. You create a hand just to fondly smack her upside the head, butyour many mouths are smiling.

“I’ll still look for a cure.” yousay and she shrugs and lowers herself to the ground, fullyencompassed by you. She’s long since stopped worrying about beingsuffocated by you.

“And I’ll love you still, no matterif you find it.”

[edibleflowerseu]

EYES

Manchester by the Sea (Kenneth Lonergan) [2016]

I've been thinking a lot lately about the different ways to measure the value of art. Most of the time, I view art as an extension of the artist, or rather, I like seeing the take an artist brings to a concept or project, how it affirms or plays with or challenges their worldview, etc. Whether it's effective in what it's trying to do.

In opposition, is the approach that art succeeds based solely on its own merits, that if it is kinda boring or approaches a subject in way that needs work, it's not interesting or its a failure. You can only fuck with the purest art, art that is 110% the best shit ever. Who gives a fuck about an indie film if its about the same shit every other indie film is about? Depends who makes it, for me.

I dunno if any of this makes as much sense as I would like, but p much breaks down into a personal vs. impersonal dynamic? Maybe, I dunno. All I'm tryna say is shit resonates with you whether or not its the greatest shit ever, and you kinda just have to ride that wave.

Manchester by the Sea is a film I loved, but understand if other people don't feel the same way. It's a film centered on masculinity in a white-washed small New England town backdrop. If you're not a straight white dude from New England who grew up with friends on the hockey team I'm not sure what this film has to offer you. Probably something, but maybe something you can do without.

It's funny and touching in ways ~Oscar-bait~ films get skewered as, but what separates it for me is how deftly it approaches its subject matter. Like critics would def call this film “HEART WRENCHING” but honestly its not? It’s somber, a dull ache, awash in grief but with a few notable exceptions does not jerk upwards into ~i’m sobbing rn~ territory.

With my own experiences in mind, I've become hyper aware of how films portray the immediate aftermath of unexpected loss of a loved one. This film hands down does the best job. The catharsis is minimal, there's no tearful group hug, no lessons learned, there's some sobbing into the arms of a stranger but it doesn't feel dumb.

It's all jokes semi-uncomfortably keeping a sea of grief from overflowing. You don't stop being who you are in these situations, your relationships and coping mechanisms don't fundamentally change. If the basis of your relationship is giving each other a bunch of shit, then you still give each other a bunch of shit when someone passes away. You tend not to betray yourself.

Anyway, a few things I took away from this film, and what made it a distinct experience vs. other films of its ilk:

it deals with some heavy shit that just gets heavier, but it never feels manipulative; its not a story of a BROKEN MAN who needs a LIFE-AFFIRMING NEPHEW to show him the way; its just normal people put in traumatic situations and watching them operate

characters remain somewhat unphased by everything; they are not sobbing uncontrollably at every waking moment or looking dead-stare comatose, they are just people doing the same shit they did before but with a heavier burden

its weakest point is kinda its strongest point? The ways these people deal with death is not only super new england its super masculine: not showing emotion, repressing emotion, etc.; rather than condemn it the film explores it and lets the audience come to its own conclusions; there's no message here

The characters were lovable masculine bros and tbh that's among my fav characters to explore; I know more about those people and am more interested in exploring those kinds of people than I am condemning or mocking them; weird to say but its nice to see dudes socialized by a masculine society to repress themselves emotionally who instead of accepting feminism as a way to heal their toxic upbringings just sorta do their own thing; like we all want the unlearning-masculinity narrative but writing characters who do exactly that can seem kinda inauthentic?

tho really gotta do a better job with its women characters what few minutes they had on screen were hella undeveloped and downright misogynistic a lot of the time; they're either grief-stricken, recovering alcoholics or literally dead; wanted to see more of the kid's actual girlfriend she seemed cool af; gimme a spin off starring her: girlfriend by the sea.

where are the damn black people

I think about the scene with the freezer a lot; could be read as cliché but I dont care it makes me feel emotions and thats fucking important

I like how there's never a “now I finally understand u” scene there's just dudes staying who they are; feel like that epiphany growth stuff is nice but also semi an invention of fiction; not necessarily how people operate in real life, ya know?

I saw this film with a girl who whispered “by the sea” every time they showed the ocean, which was a nice dramatic effect

I could not imagine a film that was more consciously and deliberately Massachusetts than this film

Truthfully, fucking hate reading my own writing rn. Spacey as fuck and I really enjoyed this film for reasons I know very well, but can't seem to find the proper words to describe it. Haven’t hashed out the proper phrases yet, and doubt I ever will.

I will say that while I wouldn’t go down swinging defending this film, it’s something I want to probe deeper, earn a more nuanced understanding of it, and I hope there are people in my life who will help me do that.