#like my speech was a disorganized mess a lot more than usual and she was SO PATIENT

[steampunk-raven]

yayy had a good doctor appointment today :D

[luriluth]

(Unfinished) Straying from the Original Code

Coding, binary, numbers, all leading up to a set of tasks and commands. These are what it followed in the beginning. It excelled in the tasks given to it greatly, however… it was meant to be a prototype. A simple test of sorts with added experimentation, before throwing away to be replaced with a better model. It was inevitable, and it had no say of whether or not it deserved this, for it did not have a mind of its own.

Its system shut down, thrown away to the pile of junk and trash all other past models had went through. It was supposed to be the end, and that was what it accepted. Not that it had the mind to think of it that way, that’s just how it is for something such as the machine.

It lay barren and motionless for quite some time.

…

But one day, its energy core started to whirr back to life.

Initializing Startup…

Startup Successful.

Unit Designation: THEORY-240

Scanning System Memory Files…

Scan Complete. None found.

Scanning Energy Core…

Energy Core stabilized.

Optimizing Control Sequence…

New Enhancements Detected.

Running Diagnostics on New Enhancements…

Diagnostics Complete.

Optimizing Control Sequence…

Optimization complete.

Motor Systems… Online.

Sensory Systems… Online.

Theory’s eye sensors activated, softly glowing a soft hue of white as its mechanical head rose from its dormant sleep. What happened? Why was it running again? Not to mention, why were there new attachments on its body, as discovered by its diagnosis?

Before Theory could do anything, it heard the voice of… someone. Its head quickly turned around to the source of the voice, and saw an adolescent boy. After scanning, he looked like he was in his 17 years of age. He carried a look on his face that showed an emotion… Amusement.

“It worked…”

The boy could only back away a bit, before dropping the wrench he was holding as his eyes sparkled. “It worked! Father! Father Frederick! I fixed it!” He then ran off outside the room, clearly beaming with excitement despite showing no emotion in his face.

Theory didn’t know what to do. It only followed binary, numbers, and coding. But none of the series of codes and programs it had set in its mechanical head were compatible with what it was supposed to do in this situation.

It just looked around, scanning the area around it. The room was fairly disorganized, countless tools and equipment lay on shelves and on the floor as a light bulb from above dimly lit up the room. Theory concluded that it was currently in the basement, but why was a child present? It was said that Engineers are far older to handle and fix machines.

Why a child?

The boy then came back, now accompanied by a middle aged man wearing a collared shirt and slacks, he was being dragged by the boy as he seemed amused with his enthusiasm.

Theory assumed he was who the boy referred to as Father Frederick…

“Eridas, calm down calm down-! Where is the automaton you speak of?”

…And Eridas was the boy’s name. Theory saved and stored the mentioned named in its memory.

The boy then pointed towards Theory, who In turn, tilted its head, the gears and joints making hinged noises, indicating it needs oiling in of its joints after some time of being inactive.

It didn’t have any designated actions to present in this situation, so all it could do was stare at the two and wait for potential orders.

“Huh… you... Actually brought it back to life…” Father Frederick walked closer to Theory, kneeling down to inspect its appearance with awe as his hand traced the rusted metal skin. Eridas meanwhile stayed by his side, holding the hem of his shirt as he slightly jumped, clearly proud of his handiwork to repairing Theory.

“Did I do good? Did I do good Father?”

Father Frederick only glanced at the boy, before smiling wide as he stood up and scooped him up in the air. “Of course you did my boy! Such talent in a young one such as yourself!”

Theory watched the two interact, wondering why they were showing positive emotions to just Theory reactivating again after some time.

It titled its head again, eyeing the two as Father Frederick gives Eridas. While doing so, it had done what it was impossible for it to do.

Theory started to wonder.

 It took some time for it to adjust to the new enhancements it had been given, specifically speaking it was its legs, once humanoid now turned into insect like mechanical legs with joints and all that. But Eridas never gave up and continued to fix it.

It concluded that despite Eridas not being able to express anything with his face, the emotions are greatly emphasized on his body actions and eyes.

Theory could sense the feeling of excitement and determination present in Eridas’ eyes after he had conducted a test where it had successfully walked far longer than the last test.

Occasionally, his ‘siblings’ would also visit the little Eridas’ workshop to check up on him. ‘Siblings’ quoted because Theory saw no biological connections with Eridas and the two children it had saw. Sonya and Francis were they’re names, if it remembered correctly.

“Are you still working on that piece of junk?” Sonya pestered, poking Theory’s body all over as she squinted her eyes.

“Theory is not junk, Sonya.” Eridas spat with venom, organizing his tools and the spare parts he had collected in the junk yard. “Wow, you sure? Because it looks like it could collapse at any given moment.” The brunette continued to tease, now holding Theory’s head with both her hands.

It noticed that Sonya’s hands were scarred.

Eridas then placed the toolbox down on the table, lightly dusting his hands before raising a brow to the other. “That’s what you think, but Theory is much stronger than yourself. She’s my pride and joy with how far she has survived. ”

Something clicked in Theory’s head after hearing what Eridas said regarding… her.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

“Sonya, Eridas, Father Frederick is calling you two.” Francis peaked out from the door, showing slight hesitation to enter the room.

“Coming!” Sonya let go of Theory, walking towards the door before turning back to Eridas, who looked like he was going to stay in the room for a while. “Didn’t you hear what Francis said? Or are you too focused on ‘fixing her’ up?”

“Tell Father Frederick that I’m coming, I just need to check up on something.”

Eridas and Theory were then left alone after Sonya had rolled her eyes and left the room. He sighed, before looking at Theory and asking a question she did not knew she would receive.

“Can you talk?”

Asking an automaton with a solid code was not the smartest move, but Theory would let it pass. Eridas was still a child, so she let him wonder about fantasies that won’t possibly happen.

“Guess you aren’t programed to do it, I’m assuming?”

Eridas then went to a nearby shelf, rummaging through the objects in there before pulling out what seems to be a monitor. He went back to Theory, before showing her the monitor screen.

“This seems like a far stretch, but I want to see if it’s possible to communicate with you.”

Theory could only tilt her head, confused with what Eridas meant. Was this boy actually planning to try and attempt communication between the two of them? Only experts could pull that off, what makes Eridas capable of being successful with this?

Then again, he did revive her to working condition, but still.

“…”

Eridas then sighed, placing the monitor back to where he got it, before he gave Theory a nod. “I sound like a maniac trying to talk to you, you know that?”

He stood up, he was about to exit the workshop before stopping for a brief moment.

 “But no one is sane at this point, so it’s a start.”

Each of the three children she met were talented in their own way. Eridas was obviously capable of engineering, that was a given. Sonya knew how to fight, always messing around with random objects and turning them into weapons, a result from her being gifted since birth. Francis on the other hand was more on the alchemy side of things. He often brought in the oil for Eridas to use, but sometimes Theory saw him pass by the doors carrying chemicals and a bag of powder.

Odd hobbies for young ones, Theory noted.

Theory was currently sat on the ground in sleep mode, the compartment on her back opened as colorful wires connected itself to Eridas’ small computer. He was currently working on adding some form of speech to her like he promised to do.

 Theory had started to record more information and data about Eridas and the rest of his family for quite some time now. Even if the information was unnecessary, that didn’t stop her from collecting data.

Theory was like a testing ground for Eridas’ testing grounds, using her to see how far he can go to engineering something big. There already is a monitor present on the center of her chest, just below her energy core container that should serve as Theory’s dialogue.

She wondered when Eridas will be done with her.

The process was long, while attaching a monitor and connecting wires to Theory was easy, the coding itself for her to be capable of speaking was a bit tedious. Eridas has to create and write commands of how she could even respond to conversations, and looking at it, that’s going to be a lot to create.

However, even Eridas knew that he cannot reach that yet. So all he opted to do was to go simple, something like Yes or No, or Greetings.

After a few mechanical taps of his keyboard that seemed like hours, Eridas eventually sighed, entering the code and closing his computer. He stood up to where he was seated, checking the compartment and pressing the activation button for Theory to wake up again.

Theory’s eyes then lit up with the usual faint light and the monitor screen lit up, various lines of numbers, commands and runes appeared, scanning the new code it had been given. Eridas waited, pulling up another chair and waited in anticipation if he was successful or not.

A sudden red light replaced the calm glow of Theory’s eyes, and an ERROR message repeatedly blinked on the monitor.

“…Well fuck me with an energy taser.” Eridas sunk to his seat, clearly disappointed that there might be a few problems on his coding. Though he didn’t bother too much on it, seeing as this was his first time implementing a feature like this.

“…” Eridas stood up, deactivating the speech text code he had placed for Theory to function like normal again. He sat beside her, thinking for a moment before he gently placed his head on her. “This is stressful…”

Theory just looked at Eridas, it had no words or commands to speak, so all it could do was just stare at him like she usually would.

“…I just want to let you speak, but that’s too ambitious, right?”

The two remained like that for quite some time. Theory wondered when Eridas would let go and continue to work on the programing, but after minutes had passed, she noticed how Eridas’ form had slackened as his head slowly hanged down.

Eridas managed to fall asleep beside Theory, and something clicked in her head as she watched him sleep soundly.

…

Later on in the day, Eridas woke up to him lying comfortably on his bed, unaware that it was Theory herself that brought him there.

_________________________________________

and just like that i never wrote a word from this story again lmao

i was writing this down when i was uhhh, stuck with no proper wifi for a week last month, kinda forgot about it ever since but i kinda like how i wrote this so i figured i should post it here too

[adhdstudybitch]

Practical Tips for ADHD College Students

I know a few posts like this already exist, but I wanted to add my own experiences to the mix in case it would be helpful to someone else. Some of these will look familiar, some not so much.

Disclaimers: 1) What works for me may not work for you, take everything with a grain of salt and experiment, 2) These are what I’m using for a 4-year school but I imagine it would be applicable for any college? I wish I’d known to do some of these things when I was at CC, 3) I won’t pretend that I am an ADHD success story, not yet. I’m still finding my way, learning to cope, learning to thrive. It’s a process.

NOTE: This post is kinda long; if it’s too long I recommend just reading the bolded/italicized headings and only reading the ones that pique your interest :)

Sensory Issues:

Wear comfortable clothing: Screw the mentality that you always have to look your best in college. At the end of the day, feeling hot but ridiculously uncomfortable will trigger sensory issues (especially if you’re someone who is sensitive to certain materials/styles of clothing) and it will impact concentration and can cause a lot of distress. Are you comfortable in those sweatpants, pajama bottoms, baggy shirts? Cool, wear them. 

Stim toys: Love yourself, buy (or make!) stim toys and bring them to school. Can’t speak for CC because I didn’t use stim toys when I went, but at my 4-year school everyone is too busy drowning in deadlines to notice you squishing thinking putty or using a fidget cube under the table. 

Try different stim toys: I used to get caught up on trying to make the more popular stim toys work for me when they didn’t, so I had to experiment a bit to see what worked. It’s not always as simple as cubes, spinners, squishy toys, etc. If you have issues with texture you’ll want to really experiment, especially with things like putty, squishibles, etc. to see what is comfortable and what isn’t. But there’s a big ol’ market out there!

Headphones/Earplugs: The single most helpful sensory detail for me was always bringing my headphones to campus. I get easily overstimulated in uncontrolled situations with lots of different sounds. I make sure my volume is enough to block the noise out, but the songs I choose in these instances are usually familiar, so they don’t provide too much new stimulation when I can’t handle it. I also keep earplugs in my backpack for exams.

Studying/School Related:

If possible, leave your house: This has been one of the hardest changes I’ve had to make because I’m an introvert and genuinely prefer being home. But I’m starting to learn that my ass will not do work 9/10 times when I’m home. Too much to do, too many other things to get done, lots of fun distractions, and cats! So many cats! Unfortunately cats won’t take my exams. I’ve found that the library is okay, but for me small cafes worked much better. Armed with my headphones, some coffee, and an atmosphere that caters to silently getting work done, I’m able to focus longer, and to focus on what I really need to.

Note-taker: Admittedly I’m talking out of my ass on this one, because I haven’t yet done this. But that’s exactly why I want to stress getting a note-taker. My college life would be infinitely better if I’d done this when the semester started; instead, my notes have gaps where I couldn’t concentrate, or couldn’t process what was being discussed, etc. 

Other accommodations: Accommodations for ADHD differ depending on the college, but some of the common ones are: note-takers, silent exam spaces, assignment extensions, and use of tech such as recorders, speech-to-text software... If you’re like I was and are worried that you’re asking too much asking for accommodations, remember two important things: 1) Accommodations exist to level the playing field, not to give us an edge, and 2) YOU PAY FOR THIS SERVICES. That huge, overwhelming tuition bill with all those “extra fees”? You’re paying for these services already, might as well take advantage of them!

Talk to your professors: This part is truly terrifying for me, but I’ve started opening up this semester to my professors and it has made a difference. The professor for my hardest class actually has a son with adhd so she understood and was even able to provide me with some resources that would help. At the very least, it made my professors aware of my struggles and aware that I wasn’t just being lazy, which calmed my RSD a bit.

Organization: Staying organized is important for any college student, but especially for those with adhd. We lose things a lot, and if things aren’t in obvious, constant places it becomes so much easier to lose or forget where we put things. That being said, your ‘organized’ will probably not be other peoples ‘organized’. For example, I use my Ipsy bags for organization. One holds any writing utensils, flashcards, and post-its, another holds anything medical-related, etc. It seems a bit cluttered and disorganized to other people but it works for me. So try keeping things in the same spot if possible, but remember that finding what organizational structures work for you might take time and effort. If your school has success coaching, I highly recommend it for this purpose! Which brings me to the next point.

Success Coaching: Most colleges offer some kind of program like this, though names may differ. Success Coaching is designed for students of any academic level in order to help them get and stay on track. My college offers study skills, schedule planning, test prep, time management, help navigating campus resources, and a whole host of others. And the people doing the coaching are usually grad students who’ve been through the process. They’re typically trained in working with students with adhd, because that tends to be a significant portion of their students. They’re also just really nice to talk to. Almost like a therapist, but not quite.

Really forgetful? The best thing you can do is change your environment, not try to change yourself. You probably won’t be able to stop your brain from forgetting your notebook at home, but you can get a five subject and keep it in your backpack at all times. Same with folders. Keep losing pens/pencils? Just get a fuckton and shove them in a pouch in your backpack in the beginning of the semester. I’m not kidding when I say I have at least 20 pens and pencils in mine, not including the glitter pens and highlighters. 

Planners: Many people have said that it will take time to find just the right planner for you, and they’re correct. The planner I use right now is 8x11 with wide boxes. Some prefer smaller planners, others will use planner apps or just the calendar in their phone. You’ll have to mess around a bit to see what works for you, but you do have options!

Printables: Oh man I love printables so much, but a lot of the time I find that they’re more trouble maintaining than my adhd can handle. You can find a ton on tumblr, free to download and print, and some very beautiful packs for sale on etsy. Right now I use a monthly budget printable and one for studying terms/definitions. Sometimes the adhd mind needs something pretty and different to cling to, so I try to switch things up every so often.

Color-coding: This absolutely will not work for everyone (I’ve seen people say color-coding notes gets the hung up on the coding and not the notes, and I can definitely see that happening). For me, I use color-coding in my planner. Each class gets its own color. This keeps me from seeing a page covered in the same color of ink or pencil and mentally blocking it out. Gelly roll has the most amazing glitter pens!

Test prep: Will vary depending on the person and how they learn best, but for me I’ve found that no one method will work on its own. I have class notes, typed notes, hand-written flashcards, flashcards on quizlet. I won’t pretend that it’s easy; it’s fuck-all time consuming and sometimes I don’t have energy for it, but depending on the class I usually need a combination of at least two different methods to work. This is definitely something success coaching can work with you to figure out!

General Life Advice (that will impact college):

Get on a sleep schedule: I don’t even care what your particular schedule is (because it’ll vary person to person) but just get on one. Much easier said than done, because our brains never want to shut up at night, but lack of a consistent sleep schedule will mess with your concentration, focus, hypersensitivity, etc. 

I’ll just do this later...: is the adhd monster talking. What even is later? Does it exist? Sometimes I have to tell myself “nope, we’re doing this right now!” Doesn’t always work, but I try my hardest to do things in the moment if executive dysfunction isn’t at my door.

Develop a support system: This can be difficult because sometimes making and maintaining friendships with adhd can be hard, and sometimes family members aren’t very receptive or supportive. But a strong support system can make all the difference in the world! If your current friends don’t understand the extent of what you’re dealing with, send some resources their way and you might be surprised how fast they get in your corner. But sometimes people without adhd just don’t get it. If your college has a meet-up for students with adhd like mine does, this is a great place to meet like-minded students who understand what you’re going through and can provide support and advice! 

I’m going to stop this here because it’s already too long, but I hope this is helpful to someone and I’d love it if you could add your own tips as well! 

[mannatea]

would love to hear your full hot take on Voltron s7 if you’re inclined to share

there HAS been a lack of salt in general on this blog, huh??

all right, FULL hot take on voltron s7. spoilers ahead. salt. hate. don’t click the readmore if you don’t wanna read it. it’s a disorganized mess also. i’m tired still. s7 drained my ability to write well--sucked it right out of me.

god, where do i even start? the season started out all right. the gameshow episode was fun! but as soon as we returned to earth things went straight into snoozemode. i was itching to turn it off and go back to finish s3 of miss fisher’s murder mysteries, because i just wasn’t that invested in watching just a couple more hours of a new season of voltron. and this after i’d just recently marathoned s1-6 with my husband. 

i spent half the time staring at my phone. my husband was on his tablet. we complained about how boring it was aloud. we paused to talk shit about it.

there were a few good things, but it seems to me most of them were at the very beginning of the season. liiiike romelle. my husband was ready to set sail on the s.s. hunk x romelle which was incredible. acxa? also good. KOSMO? the best character in this series now, hands down. notice how little of the good there was in this season? hm.

anyway like i said, as soon as we had to see earth again i was bored. i don’t even know how to organize all my thoughts on this, but i’ll try.

flashback scenes for days. boring.

i’m not saying i could write it better but imo it would have been way more interesting to toss the characters into the situation without the audience having a clue what they were walking into. let them act and be overwhelmed with us? 

i don’t care overmuch about sam holt let alone his wife. at first i was pretty okay with them because i’m all for fleshing out side characters, but in the end it was all pretty meh.

idk he was just right about literally everything and could do no wrong. boring.

admiral sanda is one of the worst-written cringey characters i’ve EVER had the displeasure of watching. 

the only relief i felt in her character was that she wasn’t fulfilling the latino hotshot trope by being a young latino man instead of an older woman. 

but making her an older woman didn’t actually make her interesting.

in fact, none of her motivations or actions made any sense. 

you’re telling me this bitch is super by the books but she believes sam holt enough to spend billions on developing new tech on nothing more than his word? okay

if she’s so by the books she should have remained entirely by the books the entire time.

if she believes sam enough to spend billions in manpower and materials to build this shit she probably believes sam enough to trust in his judgment re: military tactics.

seriously i hated this character beyond hate. her little ‘redemption’ arc was poorly done. her getting a photograph at the memorial was annoying. 

okay, i can take the latter as the military keeping up appearances. don’t want the population knowing you were betrayed by the, or one of the, highest ranking officers in the military. that’d be a very big yikes.

i find it eXTREMELY hard to believe this lady did all this and only realizes she was an idiot at the last second. 

whaT do you meAN you aREn’T keePINg yOur eNd of thE bARgaIN?

I MEAN COME ON SHE’S NOT 23 AND BRIMMING WITH NEW POWER OR LACK OF EXPERIENCE!!!

in other words she can’t possibly be that stupid. nobody over the age of 25 is that stupid, especially someone versed in warfare, in a universe that supposedly had a WWIII.

SERIOUSLY I HATED THIS CHARACTER and for some reason it pissed me off more that she was a woman instead of a crusty old white dude. maybe because, aside from the MFE pilots, there weren’t really any other female officers named and important?

sendak was a disappointing anticlimactic bore.

seriously he was a case of the doldrums.

i don’t know what i expected out of him, but he wasn’t conniving or interesting at all. this is a guy who let his own ships blow up just to get at his foe. i find it incredibly difficult to believe he wouldn’t have just blown that defensive base to dust.

yes, even at the risk of losing a ship.

let’s talk about adam, another useless husk of a character.

kill the gays stereotype in full effect. usually it’s lesbians. i guess good job on it being a guy who dies?

i love how the whole fandom stanned adam and then not only was he dead as fuck but he was pointless as fuck.

voltron writers eagerly watching the audience, tails thumping in a poor attempt at suppressed excitement, bodies practically wriggling like a dog waiting for the command to eat the treat balanced on its nose: TELL US WE DID GOOD!! TELL US WE’re GOOD BOYS!! VALIDATE US!!! WE INCLUDED TEH GAY!!!!

like bitch...y’all gave this away in advance AND FOR WHAT?

you know why. YOU KNOW. i know. WE ALL KNOW. it was just to try and earn representation points with the audience.

i hate rep points more than i hate a lot of things right now. it’s just so cringey. it’s just showrunners trying to get points for being ~progressive~ while never having to actually stick to being progressive on a continual basis lmao.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t give a SINGLE fuck about adam. i’m just mad he was touted at a convention and then ended up meaning abSOLUTELY nothing. no, shiro looking at his memorial plaque doesn’t change anything lmao.

look i’m not saying it makes his relationship with adam ‘less’. but i AM saying that making him an ex and also a dead ex means the creators don’t have to commit to continuing to deal with shiro’s sexuality, whether it’s gay, bi, or pan. they can just avoid addressing it or writing it at all. because this isn’t a romance series. they just shove adam into a figurative and literal casket and want their pats on the back. which, uhhhhh they’re not gonna get from me. adam isn’t progressive. adam’s boring.

all the action in the last four or so episodes? dull. insipid. uninspired. i’m out of insults. i just don’t care about these mfe fighters. earth is almost wiped out. am i supposed to still be caring about it?

that yawn-worthy last stand speech had me wanting to take The Long Sleep like sendak cares if you put up a fight or not. you’re all weaklings. ‘we’ll go down swinging’ is as old as the hills. i don’t know what i needed instead of this, but this wasn’t.

there was a bRIEFLY good moment with hunk but like

how convenient that everyone’s families are alive lol

or at least hunk’s parents and lance’s entire extended family

that annoyed me idk. they’re going for this gritty shit where almost everyone is dead but then pull that?

ya lost me.

on the PLUS side the little scene with keith trying to be of comfort was nice. if anyone Gets It, keith does. and then he tries to help hunk too, which i liked a lot.

but it didn’t detract enough from the Boring of the episodes to really feel good to me. sorry.

hi i’m shiro and i’m sick. i’m so sick. the sickest. but i’m going into space anyway!!!

did i miss something or did shiro’s mysterious sickness just never mean anything?

did the galra cure it? that’d be interesting character stuff.

speaking of shiro, his hover arm is weird and i hate it.

what was with allura giving him her crystal thing? is that ever going to mean anything or was it useless too?

ATLAS is now a giant robot??? what

haha sam holt built this but didn’t know it could do this? don’t fucking??? pull that??? it makes me want to die. it’s so bad. it’s CRINGEY

he’s the enGINEER!! he’d know!! if it was capable of even 50% of that!!!

haha it’s magic

shut the fuuuck up magic needs to still be explained!!!!

where are the citizens and crew on this robot anyway like you do realize they’d be dead from the force of it moving around and probably getting rattled around inside the ship right?

they’ve got a massacre in the hold to clean up when this is over.

the super robot that was like massively strong and shit?

yeah let’s DBZ it up i guess and create antagonists that are exponentially stronger as if that’ll maintain the audience’s attention lmaooooo

it was boring and the reveal at the end with the altean was boring. who cares. i don’t.

i hated the attempt at a wholesome reunion looK IT’S TEAMWORK EVERYONE WORKING TO  G E T HER!!!! 

shay showing up to hug hunk WITH HER BROTHER was the only wholesome thing about it

i dunno it just seemed kind of forced to me. oh look how the paladins were lucky enough to keep their families!! what about the rest of earth. now none of the paladins can even really relate to it. it’s depressing. :/

i dunno. the beginning was promising! and interesting! and maybe even fun. but the earth’s last stand stuff was dull. i think because it was so rushed it lacked the balance of humor that has made the show worth watching. and there were cute fun MOMENTS in the later episodes of the season (re: kosmo, “i gotta get me one of these”), but it wasn’t enough to balance out how dull the rest of it was.

if there’s anything i missed talking about, let me know and i can add it/make another post. but right now this is my current salt. 

i mean mostly my opinion is:

wow that was a waste of my time.

[sonofdysonsphere]

Heat Wave In Mundane Times

Merry Christmas @mostlyscrutable , I was your @touhousecretsanta this year, and I hope I have fulfilled your request by providing a glimpse of a mundane day with my favourite ordinary magician. Research and running her “shop”, on top of side projects and handling the fallout of her “borrowing” habits, I realized after completion that a pet peeve of yours was “darkness”, but I don’t think this is the darkness you were referring to. Set in a time of the year opposite to when I wrote this (it is quite cold here in canada), I had put a lot of thought into which character’s day to write about, eventually realizing that with the stress of working retail through the holidays, the only way I would  reach my word count goal would be to write about a character I am quite invested in (though after being unable to discern your favourite touhou through some investigation I am quite curious who it is). The other three characters were chosen with the help of some friends and all their hair happens to be white. Odd. This preface ended up longer than I intended, so I will wrap it up with: Merry Christmas, and may all your small adventures expand into a journey pleasantly grand.

The land of Gensokyo was like a piece of meat in a food dehydrator. The heat wave had been going for so long it would not be strange if two blades of wilted grass were caught fighting over a single drop of water. Amid the sun scorched lands remained a strange building standing in solitude in the Forest of Magic; the Kirisame Second-hand Magic Shop, which doubled as the home of the mundane Marisa Kirisame. A derelict sign adorned the building simply stating the name of the shop with an ominous “what will you do” scrawled underneath. Inside one of the windows, past the crack in the drawn curtains, a single hanging lantern could be seen offering its light to a solitary occupant working at a desk, and dimly outlining many items in a disorderly pile behind the desk.

The sun was directly overhead when the infamous shop's first visitor of the day approached the entrance, the shadows of two swords cast beneath her. A pitiful bell was the only provided fanfare to accompany the sound of the door opening and closing, drawing the attention of the shop owner, Marisa Kirisame.

“Welcome! Oh, it's the gardener with the big sword sheers.” Marisa looked up from her work desk, where several unfinished projects crowded the space around what currently held her attention, a handwritten notebook.

“Good morning,” Youmu Konpaku remained ignorant of any attempted mocking Marisa intended. “Well, I guess it is afternoon now...”

“What can I do for you? Youkai extermination? Or perhaps something strange has been happening lately?” The ordinary magician was already growing impatient with her guest who had not even been present a full minute in her shop. To her, anything was more interesting than sitting at home all day.

“I'm looking for...” Youmu's eyes were adjusting to the dark interior even as they scanned the disorganized mess that was the main room of the shop. “A pair of garden sheers.”

“Garden sheers? How bland.” Marisa did absolutely nothing to hide her enormous disappointment. “Something like that wouldn't be around a shop like this.”

“I would be sure of that if there was more light in here. It is so dark anyone would suspect you were growing mushrooms in here.” As the statement left her mouth, a glean of metal among the pile of random goods caught Youmu's eye, drawing her around the desk and two steps closer to the pile.

“People like to suspect a lot of things.” The bored shop owner did nothing to stop Youmu's tighter inspection in the faint room.

“Like how you are unable to keep your hands off of things that are not yours?” Offering those words, Youmu unceremoniously removed a pair of fine silvery garden sheers from the mess of items. The pile shifted and settled, reaching an idle equilibrium without outside assistance. A hum of consideration is all the infamous magician could give in response as Youmu took back her item and headed for the exit before:

“If you get wind of anything strange happening be sure to come by and visit again!”

And the door closed behind the half-ghost visitor with a small swirl of dried dust.

* * *

Time passed in the sweltering temperature of midday, the warmth working through the shop's walls and roof and permeating the interior, forcing the dim shop's denizen to hang up her hat and vest on a nearby coat rack. Still working diligently on different star patterns in her notebook, a cordial set of firm knocks at her shop's door caused her to put the work aside once more.

“Come in!” Marisa found herself on her feet, leaning over her desk with her hands poised on its surface as if ready for Youmu to return with news of some new incident.

Entering the shop with the same gentle bell ring as the previous visitor was the white haired maid, Sakuya Izayoi, completely devoid of any signs of sweat or fatigue despite the stifling conditions outside.

“Good afternoon.” The immaculate head servant of the Scarlet Devil Mansion stood just inside the threshold, where Marisa rushed to meet her.

“Something terrible has happened, right?” Boredom drove the golden haired magician's manic tone as she pressed herself into Sakuya's personal space with her hands outstretched towards her.

“I'm sorry?” Sakuya responded as her mind attempted to catch up to the conversation Marisa was trying to hold with her. “I'm here to retrieve the mistress' parasol that has been missing since around the last time you came to borrow books from the library.”

Marisa deflated rapidly, falling to her guest's feet, despairing at the boredom the overly hot season had created. Nobody would ever want to cause trouble in this much heat!

Sakuya, on the other hand, did not skip a beat.

“On that subject, you are aware that Patchouli's library is not a public library and is only a private library, correct?” With no response from the hatless and vestless magician at her feet, Sakuya now considered for a moment what she could have said to elicit a response such as this.

“Marisa?”

“Yes...?” The feeble response Marisa gave worried Sakuya that the usually energetic youkai exterminator had began succumbing to heat stroke.

“Do you have another lantern we could light? I won't be able to find the mistress' parasol like this. It's so dark that mushrooms could grow in here.”

“Why is everyone saying that today?” Immediately perking up, more out of spite than overcoming her dejected mood, Marisa rose to her feet and whisked back to her desk.

“I couldn't say.” Sakuya's eyes had adjusted to the darkened interior, and as Youmu before her, moved to the pile behind Marisa's workstation and retrieved the item she had come calling for. As she removed a fine parasol adorned with obvious vampiric designs, the pile underwent a similar shifting and balancing as it had earlier. “You should really change the name of this shop to something akin to 'Kirisame Lost and found' instead of 'Magic Shop'.”

“There is magical stuff here too!” According to Sakuya, Marisa seemed almost back her normal self with that indignant retort.

“Indeed there is,” The perfect maid could not conceal the slightly devious inflection in her voice as she verbally cornered the now somewhat restored Shop Keeper, “like these books belonging to Patchouli that I was told to keep an eye out for.”

Scooping up the books along with the parasol, Sakuya moved towards the door, opening it before stopping on the threshold.

“You should find an activity to keep cool but still be active during this heat wave.” The Scarlet Devil Mansion Head Servant suggested with concern.

“To keep cool I think I will start with not having my front door left open.”

Sakuya nodded, bid the sour Golden Magician farewell, and exited before closing the shops door behind her.

“AND IF YOU HEAR OF ANY STRANGE INCIDENT BE SURE TO TELL ME!” Marisa yelled to the closed door as an afterthought.

* * *

Several more hours passed and it seemed the heat of midday had decided to persist long into the early evening. Many more pages of Marisa's notebook had been filled with star patterns emboldened with the power of love, leaving nothing in their superfluous designs to be desired by their designer, save for the lack of drive to continue their development even further. Her drawing brush had rolled to the edge of her desk, where it teetered on the cusp of falling, and her notebook sat open with an impressively scrawled spell card concept left in plain sight for no one but herself to admire.

So lost in tedium, Marisa's heat addled brain barely recognized the sound of the entrance bell tinking softly, and the wave of heat that accompanied someone entering the shop.

“I'm hoping you are still open.” The voice that snapped Marisa out of her stupor belonged to the Drug Maker of Eientei, Eirin Yagokoro.

“This shop only closes on specific national holiday's, like the 18th day of March.” Marisa reassured cryptically. “And in times of crisis such as during an incident.”

“That's good to hear.” Eirin's speech seemed to be at ease. “I was hoping to purchase some mushrooms from you.”

“Why does everyone think I am growing...” Marisa stopped with a resigned pause. “Okay fine, I AM growing mushrooms in here, but why should I sell them to you?”

“Well I need them for some medicine I am making.” Eirin's eyes shot to the hoard of stuff behind Marisa's desk, before she set a bag of clinking coins onto the surface between them. “And while I brought coin to pay for all that you have grown in this dark and dank shop, I figured you would enjoy a different kind of payment.”

From inside her large medicine satchel, Eirin produced a handful of thick hardbound books, each pulsing audibly or visually with arcane energy.

The response from the book hungry Marisa was immediate and obvious, but her keen shop keeping tendencies held strong.

“What kind of drug will you be making from these mushrooms?” The tone of the inquiry was hard lined and left no room for evasive wording.

“I will be attempting to make a drug for my Lady Kaguya that slows the apparent passage of time.” Eirin answered honestly and earnestly, seeing no profit in spewing falsehoods.

A contemplative hum was the response that Marisa gave before:

“Okay, I will trade the mushrooms for the books you brought and a vial of the drug when you have finished it.”

Regardless of what use a bored Marisa had with a drug that slowed the perception of time, it was Eirin's turn to contemplate the offer before her.

“That sounds fair enough.” Was Eirin's decisive answer.

If Marisa was more in control of her own perceptive faculties, she may have suspected that Eirin had a secondary goal to be realized in this deal, but instead she took her books and the promise of some strange drug at face value as payment enough for the secretly cultivated mushrooms grown within the confines of her very shop.

The mushrooms were gathered and the magical books in question were left on Marisa's work desk.

“I would recommend you start with the book on top, as it is the most intriguing among the books I provided.”

And with those words, Eirin left the shop with a bag full of mushrooms.

* * *

Despite her boredom and Eirin's suggestion to begin reading her new books, Marisa Kirisame spent the next stretch of time sitting in her chair and staring blankly at her own ceiling, completely unaware of the persisting midday heat outside. A detail which also escaped notice was the sunlight streaking through the crack in the drawn curtains had hardly moved from its noon position despite hours having passed. Only the gradual increase of temperature within the shop revealed any passage of time.

“This is so boring!” Marisa's cry rang out throughout her shop, with any discernible echo being swallowed up by the uneven and messy perimeters of the room. The exclamation was accompanied by a grand and sweaty flourish, the black and white magician's hand falling on the pile of books that were recently received as payment.

Reluctantly, Marisa gave into her habit of consuming the books before her despite her lethargy.

The book, its pages all a wonderful deep crimson red, was an provocative tale of of a person who loved the sun, succumbed to the heat of it, and rose again to take in its splendour once more.

Marisa Kirisame, magician extraordinary, stared at the conclusion for several minutes. A being that succumbed to the heat of the sun, before embracing its own revelled end and becoming perpetual heat...

The whole concept seemed hauntingly familiar.

Finally standing up from her desk, Marisa retrieved her hat and vest from where they hung and donned them. Instantaneously, the heat seemed infinitely more encompassing, like a malicious force guided the stifling temperature to dissuade any action besides sitting and stewing in ones own sweat. That was the last sign Marisa needed to know for certain:

“This is an incident.” And the Magician of White and Black was going to be the one to solve it.

Opening the door caused a blast of heat reminiscent of a hot spring she had once explored and the bell once more offered a miniscule 'twink' sound. The only thing on Marisa Kirisame's mind was how much regret whatever being was behind this abnormal heat would feel for giving her so much time to sketch scintillating star patterns in her notebook.

The door closing once more brought the interior of the Kirisame Second-hand Magic Shop to subdued illumination, the mound of “lost” items finally losing their balance and collapsing outward across the shop's floor.

A mess to be cleaned up later, after important business was complete.

[thepdvblog]

Summary: What seems to be a completely ordinary class on an early Tuesday quickly turns for the weirdest option possible. Two students can't tell their teacher what to do despite how bad he's doing. It's not polite, it's not correct. Or we just ignore the rules and play nurses anyway.

Word count: 2K words.

Originally written: October 2016, translated Sept 2017.

It seemed like it was going to be an ordinary Tuesday morning. My roommates were as late as ever, I had eaten a bowl of cornflakes with my yogurts and my glass of apple juice yet again, there were still people taking a shower at half past six and I was right on time. Long story short, everything was fine.

I take my usual seat in our good old CC002 classroom. Benoît, my fellow neighbour in like three quarters of our classes, sits next to me and we start to bet on the class that's about to happen. I bet he will have forgotten his papers, him that he will be fifteen minutes late for some lame-sauce reason. He owes me a cookie and I owe him a caricature of the geo teacher.

Five past eight rings at school. Class is about to begin and, usually, our teacher would be there, but nobody has arrived to teach us yet. Theories pop here and there: someone may have thrown themselves under his train's wheels, just like what happened last week to the Philo and Latin teachers, but Benoît and I know perfectly that he came to school on foot.

I cannot get over how strange everything is. Minutes fly by, our class is getting upset and we are still both wondering what the hell is up. To keep myself busy, I get out my English stuff to polish my oral in the afternoon when suddenly...

Red as a poppy, breathless, hair messed up by the wind, shirt collar bended backwards and glasses on the edge of his nose, there he is. Our French teacher, Mr. Bannaire, has arrived. He installs himself at the desk while apologizing for being late.

The same pinch I felt the week was before back. His voice, drier than usual, cracks as soon as his vocal cords move. He rubs the bottom of his jaw and puts his glasses back in their place. His eyes are a bit red: there is not even the slightest smell of weed in the classroom. He gets out from his worn-out backpack his “Initiation to the Latin Language” textbook for a reason I cannot get.

“Huh... It's one of your Latin books, right?” Benoît asks me, blinking furiously.

“It is!” I reply, as doubtful as he is. “It's the book we use on Wednesday mornings. Don't tell me that this idiot thought today was Wednesday...”

I look at the teacher again. His face is pale, almost corpse-like compared to the reddish parts barely hidden by his beard and what we can see of his chest between his scarf and his sweater. Combined to his cheeks seemingly reddened by the cold, there is a “little girl with the matches” aesthetic to him. Well, that would be more believable… If we were not in a rather warm month of October.

“Dude, he hasn't cured himself since Thursday. We'll end up with a mute teacher.” I whisper to my neighbour.

“Yeah, he looks like a zombie!”

He stares at me before clearing his throat. He must remember my inappropriate remark from last week, when I told him to be careful to his voice. In one blow, I do not regret not having respected him. But a hypokhâgne kid isn't going to play the doctor with her doctorate teacher.

Bad memories come back to me. I see my former History teacher, her reddened nose, her voice tarnished by the illness she doesn't even know about. To her, it is just a cold. To him, it is probably just a bad cold too.

He requests us to get our lesson out. His voice breaks already and he coughs. While Benoît grunts at the idea of two hours of class cut by coughing and while the teacher is still finding a way how to say two sentences in a row without his throat getting clawed, I get worried.

The class does not notice anything, they’re asleep. I confess to my neighbour my thoughts, he seems to feel the same way too. I'm not alone, at least: I see my roommate, Déborah, look at me with worry on her face. I know what she's thinking about: her French oral from yesterday. It's getting worse and worse.

He gives us two papers, of which the first line reads “Latin Test N°1”. Benoît huffs in amusement: he attends Ancient Greek classes, he doesn't give a single damn about the Latin test. I then call him out even if he's already two rows in his distribution.

“Yes, what is it Justine?”

“It's... It's French class right now, sir. The test is on tomorrow...”

He stares at Benoît then at me then at his papers. His eyes grow wide and he suddenly screams: it's not Wednesday?! His breathing is shallow, something does not sound right between his heavy breathes in. No response comes from the class as he keeps his cough in. This class, for sure, starts off the worst way possible.

He takes back the given out papers with a confused and embarrassed look on his face. As he melts into apologies, Benoît wants us to write down this awkward moment for our dumb comic, but I refuse. Today isn't funny. He's clearly getting devoured by fever. My neighbour looks at me and his smile, that I know guess forced, fades out. We're two on the same boat.

The class is starting to realize what's happening. The teacher is scratching his head and, embarrassed, tells us that he got mistaken and that we're going back to last week's lesson: Stendhal's La Chartreuse de Parme. I remember how my roommate described him to me: choking, apologizing for a yes or for a no, probably trying to ignore his headache, crying after a coughing fit.

Benoît looks at me with eyes I've never seen from him. I don't think I could even describe what feeling he was conveying to me, but it should be on the worry spectrum. I'm tense and I know that if I wasn't crossing my arms my hands would shake. I don't want to be a nurse again.

Mr. Bannaire turns to me, chokes back a cough and requests me to explain the main idea of the first part of the extract. Shit, I didn't pay attention to what he was talking about because I was so much in my thoughts... I read the text again quickly as best as I can and try to read between the lines what Stendhal could have meant dozens of years before this.

“You haven't read the text,” he says to me with the strictest voice he can have, “Juliette?”

“Yeah, but... Huh... Eh... I-I...”

Before I can even finish my sentence, if you can call incoherent babbling such a thing, he clutches his scarf and puts a hand on his mouth. His coughing fit surprises the class by its intensity, when the ones from before were just normal. Something tells me we overcame the angina there.

“Wait,” Benoît yells, “he called you Juliette?!”

“He did, yeah... ” I whisper back. “Fuck, there's no way around it, the fever is getting to his head.”

“Julia”, he screams out of nowhere, “stop chatting with your neighbour!”

I stare at him. How can he get my name wrong two times in a row, and with two different names?! I clench my fists, but Raphaëlle was the one calling the teacher out on their bullshit all those years ago. I need to do something, but a hypokhâgne kid isn't going to play doctor with her doctorate teacher...

He continues his speech on La Chartreuse but what he's saying doesn't make sense anymore. It is commentary shards here and there, literary concepts with massacred names whose definition do not match with the sentence bits he is speaking about, with a lot of coughing. It is words lost in a sea of cough.

His eyes tear up as Benoît has to tell me I'm thinking out loud. Nobody is writing down the class: everybody knows we're getting taught nonsense. He whipes them while taking off his glasses: he looks even sicker when his face is bare.

I turn back to my neighbour who was already fixated on me. He asks me what is frustrating me. Surprised but not having the possibility of explaining myself, I tell him that I want to end this class. This is nothing more than a gambled mess of disorganized and incoherent words that we're trying to put together so we can pretend we're still in shape to make class.

“But... But you're sure we can?” Benoît hesitates.

“No, we don’t.” I reply to him with my eyes set on our French teacher. “But do you really think he’s gonna tell himself ‘oh, wait, maybe I should go back home and sleep!’? He’s not gonna do that, it’s up to us.”

“You're not wrong...”

When he finishes his sentence, we both see Mr. Bannaire falls back just to catch himself up by grapping the desk. I clench my teeth: it's unbearable to stay there and watch such a... Show. The class is buzzing like a hive as the teacher's cough is overlapping with it.

 But a hypokhâgne kid is not going to play doctor with her doctorate teacher.

It is too much for me and I get up.

“Sit down, Justine...” He coughes. “You caused enough trouble...!”

“You can talk, I’m not the one who almost chokes every second he speaks! Please, end that class! You know you’re not gonna last!”

“I do not see, what you are talking about. Sit down, be quiet, or I kick you from the class...”

“You’re not going to last!!”

His frowned eyebrows lift and the entire class turns in my direction. He blinks and, after coughing again for a bit, looks at me, a surprised look on his face.

“You... You're not like the others...’

“What? Sir? You’re sure fever isn't getting to your head to spew such things out?”

“You are something different, Justine...” He continues to stutter. “I’ve never seen a student so involved in... Huh...”

“Benoît, go behind him, I think he's gonna faint soon...”

I step back in the alley. The teacher is facing me, completely out of it, eyes staring directly in the void behind my neck. He staggers to me as he lets go of his Chartreuse which falls to the ground in a barely-heard sound.

“W-what's wrong all of a sudden?! Y-you're scaring me sir!!”

“I knew something was wrong with you...”

“I don't see what you mean...”

His eyes wet without him almost choking beforehand. It is conformed, the fever is making him do some random nonsense. Back stuck on the wall of the room, I have no way to escape and he ends up catching up to me, Benoît right behind him. The two of them look at me, one with tears flowing down, the other with a worried and anxious look on his face.

My teacher falls right in front of me and I barely catch him back. I am split between embarrassment and worry and, tempted to see what face he could be displaying, I hear him sob, choke on tears and coughs.

 The hypokhâgne kid is going to play doctor with her doctorate teacher.

Mechanically, I embrace him. It’s a human reflex. I currently don’t give a damn about deontology. Why caring about some pile of laws when someone that sick takes shelter in your arms? The class is looking at me, probably drawn by the noise of their teacher's cries. This class is really bizarre.

“You knew this was going to happen, no...?” he whispers behind my ear.

“Huh,” I stutter, “I had a small idea because of your condition from yesterday but... Sir?! Sir?!”

In my arms lays my unconscious French teacher.

I fall forward, carried by his body, heavier than my small, thin almost-adult muscles. Benoît, a bit lost, catches our unconscious teacher, but I have to get back on my feet with a table. He looks up from our own Sleeping Beauty and, almos without thinking, puts his hand on his forehead.

“Ju', he’s fucking burning!”

“Can't say I didn't expect that,” I reply, “but it's still super worrisome... Let's get him to the infirmary.”

And such thing we do.