#people who say the first thing are usually shining examples of the second thing

[rel124c41]

THE LOST ART OF KEEPING A SECRET. jade leech & floyd leech

The aquarium receives new additions perhaps once every two weeks; usually they are cute little things with rainbow fins and gem eyes. These two are not cute little things; they're huge and they have human faces. "Well I've got a secret, I cannot say" - Queens of the Stone Age, Track 2 on Rated R. a gift for @hallowed-father; based on their beautiful fanart 💕

tags: aquariums, late night conversations, captivity, situational humiliation, dehumanization, mutual pining, dubious ethics, kidnapping, vivisection, nursery rhyme references, eventual happy ending

word count: 12,668

The first two times you try seeing them, all you see is your reflection. 

It makes sense unfortunately. With the lack of any light, you are going to have a hard time seeing them. Cloudy black settles over the skeleton and hair shaped vegetation. You can turn your head on a swivel (which you do on the second try) but there is no way to discern what swims through darkness. Instead, all you see in the aquarium tank’s water is your face. 

Each uniquely human feature of yours squints in the nebulous, oscillating dark. To an observer, it would seem that you think if you flatten your eyes into pressed almonds something will reveal itself to you. Nose scrunching, you squint in a grandmother who lost her glasses way that is simply laughable. 

There must be something inside the exhibit.

Nothing. Nothing but your desolate reflection. 

On a small plaque, the words no use of flash photography wags a censure finger at you. Besides the cerulean halo on the corners where the wall meets ceiling, the room must remain dark at all times. Even during operating hours – or so you have heard from Deuce – they refuse to allow any other light in the secluded room. 

Besides the ultramarine ouroboros, the oval-shaped room is dark beyond dark. An extreme that is on another level than what you are familiar with. As a nightguard, you are familiar with the dark. Quite familiar. 

For example, there is one aquatic animal that you managed to see that other people cannot find nine times out of ten. In the shadows, spider crabs hide. They call their environment interestingly enough: the twilight zone, a part of the seafloor that gets little light and is very cold. With only three crabs in a sizable aquarium, it is understandably hard for others to find them. While the guests that linger after hours or closing staff puzzle over their location, you find them with ease. Behind the ship, by those bones, in the left corner no no higher in the left corner;  your eyes have long since adjusted to the nocturnal proclivity of your job. 

(One of the closing staff employees joked you were like a cute, little opossum. You think he meant it as a flirt; you found it insulting. Pressing your shades higher up on the bridge of your nose, you clocked in with your head down, vexed.)

However, in the tenebrous depths before you, you are like a disgruntled archaeologist standing in a desert of Swiss-cheese holes. Unable to locate anything. Tilting your head in a slightly different direction, your eyes squeeze into petite slices, searching. 

The flashlight in your hand is a heavy temptation. If you just raise it, the absence of light will readily receive it. Melted pinks and greens of vegetation will pop, brown and amber of decorative rocks will shine, and whatever colors lie on these new fishes will certainly look like a gorgeous splendor under visible light. It would take the smallest wrist motion. Your reflection held in black water stares back at you, glaring daggers. ‘C’mon, do it,’ your reflection urges.

Light slugs over your sneakers, contemplative. ‘Perhaps not,’ you think with regards to the penlight. You know that you loathe having any type of light in your face; do unto others as you would have done onto you. The button of your tool clicks off. By now, you should already be down by the stingrays. 

‘Third time might just have to be the charm,’ you think with a frown. 

In the fishbowl glass, mummified with shadows, your reflection mimics that childhood disappointment.

‘I’ll try again tomorrow.’

Turning to leave, spine to the aquarium tank, you miss the first instance of light emerging out of dark. 

It pulls upward like an ember blown skyward out of a campfire pit. The movements of it are languid. Flickers of yellow orbit in a whirlpool, lazy like they have just woken up. That clean circle becomes distorted, shrinking and growing like window-shades are being maneuvered over it. Then, a twin of yellow joins the first, a hair keener than the first. Both circles of light hang in the shadows, not brightening or shining beyond an intensity that is noticeable. Shrewd with their intentions.

When the door to the oval room clicks close, the window-shades pull down like a blink and the aquatic water changes from being speckled with playful yellow back to tenebrous black.

As it turns out, the phrase ‘third time's the charm’ holds an eternal merit. Because the next night, which is the third time you look into the aquarium tank, your wish is granted. 

The unluckiest charm; the unluckiest wish.

The aquarium gets new deliveries once every two weeks. As the nightguard, you are not kept on the up-and-up unless Deuce Spade is working. And as an honor college student, Deuce is usually scheduled – during daylight hours of course – on the weekends when exam season is not keeping him occupied. So, you missed the news about this new delivery initially. All you knew about them was from the very insightful texts of Deuce Spade (two in total):

The new deliveries can’t be around light. Think it's anglerfish? 

and

Apparently not anglerfish, those have to live under pressured water. Why do people act like that’s common knowledge to know??

Your available information is: they are not anglerfish. That is all.

You really are left with no hints to what hides in murk. After two weeks, no plaque detailing the species is nailed to the wall or statued on a slanted board. The room is void of identification. Perhaps that is the reason your body seems so magnetized towards deciphering this mystery. No identification by now is unusual. Plus, night shifts drag like limping feet; why not try to stall off boredom?

This time around, you power off your penlight before entering the room. Instead of letting the light stamp a circle of itself on the ground, you enter pure darkness. Blue vibrates above you. Not complete darkness, you correct, stepping on the path that limited blue illuminates. 

The room and tank resemble an egg with a cut-off top. The room is oval shaped but missing a quarter of its full shape, the top half knifed off to make room for a tank full of about five hundred gallons of water. When you reach the wall, the length is forty feet, this sliced egg-top, you place determined hands in your slacks pocket. 

And squint until the muscles in your eyes quiver with strain.   

Penguins must be kept in cold waters. Vents are constantly blowing cold air into the exhibit to keep it under forty degrees. As your breath comes out in a puff of frosty air, you wonder deeply just what kind of species can be kept in such frigidness. Deep sea penguins? That would certainly be interesting. 

Your reflection challenges you with a mimic of your squinting. Keep dreaming, it says. No matter which way you look over tenebrous shadows of vegetation and rocks, nothing is making itself clear to you. This time you risk inching closer. From this distance, you can count the vertebrae-esque leaves of a winding ludwiga. Ice seems to heartbeat off the glass, kissing your features. 

What can you see?

Nothing. Nothing but your desolate reflection.

That is until a little organic lantern – small like a dragonfly– comes alive in the water. Despite your excitement, you keep yourself frozen and still. Your tiny gasp bleeds out your mouth and hits the glass gradually. The dragonfly powers on and off in two blinks. Morse code for ‘I’ but you doubt this animal knows that – you just happened to take a college elective for Morso code. You watch this single, pinprick lantern with great interest.

‘I think it really is an anglerfish. I mean, it makes complete sense. Deep sea water temperatures. The utter lack of light. Maybe, the researchers found some way to replicate the pressures, and the staff just doesn’t know yet. That would be revolutionary.’

Then, a second dragonfly joins the first. On a black-emerald and black-turquoise torrent, the ember dips down low. Glittering like a sun-rays on water, it slithers closer with curious intent. It was leagues keener than its twin, metaphorically hexagonal instead of circular. This dragonfly too powers off and on in quicker blinks. Four blinks which is ‘H’ in Morse code … useless knowledge. 

Anglerfish cannot communicate. The entire ecosystem of a brain from fish to human is different, like trying to compare a tropical amazon to a winter wonderland. Just far too different to understand one another.

But, it is impressive that the aquarium was able to get such a deep sea creature to survive in a simulated habitat. 

“Hi there.” You wave your fingers. Pressing yourself closer to the glass, you wait for your eyes to adjust and register the razor teeth and fat jowls of an anglerfish brown face. Cold air starts to swim under your jacket, your body’s tilt causing the material to slip. Then, you make eye contact.

Eye contact? Eye contact. Turns out those lantern-shaped dragonflies you are looking at are not the bait anglerfish have attached to their bodies. It is not a hunting evolution you openly leer at. Rather, you look them in the eye. 

All the fire of your wonder extinguishes like a pinched match.

As if the vents are working overtime, a sudden chill falls over you. Goosebumps settle over your shoulders. You jump back and misty gray air (your gasping breath) explodes in front of you. It is not your desolate reflection that swims in front of you. Someone else’s face is in there.

There are creatures in there; that is undeniable. What fights to make itself conclusive in your reeling mind is the image of the creatures. Creatures – so completely alien when compared to the mixture of muscles that make up an anglerfish– with human faces. Human features. A nose. A pair of lips. A pair of squinting eyes, staring right back at you. 

One of them throws their head back in laughter when you fall to your ass, reeling inward and outward. What the fuck is a human – two humans! – doing inside an aquarium tank at 2 A.M.!

You climb back up to your feet with all the grace of an injured crab. Your left arm feels longer than your right; you feel like the ground has morphed into quicksand and is suckling on your right boot; all of your world has become disoriented. In your jacket, your penlight weighs down your left side like a brick. Pulled by a mental riptide, you wrestle until you finally stand on two (trembling)  legs like all bipedal humans should. Earth tilts as you watch the one who laughed move forward, blue blanketing him. 

He taps the glass. Exact over the bullseye point of where you stand, reeling, in the glass from his point of view. In intelligent acknowledgment of you.

You two lock spheroid eyes, analyzing each other with hell-bent resolve. Mapping the features of each other in your brain’s fusiform face area so you can recognize each other at later times. His human features settle like all the others before him in your cerebrum. Packaged in the inferior temporal cortex, packaged in the fusiform gyrus. The human visual system that specializes in recognizing faces accepts him. 

‘That is a face. I will recognize it later and recall it as one thing only: a face.’ Just like that, your brain, your fusiform gyrus mails you the annotation. 

A part of you wants to cry and the other wants to puke. You do neither. You react with a different system of your body.

Muscles press your flashlight’s button on and muscles move it up quickly when the second one starts to move closer to the glass. You do it out of fear. And with strange, instant regret. 

The one closest to the glass folds into himself, seething. A webbed, tooth-white-with-green-gradient hand covers his eyes in agony. His other hand slams the tank in a tight fist. It knocks the world back into orientation. You flee the scene with your flashlight swinging wildly back and forth with your sprint. 

This time there is no laughter.

You rush out like they are chasing you, laughing over your shoulders. With a harsh crash to the ground, panting in disbelief, you pull trembling knees towards your stricken face. What the fuck – what the absolute fuck! A carapace cloak falls over your brain to ignore knocking thoughts and rationalization. Wordless beyond three words, they swirl in your head. What the fuck – what the fuck.

Your spine lies on another exhibit. Stingrays lie underneath the aquarium’s sand, sleeping and unaware of you. Part of you knows you will not be able to sleep in the morning. 

“What the fuck.”

You unlock your phone with your face when you get home. 

The lamp glows, allowing your phone to register the face identification. As quickly as the string is pulled on, it is tugged off. Dawn rests against your black-out curtains like zombies pounding on doors sheltering food. Brightness on the screen is kept down to the lowest possible setting. You type the name of where you work into your phone.

‘There has to be information on them. You can’t just have that’ – pale-green faces with matching gold eyes – ‘that living in an aquarium. And if it’s in an aquarium, shouldn't that aquarium be like inside Area 51 or the Oval Office. Anywhere but nowhere!’

You click on the website of your place of employment. The types links are highlighted in white bubbles: GET YOUR TICKETS, WAYS TO SAVE, and ANIMALS UP-CLOSE. Your finger follows the last tab and you come across a Let’s Get Started sheet, asking if you are a member and, if not, to start booking. A colorful curse parts your lips.

You return to the home page. Take in the organization again. Okay, there are some links above too: Visit, Animals & Exhibits, Learn, Research & Conversation, News & Events, Support Us, Shop. 

Gravitating towards Animals & Exhibits, you watch as a list unfurls like a scroll. None of them are unusual animals. From beluga whales to steller sea lions, you are looking at a dead-end list of regular animals which you have passed multiple times on your nightguard route. Aquatic animals whose features do not turn your entire morning full of sleep into restless pacing. 

This is nauseating. For piscine features to be manipulated like that. Sea creatures come in a variety of features that are unique to them; eyes that reveal the innate instinct to survive above compassion or companionship, dorsal fins that branch off their body like tiny mountains, or those puckering lips that circle to suction fish-feed from the surface of their tanks. Those features you can compartmentalize with the aquarium you work with well. They belong there with the other undersea creatures. Your heart pangs in disgust.

This is immoral. For human features to be manipulated like that. A face you might see walking out of a movie theater, hand in hand with his girlfriend. A face you could have the possibility of getting to know if you were not a college dropout; someone in your biology or english elective or calculus class that would ask for help with a certain question. Staring into that man’s left umber eye and right gold eye, you realized how all those features made him human. Your heart pangs in sympathy. 

This is? You take a tranquil breath that soothes you like medicine from an inhaler, and the next thought sets your world back on the correct axis. This is out of your paygrade.

You return because, fucking, of course you do. A job is equivalent to a life. You experience less hardships when you have a good job – which you thankfully do. You have a good job that you must keep.  

One: legally, graveyard shifts pay more than others in your state. Two: it was ideal for the degenerative disease you have. Three: “I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money is good. I need money. Money –'' There have certainly been better mantras sung in your car; though, this melody keeps you sane. Most importantly, it keeps your foot steady on the accelerator. So with three very good reasons – really just two overlapping ones and a single unique one – you return to work the next day like nothing is wrong. 

Thus, you are going to ignore it. Thus, “I’m going to ignore it,” you tell yourself. Thus, you are going to stand in front of the oval-shaped room’s door for the larger half of thirty minutes, studying the steel. Ah, this is far from ignoring it.

It is just … absent of sentimentality, you know that they are only fish. Fish that you see on guys’ dating profiles, fish that you eat with a medley of dipping sauces, fish that shit in the very water they swim in. You are no PETA advocate that will say fish are like the monkeys of the ocean, learning to use rudimentary tools and are sophisticatedly smart because they form social groups. However, despite this, there is a tiny pebble in the river that manages to disrupt the entire flow; the pebble wants you to apologize to them.

Which is outlandish and pure insanity!!

Which is really why you should not push the door open with your hand. And, which is why you glare at your traitorous fingers and listen to the creak of an opening door, bemoaning how utterly stupid you are to be opening this Pandora box of possibilities.

You let the flashlight sway once in an overarching cut across the room. Then, you point it at the ground and squint at the aquarium again. Besides a few layering shades of ebony speckled with blue, there is really not much for you to distinguish in the stomach of shadow. Putting yourself on an even playing field, you flick off your flashlight and step forward. 

Feet shuffle inch by inch. Looking straight, your acuity of vision decreases bar by bar. Gravity shifts like a restless faultline has awoken under your feet. You want to run away while you walk forward.

When you touch a hand to the frigid glass, you finally feel steady again. Once more, your exhale makes itself physical in a small cloud on the tip of your nose. The temperature is graciously grounding. 

“I’m okay,” you remind yourself. You blink to stabilize your vision.

Apologize to the fish then you can finally leave. Simple enough.

Yet, as you wait and squint, no glowing eyes emerge in the dark. You hold yourself there, waiting for just a flicker of motion in what seems like everlasting comatose. 

This is pointless. Why am I even here? I doubt they remember my face, much less hold a grudge over it. Fuck, why did I let myself get sentimental over some eldritch homunculus that is an affront to biological evolution! Why aren’t they at Area 51 or the Oval Office – why did faith push them here?

Inner seething concluded, you turn your flashlight on and the room brightens. For a split second, your face lies its reflection on glass with a resentful aura. You maneuver light towards the door with determination. Your body follows, making a hasty turn towards your exit. There are rounds around the aquarium to be made, iced frappuccinos in the breakroom you want to drink, and momental, life-altering plots to be ignored forever.

Until the glass behind you thuds in tension-raising noise like when a bird hits window-panes with little to no warning.

Breath caught in your throat, you whirl around to make eye contact with him. He wears such a handsome face, one that could belong to a heartthrob actor if not marred by the fins replacing his ears and the mossy green hue of his skin. His playful inquisitive eyes are entirely human in shape and structure; the black pupil and then the color ring of an iris. Too bad they too are disfigured by rare and nauseating colors, olive-umber and gold. 

That right eye reminds you of lighthouses on the coast. Captains are not supposed to stir towards lighthouses; they avoid the light, even if it carries a certain warmth. Why is he looking at you so warmly?

Somehow, you just manage to catch out of the corner of your eye the motion of his hand. An acute nail points down at your beaming flashlight which imprints a halo of light on the carpet floor. Then, he raises his hand up to around his shoulder. His fingers move in the starting shape of someone about to play thumb-war before he starts to move his thumb up and down. Clicking an imaginary button, signaling for you to turn off your flashlight.

Stunned, you numbly do. Light is pulled and magnetized back into the pen’s surface, like an object beamed up into a spacecraft, at a speed unseeable to the human eye. The eye contact between you two is almost an intense lip-lock that both of you cannot part with. 

This is one you shined the flashlight at. Right into those encapsulating eyes. The right one is yellow like liquid spilling out of a pineapple. Bright and playful.

“I- I uh,” you fumble with your apology. He probably won’t understand a word. You purse your lips nervously. Are there any words in the English language that can package up your sympathies from homo sapien to fish; is opening your mouth even worth it? “I wuh-wanted to –.”

Your apology withers when the eel-mer starts to tap on the glass. 

Intentionally, you listen. Yet irrationally, you expect to see or hear more Morse Code. Perhaps it is his anthropoid features that misled you to the conclusion that he might know the coded language. With a needle-hook nail, he taps a rhythm. 

It’s nothing though? The letters are gibberish, with even the number 5 sitting pretty between an O and a C. Of course it is not a code. Coming to your senses, you doubt he could even understand your apology if you gave it to him. There is a fine line drawn in the aquarium’s sand: fish and humans are not equal, one is more intelligent.

With some infinite patience, the fish taps the glass again. You listen and recognize it as the exact same taps and pauses from before.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath. You hold eye contact, scrutinizing him. So used to having zero company, you surmise aloud, “I must be so sleep-deprived and loopy that I dreamed you up … A piece of undigested beef like Scrooge said.” As if to solidify his independent self and independent thinking in your solipsistic world, he taps the rhythm again.

This time – you think because of the repetition – you finally understand why he is tapping. It almost sends you flat on your ass once more. 

Oh. You throw a hand up to your mouth, faintly covering up a disbelieving laugh of joint horror and amusement. Disbelief crystallizes itself in the air; a tiny cloud of your reeling mind dissolves in front of you as you drop your numb hand. “Hah.”

The fish taps a nursery rhyme. One you know from kindergarten. One you would clap the rhythm of with your hands. You remember vaguely the pattern you’d move your hands to play with another child. The vague lingering sense of being hushed and secretive while playing your little singing games, giggling in the back of the classroom, bites your goosebumped flesh. 

How appropriate for a man trapped in an aquarium to know the nursery rhyme A Sailor Went to Sea. He does it again, the lyrics plucked from the cobwebs of your memory: A sailor went to sea, sea, sea; to see what she could see, see, see; but all that she could see, see, see; was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea. 

You don’t know fully how well your sight would fare in the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea. Still, with a hesitant squirm, you approach the frigid glass. The man inside the aquarium waits this time rather than launching right back into tapping.

Raising your arm, you make certain to dig your nails into your palm. A little reality-checking pinch never hurt anyone. One of those pallid nails rises up and taps back. Feeling like you are the spinning ballerina, you listen to the melody of this Pandora box plays unchained and uncaged in the ice cold air:

A sailor went to sea, sea, sea

To see what she could see, see, see

But all that she could see, see, see

Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea

There is no way to get around it. The third shift is lonely. Here in this aquarium? They only require one person to clean all the tanks, turn off decorative filters, and supervise aquatic life. That sole person has been you. With an iced frappuccino and penlight as your pirate’s sword and hooked hand, you have managed the task of protecting this vessel well.

Just because of your longevity of working as a third shifter, it does not make it come easy. Two tabs in your eighteen open Safari tabs are on articles about coping with night work. Coping with solitude when the entire world works in the opposite of you. One article details trying to stay on top of social interactions. All these shifting hours have been mistakenly used up. As you move through hallways like a haunting shark, you roll in your mind all the lost opportunities and all the regrets of having people in your life that you could’ve formed relationships with but never did.

Your metaphorical ailment has been sleep apnea. Eye scorned. Unable to catch your breath. You've been awake for years with no company. Along with being alone, you have been so achingly tired. Circadian rhythms in a body never change.

Your friend plays well in rhythms. The instrument of his disposition is easy to read after a month of ‘knowing’ each other. He has the attitude of a drummer. 

It is hard to get yourself used to his existence at first; he remains uncaring to your fretting. Lacking melodies or harmonies, he seems like the type that would rather keep things easy and simple than embellish. 

You come to visit? He wants to play. You’re too exhausted to play? He can entertain himself. What you have is very plain sailing and hardly involves any talking unless you start it. Besides, he is still just a fish and thus cannot converse with you. 

He really enjoys tapping on the glass. He plays a variety of rhythms; ones you do not know then, very strangely, some that you do know. As night by night moves along in time’s steady march, you grow comfortable enough to play back. He will play a rhythm only once, you copy it back with aid from your memory. You have even started to show him music on your phone, seeing how quickly he can pick up on certain beats and mimic them for himself.

Sometimes though, all he wants to do is simply listen. Which is activity the two of you share in tonight, absent of that third member who you are sure is hiding deeper among the burrows and the oscillating, five ribbed kelp. That distant drummer in your phone floods the cold room with music.

A small booklet covers your heart as you lie wistful. The floor is rough cement. There is no better place to lounge though. Underneath your head, a furry gray seal pup you borrowed from the toy store acts as your pillow. You try to think of yourself weightless like you are in water as you remain close-eyed and contemplative.

Like a siren call, music slithers out of the bottom of your phone’s speakers. Legs crossed over one another, you briefly tap your foot along to the rhythm that you are sure your friend is enjoying. “Look for reeeflections, in yo-our face; canine devotioo-ton, time can’t erase; Out on the cor-ner or locked in your room; I never buh-lieve them and I never assume-uh!”

Speaking of your friend, you have not bothered to check on him in a while. One of your diseased eyes peels open. Face held in a wink, you estimate if your friend is close enough to the glass that you should be able to see him clearly enough despite all the darkness. 

You do not expect him to be lounging right there beside you. It gives you a little shock of surprise. A moment passes by and that feeling suddenly intensifies to a shock of the heart. Not in a romantic way but in the way of a death row prisoner being electrified to death. 

You bolt upright, skull and hair flying off the seal pup plushie. Prescription sunglasses tilt down from their forehead perch, landing crookedly on your nose. The creature waves a sharp set of gradient-covered claws in your face. The only reason that your electric heart runs above its normal BPM is because that glowing lighthouse-esque eye is on the left side rather than the right.

“It’s you.” The creature, who you have not been becoming friendly with for an entire month, smiles at you and your shocked voice.

Though you are certain he has been watching you – not just while you were resting your eyes on the ground for a much needed cat nap, but for the entirety of these thirty-one nights – his eyes still flutter around the space where you sit in observation. He takes in each individual item around you like trying to find certain objects in spot-the-difference puzzles. After a moment, you ask while pointing to your phone, “Do you not like the music?” His wandering eyes are magnetized to your face when you address him.

Hell, they are intense. Intenser than any eyes you have really looked in before, rivaling even the strictest teachers you had or the meanest secretaries you have known. The colors in his gold and umber iris swirl like tiny galaxies of brown dust and broken stars. Intelligent eyes like those are daunting and, thus, terrifying to level your gaze with.

Despite knowing you will not get an answer, you march on in your one-sided conversation, “I get it that music isn’t everybody’s thing. Does it disturb you?” You wait. The newcomer does not talk either. “Ah, not a fan. I get it.”

You may receive no verbal answer, however you sense he does not want to play patty-cake through a sheet of reinforced aquarium glass. “Whatever yooo-u dooo-oh, don’t tell anyone; whatever yooo-u dooo-oh, don’t tell –” The song cuts off as you press the pause button.

“I should have been more considerate,” you apologize, able to steadily carry on this solo because you have grown used to it. You do talk a lot to the other fish. Almost in the same way one can carry on an unbalanced conversation with a pet cat or dog. “You just swim over to let me know and I’ll turn it off. I would never want to disrupt anyone’s sleep.”

‘Just like I would never again want to shine a light in anyone’s eyes.’ You still regret that with each fiber of your being.

For a silent moment, you two observe each other. Though you are a hundred percent certain this is not his first time scrutinizing you. You realize his hair is a mirror-flip reflection of the other fish’s just as he raises one of his hands. 

Maybe he is like the other fish. Despite not giving the impression of a drummer, he might still want to play that rudimentary game of patty cake where you two match and copy each other’s rhythm. Perhaps it is all their fish brains can comprehend. Even though his eyes might seem intelligent, he is nothing more than a piscine creature. However, that thought stalls when a single, black-dyed claw reaches up to his own throat, tapping it delicately.

“Hm?” You tilt your head curiously. 

In response, he takes his index and middle finger and taps once more his own throat. Then, he takes those fingers and depresses them over the reinforced sheets of glass. 

“Do you want me to,” you trail off, eyes stuttering over the items at your disposal. “I can’t sing if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m no singer.”

 Eyes, one of them full of shattered stars and the other full of blown-up planets, stare on. Unchanging and showing you no inclination of what he wants you to do. The other fish will at least whine, squint, or show joy if he thinks whatever words your vocal cords stretch into will entertain him. “Though, I could,” you trail off again.

Trailing off is an awful habit of yours. You rarely can make full, complete conversation after almost half a decade of night shifts. However, those intense eyes encourage you to go on. “I could read to you?” Your fingers point towards the booklet that had fallen off your chest. “If you want?”

Once again, no answer. But, at least you are not staring alone at your desolate reflection. His figure behind the glass – the yellow eye on his left side watching each of your body’s movements – is so very real and alive. At least, you are not alone this time. Though, the company is unorthodox biologically.

“Reading … I can do that.” Only for a little while though. Eventually, your eyes will start to blur at the tiny scripture. However, as you pick up the book and place it in your lap, the first line is big enough that you can read it easily, “Once upon a time –”

As a wedding gift, Pandora received a box from Zeus. Though gifts by definition are simply something given from person to person, the word gift carries with it a subliminal, secondary definition. Gifts are to typically be opened.

Acting against that thought, Zeus warned Pandora to never open the box. You never understood that. 

Why would one dangle temptation in front of another’s face? Why even plant an apple tree in the Garden of Eden? Why even craft a box if it should remain shut evermore? Temptation is a seductive thing. It slithers up into a body with shining honey eyes and lures like a hook. Because of this, it is best to keep it under lock and key.

If Zeus really did not want the box opened, he should have kept it as a hidden secret underneath thousands of layer crusts in the mountains.

As the story goes, curious Pandora opens her wedding gift. From it, the four horsemen of Judgement Day leap and gallop out, thick plumes of disease rattle out of the box in shaking coughs, and envy and greed claws their way out with black, knife fingernails, raping Pandora of her beautiful face and stealing her glittering necklace. Bleeding scratches upon her cheek and lungs filling with disease-ridden smoke, Pandora slams the box shut with a regretful hack. 

Only one thing remains in Pandora’s box. Hope remains trapped inside the wedding gift. Alone, hope paces the perimeters of the box in their curiosity. Marveling at how much room and space they have to stretch out, hope takes a long, peaceful nap for all eternity.

You wish you could take a long, peaceful nap. You have a lot of trouble managing to fall asleep fully without waking up in intervals. When you work against your body’s natural circadian rhythm that is simply what happens.

Today, you have what Doctor Safari’s helpful tabs are telling you is a third shifter headache. To alleviate them you take no pills. Far too smart of an idea to take those. Instead, you take an iced frappuccino out of the break room’s fridge and turn off every single light in the aquarium, down to the blue LEDs that snake on the ceiling.

“Much better,” you sigh to yourself in relief. In nebulous black, your feet carry you to the place where company awaits and has been awaiting for about two months now.

It has been a slow trail of companionship. Progress is not fully linear. Part of you has forgotten how hard it is to socialize after years of isolation. 

To be honest, you feel like a man who has lived up in the mountains alone for years, living and hunting by nomad methods, only to be shown a cellphone as soon as you reach the mountain's descent. However, they must feel the same way. They have lived down in the ocean for years, living and hunting in aquatic methods, only to be brought up and shown the eye of a penlight shining in their face. The three of you are all just struggling along in finding how to make companionship work. 

But God, does it work. You hesitate with it, suddenly remembering the fins as placeholders for ears or the tails under their belly-buttons. Yet, human eyes and smiling lips will restore your content in the next moment. Something about them solves your loneliness.

They may never speak. However, you often have trouble navigating the maze of words.  In the end, you consider them friends in an unease definition of the word.

By the time you make it to Pandora’s box, your coffee is drunk down to the last drop and you use the chilled glass container as an impromptu ice pack across your forehead. Where you come through is not the typical oval-shaped room. Instead, you venture up a tongue of metal steps to the top of their aquarium tank. It is a circle-shaped room. Designed largely like a pool, the only lighting is three spheres on each wall. The room consists of a gaping black hole of water and a slight drop in floor elevation so staff can stand ankle-deep while feeding or caring for them.

At least, you assume. Because the first time curiosity lured you to the top of their tank, your fingers had been nibbled at. Nothing extreme and more like dogs cobbing to show affection, but it still surprised you when the right-gold-eyed one took your hand in his.

Now, you carry along with a plastic bag of treats and tread into the water without hesitation. Walking in the familiar steps of your companionship as you have done night after night. They are eager to see you it seems.

Too bad the world tilts and you are suddenly no longer looking down on them but eye to eye. You realize what has happened with gritted teeth. A careless trip of unbalanced feet, now you sit on hands and knees in inch-deep water.

You also realize something with more horror than before. The prescription sunglasses that were perching on your forehead have been knocked off and are slowly slipping inside the tank’s depths. 

“No, shit!” You cry out before, with one-track-mindlessness, you duck your head underwater like a hungry mallard. 

Your eyes fly open as soon as you submerge yourself. You watch as languid sunglasses drift lower and lower. Ribs tight on the cement floor, you spear out your arm in a panic, missing the edge of the glasses by a finger’s width before they go down further and further.

No, no, no! Those glasses cost a fortune! 

Stupidly, you consider the idea of diving right into the rest of the tank before you realize another thing. It paralyzes you, shocking and binding your heart. The entire sight of the tank is so easy to see. The bottom of the ocean floor is as clear as crystal, enough where you pick out each gradient of sand. It is comparable to being a person putting on their prescription contacts in the morning, everything clearing up with the right correction lens. 

Usually, your vision is always mildly blurry. Enough where you can navigate night to night without any serious medical aid. But that lingering, splitting-headache pain behind your irises dulls like a blanketed sound. 

It allows you to watch clearly as delicate, black fingertips scoop up your ebony pair of sunglasses. 

Relief fills you as the fish with upturned eyes gently brings them up to you. You surface from water just as both fish break the surface too. It dawns on you that you haven’t been this close, eyes parallel to one another with you on your knees. 

No reinforced aquarium glass separates you this time and yet, calmly, you say, “Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough for retrieving those for me.”

A giant grin grows on the one with downturned eyes. Though you hold a hand out to the other, this one seems to think your gratitude is for him for he loops his arms around your neck, squeezing you. He starts to pepper kisses on your cheek, which you suppose resembles how dogs like to lick their owners.

Your outstretched hand never receives the glasses. Instead, the fish with upturned eyes takes to placing your sunglasses back on the perch of your head. The temple tops fit snugly behind your ears. You watch as the fish with shrewdness in his eyes starts to move the tendrils of wet hair out of your face. 

As your hair is tucked and your cheek is kissed, you wonder just once more why faith has brought them to you.

“(Name)?”

You smile at Deuce’s surprised gap. Today, you wear Noir sunglasses. The lenses are as dark as vantablack, refusing to allow any light touch your retinas. Even the artificially colored lights of an aquarium during operating hours is too much for you. 

Deuce is in charge of the photography printing booth today. Twenty or so different families, couples, groups of teens flicker in rows across the screen he stands in front of. 

“You sound almost disappointed.”

“No, no, not at all,” he rushes to amend. “Just haven’t seen you out in –”

“The sun?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Even a vampire needs a change of pace.”

Like an examined showhorse, you show off your plain teeth. No fangs or shark teeth to be found. 

“I’ll tell you though. Driving here? A complete nightmare.” And, it really was. Usually you drive one handed. Your right hand lies on your thigh, tapping along to the rhythm of the radio’s drums. Today, you had to grip the steering wheel with both hands.

“Well, it is a summer weekend after all. Sucks to get stuck in traffic. ” Deuce nods his head in sympathy.

“Ah,” you look to the side. “Actually it was kind of just weird driving with other people on the road.”

Deuce’s eyes brighten in particle understanding. He might not entirely comprehend it but he still goes, “Oooh. Because you’re so used to driving at night.”

It is not that entirely. “Yeah,” you give a small, lying smile. When you remember driving, you remember it like a dream. You drive in a single lane, all alone in your white truck. Bordering you, two lanes of heavy, steady traffic move in succession towards the opposite direction. Going somewhere you are not. 

Your isolated Chevrolet Silverado was so high up on the ground that you felt a bird. The width of your truck was so wide that you felt you were shouldering your way through a crowd. That is only what felt like happened, not reality. “I just felt a little disjointed.”

The photographs on the monitor keep changing in flickers. Your eyes fall on them. Mother with daughter. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Father and mother and only son. Three girl best friends. Grandfather with two girls and one boy. Blank. 

“Did you get your photo taken?” He asks. He must have noticed your gaze. Has to do his job after all. 

“Ah no.”

You look at the empty block of spotlighted blue. Dark cobalt around the edges and white in the center. How many photos do you have of yourself? You feel in that moment … if you ran away somewhere, no one would notice; there’s no photographic evidence that you exist.

“Nah; had to fight to let them let me pass. Oh, it’s just mandatory. Completely free of charge. And then, they started thinking I was insecure or something so they started complimenting me. Had to explain,” you tap the side of your sunglasses in reference, “and then, finally they let me go. So much fuss for just a photo.”

“They’re really that insistent on it?”

You nod. 

“So what brought you out into civilization anyways?”

“Wow, rude.” 

Deuce laughs. You smile strained. Every time you speak, it feels wrong. You are being too mean or not engaging enough. God, why can’t you just talk to someone like a normal person and carry a conversation smoothly? There is no desolate reflection for you to spy on the laptop, just an empty space of spotlighted blue.

“Visiting some friends.” is your reply.

The publicity on them is quiet and hush. So much so that you feel the world has already known about them – two merman pulled from the bottom of the deep sea, sea, sea. It is entirely possible. With how disjointed you are compared to 99.9 % of the population, it is not so far-fetched to think that they have been in the public’s eyes for a long time and wonder over them has died down. 

However, this exhibit is still listed as the first one. Out of how many? Well, you suppose you will find out later if more are to come, if this is going to be a big success. You only found out from working the night shift, seeing the date on the break-room calendar. 

COME SEE, FOR THE FIRST TIME, CREATURES FROM THE BLACK LAGOON! That is the first message you spy on the aquarium walls, following along with the crowd. Must have been put up by the morning crew. In bright letters, strung underneath party streamers, a multitude of phrases bounce and shout. Instead of being in awe over the pictures of them, your mind focuses on each line detailing: unprecedentedly new; for the first time; never seen before!

Yet, no one shrieks in terror at the sight of them in the posters. Even when you and others are filed into the aquarium auditorium, the crowd murmurs to themselves softly instead of shouting. Under the hypnotic spell of voyeurism, everyone seems more anticipatory than agitated.

You fixate your glasses tighter to your face as you scale up metal stairs, looking over your shoulder at the water. This is where they do the sea lion or seals show. You have not seen a single one in an entire decade. Under the shadowed surface, you can spy two serpentine lengths flowing through currents. 

“Bet this whole thing is a scam. We should go back to Disney in Florida next year; it’s warmer there. More stuff to do too.” You cast a glance at the daughter in her early twenties sitting next to her mother before moving further up.

You do not pick the top row but you do pick an isolated section. Sandwiching yourself next to a stone pillar, your butt lands on the rickety metal bench. Just as you are about to readjust your glasses, making sure that sides of the lenses are atom to atom on your skin, you are interrupted by a loud, consecutive ‘woah’ that you are not a part of, that swims through the crowd.

But, you manage to see a glimpse of it just in time.

You are not sure which one of the two it is. Yet, all the same, you watch entranced as one of them breaches that ink pool. Bioluminescence tints his body in glittering blue topazes. It is like watching a shooting star suddenly fly across the dark night skies. 

The porcupine quills of black that make up his fins bend and the dragon tail of sapphire that makes up his lower body arches. Aerodynamic, he flies through the air and manages just in time to snag the large, squirming spider crab that hangs from a ceiling beam on a metal wire. He disappears with the same speed as his appearance, taking with him into the black hole of water his meal.

Yet, before anyone can close their hanging jaws or the water can stop rippling with the impact of the eel-mer diving back under, music blares from the speakers, moving spotlights suddenly slide over the water and crowd, and a man comes out of the backroom and onto the stage.

You are just done wincing from the bright flash of a spotlight surfing over the bench you sit on when the man suddenly exclaims, “How are we all doing?” You stay tight-lipped as the crowd cheers. “C’mon, you can do better than that! How are y’all doing today?” The crowd cheers, claps, and responds in a long Goooood! 

Cringing with shut lips, you suddenly remember why it has been a decade since you watched an aquarium show. The script is always a bit childish. 

“We have two very special guests for you today. The strong guy you saw just a few moments ago was Flotsam. His brother, Jetsam, is here too. Jetsam, why don’t you come out and say hi to everyone.”

You lean forward, enraptured with the sight. Serpentine coils cut through the water, water jetting up with the force of how quickly he swims. Onto the wayward platform that bobs in the black hole, Jetsam pushes his body up onto it. Instead of a pair of flippers, he waves his clawed fingers to the awestruck audience. 

“Flotsam and Jetsam are both eel-mers. Found and rescued from the northern waters, they are the first of their kind and are very excited to show you all what they can do!” Thus, the spectacle begins.

They go through a variety of tricks. From doing a few figure eights in the water, shooting balls into hoops, and even a freeze dance to the music blaring through the speaker, the mixture of tricks they do feels almost infinite. When the staff member rolls out a clownfish mailbox, announcing the birthdays of a few children in the audience, you wonder how long they must have been training. Days upon days of practice drilled into their memory. 

Birthday children come up to the auditorium’s yellow line as the eel-mers hand out little high-fives to them. One child even proclaims, “Ew sticky!” before his dad tickles him under the arms and picks him up, returning to their bench. Even though it is their first show, Flotsam and Jetsam seem so well-versed in social etiquette. 

However, you cannot help but find it a little demeaning. It seems so beneath them to have to perform like this to a leering audience. Sure, the rewards for each trick is generous, a stocky Japanese spider crab tossed and crushed in their razor sharp jaws, but it feels so ignominious. 

Despite the horrified joy swimming through everyone’s gasps and aws, your heart is so sad.

Another round of tricks starts up. This time it involves a dual pair of bongos. As the staff member picks up a squirting spider crab from the cage onstage, he speaks into his echoing earpiece, “Now, our here, Flotsam is an exceptional drummer. We often find him playing something new every morning, completely of his own free experimentation.” Flotsam swims and props himself on stage as the staff member continues, “Today, we’re going to have him show off a skill to you fine folks!”

Your heart buries itself deeper and deeper into sadness. Perhaps, he never was intelligent. Perhaps, he is just another dumb fish. Canine obedience hammered in through reward and punishment, rhythms only learned because it is trained in him. As you two lock eyes, you cannot find anything that would dispute this theory.

You wait, as does everyone else, for Flotsam to start drumming away as promised. In addition, you wait for his eyes to flicker away from your unrecognizable face hidden by your sunglasses. Neither happens.

“A little indecisive today. I understand, there is just so much good music in the world,” the staff member stalls for time. He rips off a crab leg, holding out the reward by Flotsam’s suddenly demure face. “Why don’t we start off with something easy, buddy. A bit of the musical scale. Do-Re-Mi?”

‘You want to watch out for his teeth,’ you think, rubbing your fingers over the little scars you have from his nibbling. They really are such sharp instruments to break through the shell of a Japanese spider crab.

Thoroughly entrenched, the audience watches the repercussions of a box that was supposed to remain closed being opened.

Disbelief ripples through the crowd like one subtle wave. It is the only sound you participate in. Finally, in sync with the crowd of awake people. Someone to your left moans out of a low groan of phantom pain. The volume of interlocking disbelief grows when the staff member raises his hand up into the light. His trembling red hand hovers in front of his face to verify the view, his ring and pinkie finger bitten clean off. 

Poor bastard’s wedding ring is probably sinking down to the bottom of the tank alongside the crab leg that Flotsam spat out.

Volume pitches and rises. A woman screams. Naturally, that rouses up the attendance like puppet strings. The staff member falls on his bottom then crawls backwards. Crawling away from Flotsam like one, big stumbling crab. Since the seatmate to your right is a stone pillar, there is no one to trip over your feet in their rush to leave but you watch hypnotized many individuals shove and trip their way through bodies blocking the stairs leading down to the exits. Then, calmly, you stand on your metal bench to overlook the crowd. 

Flotsam’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. Reminds you of two tunnels branched off in a cave’s stomach. His fusiform gyrus lights up like newly plugged in Christmas lights, recognizing you. The little pea that makes up your fusiform face area– that clocks in every night to a job rarely done, cobwebs on the cubicle's laptop and dust as a seat covering – recognizes him too. 

It already was recognizing him, seeing him as what he really is. Your lips crack open, “Flo -.” Then, you start barreling down the metal steps. 

Weaving in and out of the disjointed crowd, you race down, sometimes landing on the cement floor and sometimes landing on the metal benches in your hopping steps.A shoulder jostles you so harshly that your sunglasses fall off your face. Between rows of benches, they dive to the floor. You trip, trying to make the leap onto a metal bench. The sound you make as you fall onto metal is so tiny in the cacophony. 

The world goes white. It is like flash blindness from a nuclear explosion. 

Tears pour out your eyes. You clap a hand over them in shame and to hide from the bright … too fucking bright … lights. 

When you finally pick up your sunglasses, marks of shoe soles stamped like tattoos on your upper arms and hands, the auditorium is empty of a single soul. Not even they remain swimming in the tank. Someone must have sedated them and dragged them out. You are alone once more.

That night, you dream a dream that is more memory than a mystified fabrication of wonders or terrors. 

Tender like a newborn, you lie on a wafer-thin sheet of paper that unrolls itself from a cylinder like one big, white wave. Perhaps an iceberg is more appropriate. Hospitals are as cold as the arctic. On the paper iceberg, on the fence of girlhood and the fated teenage years, on the tongue of a vivisection, you balance with broken ankles. Under your thin gown, flowing air and goosebump-freckled skin collide. Blue tints your bottom lip.

You are laid down, anticipating future pain.

“Lay down and I will be with you two shortly.” He had said this and nothing more.

The scent at the doctor’s office is ozone with a hint of vanilla. Near your toes, the long neck of a giraffe stretches skyward, painted on the bricks. Under bright, too fucking bright, light, metal tools glitter like slick seashells. You can feel the prescribed numbing droplets in your eyeballs slowly seep in.

You pinch your eyes shut, feeling like there is a cement block lodged and scraping between the bones of your temple. Why wouldn’t they give you something for the pain? When you open them, they are held open by a speculum and hooks like you are nothing past being an animal in a zoo doing your daily checkups. 

Oh, and you are sitting upright on the paper iceberg now.

Must be the dream’s altercations. Time skipping forward in intervals. 

Dreams are always like a pile of bones. The skeleton all jumbled up and disorganized that you move from femur to ulna. You are not graced with a lot of time to think on the analogy as a very big kitchen knife leans towards your pried open eye. 

The muscles in your cheek twitch when it cuts. With the skills of a head-chef slicing an egg, your eye is cut perfectly down the imaginary midline. Both sides are even. 

He scoops out one side of your eye like a person pulling back from a whole cake with a single slice. It is more inky black and sickly gray. The hues of your eye-cake that is. Far from the bright blue or pink frosting of a cake, it stays saturated in montone hues. You always thought an eye would look like the diagrams in school, colorful with reds and blues, but it is a sickly ebon and ashen gray.

The cornea is hard as a freshly cut nail and the half globe of retina slimes in his gloved hand like glue. Now looking at it, it appears the flesh inside an eye reminds you more of a bruised plum’s insides. A muted hue of purple-black rather than full ebon.

It is the lens of your eyes that really captures the doctor’s attention. He takes the half-cut marble in a pair of tweezers. Between those lobster claws of thin steel, your lens which makes up a pupil is rotated back and forth in observation. 

An eye, though entirely soft and vulnerable, has only one hard bit inside like the tough seed of a peach. It can be cut but it will give resistance. With one good eye and half of your other, you watch the hard material between the lobster claws be pinched in and out to test the give and resistance of itself. Steadfast, it does not bend under the squeezes. 

That half-cut pearl glitters.

Time skips again, moving bone to bone like switching channels. Instead of smells and sights, sound takes over the scene. The faint buzzing of the air conditioner as it breathes over the giraffe’s neck. Water oscillating back and forth over rubbing soapy hands cries loud in your ears. Though, faintly, you can hear the blood from your eye that slips down your chin hit the pad of the paper iceberg you sit on.

The tissue in your hand crinkles softly in sound as you wipe away blood tears. In a chair that might as well be across the globe of Earth, your guardian sobs in intervals with a trembling chin. “Guuuh … gah … hu-hu-hugaaah.” You keep soaking up blood, dabbing the tissue against your face as it whispers in light friction. 

After he finishes washing his hands of your sanguine, the doctor intones two words like a priest giving the final prayer at the start of Armageddon, “cone dystrophy.” That is the last sound your ears can bear to hear before you jolt awake.

Your current doctor has given you exactly twenty-one little sheets. Ishihara tests; multiple circles with a number made of circles in the center. They are tests for color blindness. 

That morning, the colors red and orange permanently fuse into one shade. 

You took three nights off work. A little mini-vacation. The first was so you could spend the daylight hours watching the show with Flotsam and Jetsam; the second was so you could attend your doctor’s appointment; the third was so you could clean up what has been neglected in your apartment. Vacations are supposed to relieve the average worker of stress. You find yourself an outlier, once again.

“Blind by thirty? Blind by fucking thirty?” You bundle up the graphic shirt you were trying to fold into a circle and punch your mattress. The pile of already folded shirts tilts and falls in an arch to your right. “That fucking asshole,” you sneer.

Unraveling the graphic-tee-ball, you straighten your hunched posture with a deep sigh. No use taking your frustration out on innocent clothes. The wrinkled shirt joins the tower once you rebuild it. You reach out and grab a pair of socks. Foolishly, you thought organizing your apartment up for a very overdue spring cleaning would help to organize the disorder running rampant in your head. 

Forlorn and desolate, you look at the laundry mountain. Too bad that is far from happening. 

It is just … A person takes a guess at jars full of jelly-beans or what they’re significant other might have made for dinner, those are the true purpose of guessing games. The audacity of a person to guess when someone else is going to blind. You almost tear the sleeve off your cardigan when you pull in from the mountain’s maw. How dare your doctor estimate your finite health with such casualness. 

You suppose it makes sense. The Salvador Dali-esque dream you had the night before, coupled with losing the ability to differentiate between red and orange; all of these were just the bad omens setting up the stage for your doctor’s appointment. 

Mostly a homebody and not a frequent traveler, there aren’t many sights you are dying to see. However, the idea of losing your sight causes you to grieve it prematurely. Mourning the death of yourself. To just wither up inside this box-shaped apartment as a tomb, the thought of that is odious. You shudder and fold a towel.

Across the mattress, you look at your CRT television cloaked in a thin, see-through blanket to dim the lighting. On the square, a blue pick-up truck punches through metal and wooden gating. Even though the movie wrongly uses the sound effect of glass breaking, it is still impactful as you watch the pick-up truck reverse into an open boating harbor connected to the ocean. The whale and little boy harnessed to the back slowly sink in. 

Freeform is playing Free Willy. To be honest, you are just biding time until the Harry Potter marathon starts up. Thank God, this movie is nearing its end because it is putting dangerous thoughts in your head. You just want to see little Daniel Radcliffe under the staircase and be interrupted by commercials every twenty-five minutes.

The orphaned boy pushes the orca whale out to sea. You fold another article of clothing, unsure if it is orange or red. The hope that Pandora kept in her box begs for freedom.

It is an open secret now. That is a little contradictory, if you do say so yourself. 

However, it is the truth. The public now knows them without embellishment. With the shining gandour and seductive metaphorical-lingerie, it comes to their attention that predators are still predators. No matter how human they may look. 

The thought saddens you. Slowly and unsurely, you have been starting to humanize them in your mind. When you wrestle with the locked doorknob of the oval-shaped room, you grow sadder. 

It makes sense though. Flotsam and Jetsam? They should have been kept in the Oval Office or Area 51; instead they were brought to an aquarium in the middle of nowhere, used for publicity. The crux of humanity rears its ugly head. Sharing each fetish and body part to the audience is the sin of being a curious human. Everyone is a voyeur for something. No one can keep their mouth shut nowadays, always needing to post about their lives. So, they brought Flotsam and Jetsam here to do the exact same thing.

To think there was a time when you were disguised by their humanity. And now, it's all you hope to preserve and keep safe. Ascending the stairs to the circular-shaped room, you contemplate if there could ever be an inch of humanity in an animal. As a set of honey eyes peer at you from across the black hole water, you wonder if it is only canine obedience in their faces. 

Two against one, you all take a moment accessing each other. There are no plastic bags of yummy treats hanging from your arms. No thumping rhythms of songs echo on the walls. Instead of familiar friendliness and comfortable companionship, you all seem incredibly wary of each other. 

“Ya can come closer … We wouldn’t hurt ya, Shrimpy.”

Who the fuck said that?

Frozen in disbelief, you can do little besides watch the black hole ripple in violent sprays. A harsh slap echoes off the wall as a clawed hand breaches water only to grab the face with a right gold eye. Both drop under the water as your mind reels, spinning around options like a broken, juiced-up carnival ride. 

You are tired! You are so tired that you must have hallucinated that! Being awake for so long on the night shift … Why, it must be entirely possible to hallucinate every once and a while! An evolved headache of sorts! 

Yes. You grab onto that thought. Those words were hallucinations. Too bad your grip on the thought grows flimsy when Flotsam breaches the water, snarling, “I wanna talk to Shrimpy! Jade, lemme go! Get off!” A clawed hand grips the back of his hair and pulls him right back under.

A vivid hallucination you are having. Yes! A paragon of hallucinations and headaches after so many night shifts!

Despite the fear, you stay rooted in your spot. Not close enough to where the spilling water of the tank touches your shoes but close enough where you can watch the water steadily. Every once in a while, the sound of rocketing water echoes in the room. Dragon tails of green-blue fracture the surface. A clawed hand will rise up like a zombie breaking dirt only to disappear in seconds. Water flies in turrets and towers. 

Maybe because of the fear, you stay in your exact same spot and watch. Things start to calm down eventually. Bubbles pop on the surface like they are conversing under there. But, that is impossible because fish cannot speak.

‘Don’t backtrack (Name),’ you think to yourself. ‘Their entire existence is impossible. It’s been impossible since the beginning. This is just another step into that twilight zone. Another unorthodox secret brought to the surface.’ The thought makes you feel disjointed like a pile of bones.

It had hurt. The day of the show. You do not why but it had hurt to know they weren’t yours alone. That the secret had been open for some time and it was not just you and them. Thus, you stay and wait for them to breach the surface one more time.

They both do simultaneously. Water cutting the visage of the rest of their body from the shoulders down. Red returns to the scene, staining both Flotsam and Jetsam’s faces in thick scratches. You barely get a second to analyze the wounds before Flotsam shouts, “It was haaard, ‘kay? I wanted to tell them the pretty nickname I made for them! And tell them I liked the new rocks they put in our tank!” He pouts childishly. “It’s so borin’ not being able to talk. I got so bored! You’re boring.”

Even when Flotsam snaps his sharp teeth at Jetsam, he remains unpulsed. “Forgive me for trying to look out for your well-being, but both of us agreed in junction that we would under no circumstances talk to humans.”

“But Shrimpy’s different from the rest!”

“Under no circumstances, Floyd.”

“I knooow,” Flotsam? Floyd? whines. Then, his downwards angled eyes slide over your comatose form. An excited grin comes up to his face. “Doesn’t matter now though. Shrimpy!!”

You are barely given a second to gather your thoughts before Floyd barrels towards you. Spindly arms wrap around your neck and suddenly you are down on your knees in an inch of water. The kiss on your cheek this time feels much less like a dog licking to show affection; it resembles more a human kissing you on the cheek which causes you to fluster. 

“Truly, you make things so difficult at times,” Jetsam? Jade? tuts. The sound of him swimming through the water draws closer. His deep timbre sends a cardiogenic shock through your ribcage as he addresses, “I do apologize for my brother. He was a bit desolate without you here the past two nights.”

For some reason, you wonder how Jade felt in your absence too. Hands holding onto Floyd’s upper arms for a semblance of balance, you reply, “Uh, I took — I took a vacation.” The words feel like marshmallows rolling off your tongue. Gluttonous, fluffy, unreal with their texture. This really is happening, and you have to come to terms with it.

“Told ya it wasn’t because they were scared of us.”

“I never made such a connection. Merely hypothesizing.”

“Mmh, hypothesizin’ my ass,” Floyd grins as he turns to … sniff your hair?

Pushing him away to gain a bit of distance, you address the one you find the least distracted of the two. “You — You can talk? Why — Why didn’t you say anything to me before?” The companionship you had? Was it truly so fragile that you two had to keep secrets from one another?

“Well, you see, (Name),” — your name is so tantalizing coming from his voice that you feel like you are being resurrected from a heart-attack, defibrillator pounding away on your chest — “it was a matter of safety for my brother and I. If we were to say anything —.”

Floyd interrupts, “Everyone’s kind of a bigmouth buffalo fishy here so we keep ours shut.”

“The day to day conversations of the staff, the chatter from the people who visited us in the daylight hours, the unending gossip. We figured it was best to keep our lips sealed for the time being. Who knows how they would have reacted.”

“Nothing’s better than having a few tricks up your sleeve, Shrimpy.” Finally, you are done being squeezed as Floyd falls back into his tank. He rests his hands behind his head and floats buoyant.

“It is an epidemic, I fear. Fufu. Secrecy is such a rare trait to find nowadays.” Jade crosses his arms on top of the cement incline that you kneel in, looking at you sweetly. “Almost a lost art of sorts, eroded away after centuries of geological and evolutionary advances.”

Then, ping-ponging back and forth, they start to slip each secret (that others would probably want under lock and key) they’ve heard.

“Your manager’s wife is infertile thus he avoids conversations about children or preschool.”

“Lucas hit a guy with his car two years ago in a hit-and-run. Didn’t kill him but still.”

“Martha’s daughter just had an abortion. She gripes to Tatiana about how to possibly be supportive about this.”

“Ashley doesn’t like her boyfriend and they’re breakin’ up soon.”

“Deuce is going to fail his statistics class if he scores lower than a 95 on his next test.”

“Patrick is proposin’ to his girlfriend on December 1st.”

“We could keep going,” Jade says with a sly grin. “However, I think the point has gotten across.” He trails one fingernail across your thigh and smiles when you do not flinch. “All that useless prattle makes for some divine entertainment. Besides, matching up with more animalistic expectations can mean others are wildly underestimating us. Having the upper hand is better, always.”

Scrutinizing over his wandering fingernail, you ask quietly, “Is that why you attacked that man?” The question is meant for Floyd. Jade pulls his keen nail back all the same.

“Nah,” Floyd does not look at you as he answers, fixated on the ceiling. “It was humiliatin’. Being looked at that way by ya, Shrimpy.”

You blink in surprise. Shame is such a human trait. Born of social circles and social behaviors that are just uniquely tied to the bipedal species you are. The look on Jade’s face seems to agree with the consensus. You watch green-blue muscles glide through the water, simply drifting to a tame current. You watch black fingernails tap on cement in a tiny rhythm. 

Floyd continues, noticing your silence, “Shrimpy’s the only one that talks to us like people. Everyone else just treats us like a spectacle.” 

The heart in your ribcage knocks. You cannot Free Willy the entire aquarium. But, your Chevrolet Silverado has enough room in the bed for a kiddie pool or two.

Faintly, you recall a distant memory, when you read to Jade so many weeks ago, just as you open the oval-shaped room with the stolen key:

“The creatures stung Pandora over and over again and she slammed the lid shut. Epimetheus ran into the room to see why she was crying in pain. Pandora could still hear a voice calling to her from the box, pleading with her to be let out. Epimetheus agreed that nothing inside the box could be worse than the horrors that had already been released, so they opened the lid once more. 

“All that remained in the box was Hope. It fluttered from the box like a beautiful dragonfly, touching the wounds created by the evil creatures, and healing them. Even though Pandora had released pain and suffering upon the world, she had also allowed Hope to follow them.”

For the past decade, photographic evidence of your existence has been nonexistent. You have found yourself to be an outlier; the world operates to a different rhythm that you have not been able to copy, relicate, or even play along to. Living in perpetual sleep apnea of the soul, you have only found true connection with two other people.

The blue ceiling lights are off as is now the new normal. Without the aid of your penlight, you make your way into the space with confident steps. Sunglasses perched on your head, you find that what has been slowly developing has reached the summit of itself. An impromptu, unorthodox Free Willy plagiarism.

The dark is easier than ever to see through tonight. You smile back when they smile at you. 

Floyd is curled up close to the glass, calling for your undivided attention with his placement. Subdued yet stealthy as ever, Jade lingers behind yet close enough to be seen. Floyd crosses his body across the glass-canvas up and to your right. Jade crosses his body to your left, floating demurely lower. 

The glass-canvas is painted with a few smudges of handprints. Some are from yourself and others from the only and only drummer. He depresses his dominant hand on the glass, leaning in close. His right hand waves up in dark waters in a fervent, warm greeting. His excitement to see you is palpable. You raise your own. 

Both of their eyes shine like spotlights. The only light that you have looked into and found it does not hurt. Jade’s anticipatory smile slithers onto your face in a perfect mimic. You are going to rob the aquarium of those glittering gold dragonfly eyes. Tomorrow, there will be nothing for the staff or customers to find in nebulous darkness. 

Nothing. Nothing but their desolate reflection.

[dovesdreaming]

Pirates charm

Summary: You’re the daughter of Meg and Hercules, everyone always compares you to your mother saying your exactly like her. You couldn’t deny it either especially with how you wouldn’t let yourself swoon for Harry hook.

Requested

Masterlist

-

Being the daughter of Meg and Hercules wasn’t easy. On one hand, you were expected to live up to your father’s reputation. The strong, brave hero of Olympus who could move mountains and defeat titans. People looked at you like you were supposed to be just like him- noble, pure, a shining example of what a demigod should be. But on the other hand, you were also Meg’s daughter. And that meant you were sarcastic, quick-witted, and more than a little cynical. If your dad was all about heroism, you were about surviving in a world where happy endings didn’t always happen. Your mother had made sure you understood that. She’d been there, done that, and wasn’t about to let you fall into the same traps she had.

You were, as people liked to say, the spitting image of Meg. From your sharp wit to the way you carried yourself, always with a knowing smirk and a hint of sass in your voice. You weren’t a wide-eyed optimist like so many people in Auradon. No, you knew better than that. Which was why Auradon Prep had become.. a little boring. The whole "perfect world" thing? Yeah, it got pretty old fast. Sure, there were plenty of bright, smiling faces and happily-ever-afters, but after a while, it all felt a bit fake. Like everyone was just pretending everything was perfect all the time. You needed something different. Something real. And then… Harry Hook showed up.

The first time you met Harry, you were standing by the docks, watching the Isle of the Lost kids as they arrived on their ship. Ben had done his whole "integration" thing, and now, here they were, villains' kids walking the pristine streets of Auradon. It was all very dramatic, with people whispering and staring at the new arrivals, like they were some kind of dangerous animals let loose in a zoo. You didn’t care about most of them. But then, you saw him. Harry Hook.

With his long coat, swaggering walk, and that trademark hook hanging from his hand, he made quite the entrance. His sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd, taking everything in like he was already planning his next move. His smirk was lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made you raise an eyebrow. And when his gaze landed on you? Oh, he noticed you too. His eyes flicked over your figure, taking in the sharpness of your features, the confidence in the way you stood. Unapologetic, like you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was enough to make him pause for a second, his smirk faltering before returning even wider.

“Aye, what do we have here?” he murmured as he sauntered over to you, his voice dripping with a Scottish lilt that sounded both amused and intrigued. “Didn’t know Auradon had girls like you”.

You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down. “What? You thought we were all sunshine and rainbows?” He grinned, his hook tapping against his side as he stopped in front of you. “Somethin’ like that. But I think ye’re more storm clouds, lass. And I like that”. You gave him a dry smile, the corner of your lips lifting. “I aim to disappoint”. Harry’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. “Ah, ye’re trouble, aren’t ye? I can tell”. You shrugged, glancing at him with a bored expression. “If you’re looking for damsels in distress, you might want to look elsewhere”. “Damsels?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk full of mischief. “I don’t do damsels. I like girls who fight back”. You tilted your head, feigning interest. “Good, because I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than need saving”.

He laughed, a deep sound that was rough around the edges, like he wasn’t used to laughing much. But there was something about you that seemed to break through his usual bravado. “Aye, I can tell”. After that, it was like a game between the two of you. Wherever you were, Harry wasn’t far behind, and every time he tried his usual pirate charm on you, you gave it right back with a smart remark or a sarcastic quip. He’d call you “lass” and you’d call him “Hook” with a roll of your eyes, but beneath all the teasing, there was something else. Something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Because despite all the back-and-forth banter, Harry Hook was different from the others. He wasn’t like the perfect princes of Auradon, who threw themselves at you with grand gestures and shining armor. No, Harry was raw. Real. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t, and he didn’t expect you to either.You liked that about him, even if you’d never admit it.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the lake, enjoying some peace and quiet when you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was “Should’ve guessed you’d be here” you said, not even turning around as you leaned back on your elbows. Harry sat down next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. “Can’t help meself” he said with a grin. “Ye’re just too much fun to annoy”. You glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “If this is your idea of fun, you need a hobby”.

“Oh, I’ve got hobbies” he replied, his voice teasing. “But ye’re definitely the most interestin’ one so far”. You rolled your eyes, fighting back the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “You must be really bored”. Harry chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted, turning more serious. “Ye know, ye’re different from the rest of ‘em”.

That caught your attention. You turned to him, curious. “What do you mean?” He tapped his hook lightly against his leg, looking out at the water. “Auradon, it’s full of people pretendin’ to be somethin’ they’re not. All smiles and pretendin’ everythin’ is perfect. But you?” He looked at you with those intense blue eyes. “Ye don’t pretend. Ye’re real”.’You blinked, not expecting the honesty in his words. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You’d spent so long deflecting with sarcasm and wit that someone seeing through you like that threw you off balance. “I’m just me” you finally said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Nothing special”. Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s where ye’re wrong, lass”.

There was something in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t used to this, this raw, unfiltered honesty. People didn’t talk like that in Auradon. They didn’t look at you like they could see right through the mask. But Harry did. And, gods help you, you liked it. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension. “And here I thought pirates only cared about treasure”. Harry smirked, his teasing nature slipping back into place. “Aye, well, maybe I found somethin’ better”. Your heart did another unexpected flip at that, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you gave him a lopsided smile. “If you think I’m going to swoon, you’ve got another thing coming”. Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t want ye any other way”.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence after that, the sound of the water lapping against the shore filling the space between you. For once, there were no quips, no banter just a quiet understanding. Maybe you and Harry weren’t so different after all. Maybe, beneath the sarcasm and smirks, you were both just looking for something real. And maybe, just maybe, you’d found it in each other.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[glitteryinknotes]

Okay, but what kind of person would Astarion be most attracted to?

I have the image of Astarion softly confessing to Tav "you're incredible" stuck on a loop in my mind, but other than that, it actually got me thinking, just the simple way he says that and the look and yearning behind his eyes. What kind of person would he most likely perceive as such, for reasons he himself might not even understand at the beginning, couldn't resist falling in love with and be most happy & pushed to grow in an eventual relationship with? Here are some my instinctive thoughts.

(please do not get discouraged if you're basing the relationship of your MC & Astarion on different attributes & different ideas; those are only my own thoughts, propably influenced by the kind of character I'm planning to make on my Baldur's Gate playthrough.

Those are both headcanons for the first act, as well as for the official relationship parts.

And please share your thoughts if you have any, i'd be glad to compare my ideas to other people's impressions of this beautiful spawn)

Alas;

Someone joyful, proud & full of life. Astarion yearns to live and taste life on his own terms, having been denied any kind of autonomy & free will for the last two hundreds years, like he himself admits in the spawn ending; presence of someone genuinely full of life, shining, cheerful, dedicated to every small & great bliss the world can offer AND proud of it, despite their precarious situation about the whole tadpole business, would be intoxicating to him. That kind of person around would, for him, be an embodiment of everything he's been deprived of i'm Cazador's slavery; a being so fascinating in their pure, unabashed lust for joy in life, he wouldn't be able to keep them off his mind despite his best efforts.

Someone self - assured. For similar reasons as above. His trauma pushed him to depend entirely on himself & forever be in defense, from a place of terror, insecurity and loathing his past deeds. And so, I believe anyone carrying themselves with their head up high, with true confidence and class, not just masquarading bravado to mask their fear, facing everything fate throws at them with the same unrelenting attitude, would be something irresistible for him on some level. No matter if that very person was luckily spared from harsher life experiences, or traumatised as much as he had been. He would wish with all his soul he could be more like them and learn from them, perhaps even hide behind them to some degree.

Someone with fine taste. It's no surprise Astarion enjoys fine things; it would be his pleasure to be matched in his love for comfort & luxury.

Someone open, yet respectful in their everyday affections. Someone who would proudly peck him on the cheek or neck in the presence of everyone in the camp, but won't be aggressively throwing themselves into his arms each second; someone who would greet him each day with the most blissful smile or a warm embrace, but not too overly dramatic. Someone who wouldn't shy from openly referring to him in front of others in his own renditions of "my love", "my sweet" and "my darling" and who'd always keep an eye on him from the distance at camp ground to smile whenever your eyes met, but wouldn't publicly boast about every single detail between the two of you and allow him to keep his space & secrets. Somene playful, yet incredibly authentic in their feelings. All of that would provide him the so desired feeling of safety, love & genuineness, keep him amused and most importantly, provide him with a trusted learning example of how to act, express feelings & treat the other in a relationship. He might & absolutely will try to publicly brush all those affections off and go his usual suave way about it, but inside, or even openly on his face when taken off guard? His undead heart is singing with joy

Someone gentle & considerate. He surely enjoys someone with fantasy, a playful side and some art in lovemaking, but what he craves more than anything is tenderness & love. Anything you do with him in his mind delights him, and over the time he'd learn to accept it without shielding himself with sarcasm. From some minor gifts, asking for his opinion on matters he wouldn't expect to be asked about, to being considerate & delicate in intimacy, everything is such a gift to him even if he doesn't even know how to receive it & respond properly

Someone with wit. I think he would feel quite at home with someone who would at least partially share his gift for words; maybe in an entirely different manner than him, but even so someone to understand, match and carry on a conversation with him along his suave mannerism and irony.

[Thank you for your attention, might edit or add up later]

[kookies2000]

Am I really about to do a full analysis of The Last Wish? Yes, yes I am. Starting with characters!!! One by one!!!

Perrito

Spoilers

One thing about Perrito is that he is so darn pure and tragic. When the trailers came out, I noticed people were sceptical about Perrito. Saying how he might be annoying and take away from the film. People even compared him to Olaf from Frozen. Which was a shock to me. I thought people loved Olaf from Frozen but I guess I was wrong. After a day of thinking on this, I finally understood why people thought this. Side characters that are usually used as the comedic relief can sometimes flop. They can be annoying and take away precious screen time from characters that the audience wants to see. But with Perrito, that is never the case. He doesn't waste a single screen time. In fact you end up wanting more from him. He's just so darn positive and sweet even after what he went through. He was thrown away by his owners for being the runt of the litter. But he was so positive that he thought they were playing tag. So every time they tried to throw him away, he would end up returning like it was all a game. And then one day, his owners drown him in a sock. And it's just sweet to see Perrito so positive about this. The sock they try to drown him in, he turns it into something happy and keeps it as a sweater. I guess it's his positive view that makes him so likeable. He leaves a positive impression on Kitty when she has a talk with him about trust. What I love about their talk is that Kitty doesn't push Perrito to not trust anyone and Perrito doesn't push Kitty to trust him or Puss. Just that she has to trust someone. The conversation just feels very natural and healthy. Now let me talk about how his childlike view doesn't clash with the dark themes of the film.

Olaf and Perrito comparison

I'm not bashing Olaf, I'm using him as an example. If I see a single bad comment about Olaf, I will hunt you down for insulting him and writing a strongly worded letter!

I adore the first Frozen film. It was wholesome, cute, magical, and just phenomenal. And Olaf as a character blended in perfectly with the environment that was created. The film was near to perfect and every character shined. But then Frozen 2 came in. Frozen 2 had darker elements that were fantastic. I loved the concept and the way the story was told. I do have a few issues with it but this isn't about Frozen. This is about how Olaf's positivity clashed with the darker elements. Olaf is supposed to have a childlike view of life just like Perrito. The two characters are put into similar situations. Innocent, naive, and trusting characters who are struggling to understand the more serious issues around them. The difference is, Olaf, clashed with the darker elements while Perrito helped embrace the darker elements. Olaf in the second film still has his innocence and childlike wonder. He goes to the library to read about life and soaks up knowledge like a child would. He even has a song about how everything will make sense when he's older. And that's a strong beginning to Olaf's character. It only starts falling apart when Olaf doesn't really learn about his surroundings. Does he understand that Elsa died? Or that his kingdom committed genocide? You can argue he's still a kid but he never shows his emotions or thoughts about the situation. Instead, he remains positive and tells jokes to cheer up Anna. It's cute but it feels pointless. I still love Olaf as a character, I just wish they would let him take time to process what was happening around him.

As for Perrito, he helps embrace the darker elements instead of just being positive all the time. His positivity influences both Kitty and Puss. For Kitty because of his conversation with her. Seeing things in a positive way isn't bad at all and we could all use a friend or someone to trust. For Puss, it's the panic attack scene. Puss is in a very vulnerable state and Perrito follows him. The moment is very tender and quiet. No dialog or humor, just the sound of the heart beating like crazy and hyperventilating. The moment is so darn sweet because Perrito doesn't talk or try to make Puss laugh, he's simply there for him. He places his head on Puss and that's enough to calm Puss down. And I feel like this is something many people forget easily. You don't need to talk, you don't need to say a word, you just need to be there. Listening and making sure the person who's venting knows your listing. This just reminded me of a personal experience of mine. A few years ago I was very vulnerable to panic attacks. All my friends did exactly this. They didn't try to throw in flowery words or jokes, they were simply there and made sure I knew they were listening. I only lost one friend, thank God because he was actually a jerk. And that "friend" tried using flowery language and false promises. Which only made things worse for himself and I. So yeah, the panic attack scene was very meaningful to me and made me cry. And this is what I mean by Perrito embracing the darker elements of the film. He doesn't fight off the heaviness of the moment. He doesn't try to bring light into the darkness. Instead, he goes into the darkness and lets everyone feel what they need to feel. He helps the emotions flow out properly. And I LOVE that!!!! Perrito isn't oblivious to what's going on, naive yes but not oblivious. He knew what to do when Puss had a panic attack. He knew how to talk to Kitty about her issues. He helped Puss and Kitty strengthen their relationship. And he helped Goldie find out what she wanted. Oh, and his moment with Goldie was adorable. You can tell from this moment that Perrito isn't dumb, he's positive. Baby insults him and instead of being upset, he joins in. He's aware he was insulted but he puts a positive spin on it. He's aware he's an orphan like Goldie and compliments her family. This makes you wonder, is he aware that he's an attempted murder victim? And he chooses to remain positive?

I'll talk about his final arc on the Wishing Star section. But man. I adore how well written he is.

Next is Kitty.

[goodluckclove]

In researching for a scene I was trying to delve into particular Canadian slang and idioms. The dangerous thing about research on Google for me is not the Googling itself, but the tangentially related People Also Ask questions - because those get so wild so quickly.

Take, for example, 85 Ways to Say Thank You, a listicle from Shari's Berries that totally has a reason to exist until you think about it for more than twenty seconds. I immediately skimmed the list, which I am almost certain was written by a sad English major who imagined a better use for their degree (We've all been there, man), and I just wanted to pick out some of the gems and how they made me feel.

I just wanted to write to say thanks a bunch for the gift!

So a lot of these seem to be ideas for things to write in thank you cards, either in response to getting a gift, or perhaps when giving a loved one some chocolate covered berries from a company that someone reviewed with just the word "don't". My problem is this: I get people might not know what to put in a thank you card. Not everyone is a writer. That's why humanity has managed to last for as long as it has.

But on the other hand, I have to imagine giving a thank you card with a message that says this is a thank you card i wrote in to thank you for the thing you gave me would be most people's first thought. It's less "sweet sentiment" and more "surface-level observation". I am worried for the person that reads this and has something suddenly click for them.

The coffee mug you sent is so me. Thank you for making my mornings brighter.

A few mentioned specific gifts in their examples, which is fine. But they didn't mention how you can alter the message to mention the gift you were given. So I am a little worried someone is going to give a thank you card in response to a new car or cat or child that just says "i love this coffee mug i cannot wait to sip the fluids within it". I can see that causing problems.

I know you spent a lot of time picking out the perfect gift for me and I feel blessed to have such a thoughtful friend in my life.

This right here is presumptuous at best and passive-aggressive at worst.

There were other categories for Thankful Occasions (Or Thank-asions as I call them), like when someone does a kind deed for you. Some shining quotes to use in this case rely heavily on implying that you are so grateful that it's pushed you into some sort of psychosis.

My stomach (and I) want to thank you for that delicious meal.

I have a childhood friend that I've legitimately known since the second grade who's coming up to visit me and my wife next month. If I made him dinner and he unironically said that his stomach wants to thank me for the meal, I would never speak to him again. Case closed.

You made me feel so at home that I forgot I wasn’t! Thank you for having me.

This feels like something I would say to a friend if I visited them while in a social anxiety spiral. Just like "hey i'm so glad you invited me over. side note that whole night i had no fucking idea where i was and even now i'm not that much more confident".

Or what if you want to thank a friend, just for continuing being their friend even though you keep sending them shit, overpriced fruit that usually shows up moldy?

Thank you for helping me through that difficult time. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I have two for you.

What does this mean? Are you a robot trying to one-up someone else's kind thought? Dave offered you a shoulder to cry on? Cry on both my shoulders. Cry in my mouth. Dave is soft and weak. His bones aren't bird-hollow but they might as well be. Here's some mold it was sixty dollars.

The ones that are the most baffling to me have to be the ways to thank a boss or colleague at work.

Thank you for your email, it was really appreciated.

"Dave you send great hentai but I'd love it if you stopped sending it through our work emails and work computers."

Thank you for sharing your opinion. I value your honesty and will respond as quickly as possible.

I have worked a LOT of jobs, and there isn't a single job I've had where I would be able to receive this message and not immediately view it as a threat.

Thanks for your attention on the matter.

This is so unfathomably vague I cannot imagine it not being in reference to a crime. Or like a message someone in a cartel or mob sends alongside a batch of Chocolate Covered BOO Berries that were custom ordered to be all ghosts just so the eminent crime scene has a touch of panache.

Anyways I got totally sidetracked but the next time I need to either communicate gratitude for a prior felony or provide warning for an upcoming one, I have tons of ideas to work with. Thanks Shari.

[majesty-madness]

Hi! Can I request a Naruto Shippuden x Fem!reader where the reader met them all and was this cheerful little girl who loved flowers but as they got older she left or to them she just more likely disappeared but when she came back she was this whole different person now.

Now she's a pretty quiet and calm girl with a powerful aura around her, and if you find a black rose then that means that she was in that place, so what I mean is since she sued to like flowers but not a black rose is kinda her sign now, so the black rose represents her.

Lets say for example she fights with someone and disappears, then there's a black rose on the ground, which means that she was there in that place.

Also she's known as the ~Black Rose~ Since she always leaves a black rose as a sign

Note: She was childhood friends with, Sasuke, Naruto and Sakura also knew her along with Ino but then when she came back they told the others about her (or you can do it in your way, I'll leave the rest to you)

Feel free to ignore this for whatever reason if you want <3

"Black Rose" - Naruto Shippuden x reader (sfw)

Word Count: 8000+

Warnings: angst, battles, violence, blood, injuries, hospital, mentions of serious injuries, flashbacks, worried friends, light arguing, crying, good ending, references to the Hidden Waterfall Village (don’t know if anyone knows about that episode)

a/n: I want to say that this is the first request I have ever done, and I usually don’t take requests; I just write whatever I want to. However, I thought that this could be a chance to experience something new and depending on how this goes, I might do more requests in the future. But I need some time to figure out if this is a good thing to start or if I should keep doing what I’ve been doing. So for anyone it may concern, I’m trying to figure this whole “request” thing because it’s new to me. Thank you for understanding! Hope you enjoy!

Also not proofread.

Main Masterlist

“Do you know which flower this one is, Sakura?” The little girl asked her pink and blonde haired friends.

The pink haired girl shook her head but the blonde nodded.

“That is a Gladiolus!”

“That’s right, Ino! They come in red, pink, white, yellow and orange. But the most important thing is that they have medical properties, so the medic ninja use them all the time for healing.”

Sakura expressed her astonishment. “Wow, that’s so cool! You and Y/N sure know a lot about flowers.”

“Well what do you expect? My family does run a flower shop.” Ino grinned at Sakura with a little giggle following.

Then Y/N chirped in, “And I’ve been studying at the library. If you want Sakura, I’d be happy to teach you about flowers.”

Sakura gasped. “Would you really? Oh that sounds like so much fun!”

Y/N laughed happily, clapping her hands together at the same time. “Yeah! We’re gonna have lots of fun!”

With no effort, her eyes sprang open; staring tiredly at the wooden ceiling above.

She laid there a few more seconds before she forced her head to turn over to the right. On just the other wall, there was a small window with the light of the sun shining through; it was time to get up.

______

At the same time, many people of the village were getting up and ready, especially the Leaf ninja, prepared to be sent on missions.

Ino, after slipping into her uniform, walked out into the street to head straight to the Hokage’s office.

Despite the early hour, the village was already bustling with life. Many people were out shopping, organizing food stalls, and the like.

By this point in her life, Ino was really all that surprised anymore by the efficiency of the Leaf village. Everyone was always quick to start the day, even the regular citizens. It made being a ninja all the more worth it in her opinion; she could protect the prosperity of her home while doing what she’d always wanted to do.

As Ino was making her way down the dirt road, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Hey, Ino!”

Her violet eyes darted off the right, several feet in front of her there stood Sakura.

Ino smiled and waved at her. “Hey Sakura!”

The pink haired ninja suddenly came running over to her side, and then they both continued to walk together down the road. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. What are you doing up so early? I thought you had the day off today.” Ino asked curiously.

“I did, but Lady Tsunade suddenly summoned me. She said she had an important mission for me.” Sakura answered politely.

Ino made a noise, like a hum at the news. “Does it have anything to do with the hidden Waterfall village?”

“Yeah actually, it does.”

Ino looked over at her friend as they walked side by side. “It could be a serious mission then. Do you think she’ll combine our teams?”

“I’m not sure, it’s entirely possible.” Sakura said, moving her gaze back to the dirt path in front of her. “Guess we won’t know until we get there.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Ino agreed, not saying anything else for a couple of minutes. They continued down the path in silence for several more minutes when something just popped into Ino’s head.

“You know, it’s been three years.”

Sakura, knowing exactly what she was talking about, nodded (more to herself). “Since Y/N disappeared.”

Ino hummed again. “I can’t believe how much time has passed. So much has happened.”

“I know. The hardest part is not knowing if she’s okay or not, or if she’s even alive. It reminds me too much of when…” Sakura began to say, but paused as she felt her throat tighten up. “When Sasuke left.” Ino stopped in her tracks, resting her hand on Sakura’s shoulder and forcing her to stop as well. Her green eyes whipped up to meet Ino’s, seeing a look of sympathy on her face.

If anyone understood that feeling of hopelessness (besides Naruto), it would be Ino.

“Don’t worry too much about it, okay? Y/N is nothing like Sasuke; she’ll come back one day. I have faith.” The blonde ninja ressaured.

This made Sakura smile, and her body language indicated that she felt a bit better. “Thank you, Ino.”

Ino patted her shoulder a few times. “No problem. Now let’s hurry to Lady Tsunade’s office, or kill us for being late.”

Sakura laughed in response before heading towards the Hokage building, near the back of the village.

It took only a little while, but eventually Ino and Sakura made their way to the Hokage mansion, and stepped inside Tsunade’s office. Once they did, they saw Shikamaru, Choji, Naruto, and Sai already inside.

“Oh I’m sorry, M’Lady. Are we late?” Sakura apologized, a tad bit nervous that they’d get chewed out.

“No, in fact, I was just about to explain the mission.” Tsunade assured, then leading into the details. “As you may already be aware you all are going to be heading to the Hidden Waterfall village.”

Naruto perked up. “The Hidden Waterfall village?”

Tsunade nodded. “That’s right. I know that three years ago you escorted Lord Shibuki to his homeland safely, and now I’m asking you to return.”

“Please tell me that this doesn’t have anything to do with escorting his son to become the next leader, who’s just as cowardly as he was.” Naruto sighed, clearly annoyed.

“No, there have been reports of the Akatsuki sighted patrolling the village.”

Shikamaru chirped in. “So that’s why you’re assembling such a big team.”

“That’s correct. I don’t want to be taken by surprise, so that’s why I’m assigning all six of you to go and see if there is any truth to these reports. And with that, I’m also assigning you as squad leader, Shikamaru.” Tsunade explained, hands propped up on the desk, fingers intertwined. “You have half an hour to get ready and head to the Hidden Waterfall village, understood?”

“Understood!” Everyone in the room agreed at once and quickly headed out of the office.

Meanwhile, Y/N stalked a rogue shinobi from up in the massive forest, surrounding the Land of Fire.

He had no idea she was there, no inkling at all which made her one of the most efficient ninja in the Hidden Leaf Village.

And the fact that he was distracted with a meeting in the middle of the woods kept him occupied. He was speaking with five other people, exchanging stolen information about the Leaf with them. Though the other individuals were handing him back scrolls of what she assumed was information on other villages as well.

At least after she took down these ninja, she could find out what information was being sold off.

After about ten minutes, the five other shinobi shook hands with the rogue ninja and quickly scattered.

She watched the rogue one sit down onto the ground, taking out a water canister and unscrewing the top.

Being confident that he wasn’t going, Y/N made a hand sign and produced five clones. All of them (including the real Y/N)looked at each other and nodded.

The clones disappeared while Y/N remained inside the thick foliage of the tree leaves.

Her eyes centered on the rogue ninja, relaxing against the tree she was currently hiding in and then abruptly jumped down, colliding elegantly with the solid ground.

The man jumped back clearly startled by her appearance. “What the hell?!”

From her crouching position, Y/N’s sharp eyes, black masked face whip up to make direct, face to face contact with him. She hears the man gasp and try to reach into his bag for a weapon.

Before his hand can even make contact with the pouch, Y/N throws long, precision needles into the man’s arm; pinning him to the dirt.

The man lets out a shout of pain and his arm is pinned at a 90o angle, and stuck behind his back. “What do you want?!” Y/N approaches the man, completely unphased by his screams. Her domineering stance and quiet nature makes the man visibly sweat, and he finds it hard to make any kind of rational thought.

This woman, this woman right here was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Completely silent in her approach, beautiful figure, graceful in the way she moved with deadly precision, dark eyes locked on him, and an aura that reeked power; unadulterated power.

Never in his life had he ever met a woman that was able to combine beauty with danger; it was a combination he believed didn’t exist and yet here it was.

Should he be scared or impressed? He wasn’t sure.

He tried to reach for another weapon with his other hand, but another, foreign hand had wrapped around his wrist and pinned it there.

When he turned his head to look, he saw that it was a clone of Y/N, a flurry of black rose petals appearing as quickly as the clone had. It piqued his curiosity.

“Don’t try that again.” Y/N finally said, voice low and smooth.

“I asked you what you wanted.” The man grunted out, trying now not to move around too much.

Y/N walked forward, slipped her hand into the side pocket of his uniform and pulled out a seal scroll with the information he traded for earlier. “I want this.”

He watched Y/N neatly put away the scroll into her back pouch before speaking. “You looking for information on other villages too?”

“Actually, I’m looking for those documents you stole from the Leaf, but if I happen to gain a bit of an advantage over another village then so be it,” She softly explains, tone never fluctuating.

Without warning, the man burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m afraid that those pretty little documents are already on their way out of the Land of Fire.”

Finally, Y/N’s voice changed when she hummed in amusement. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

As soon as she finished, four clones then appeared at Y/N’s side. She raised her hand up just a bit and snapped her fingers; like that each of them, including the clone pinning the man’s arm, revealed the stolen documents he had just sold off to other rogue ninja.

More black petals floated down from the air as each one of her clones suddenly appeared before them.

His eyes widened in complete shock, air getting stuck in his throat almost preventing him from taking a proper breath.

They kept the documents out only for a couple of seconds then slid them back into their packs.

“Looks like this is the end of the line for you.”

“Wait!” The man screamed out, making Y/N pause for a moment to see what he wanted. When a couple of seconds passed, the man spoke again.

“There were rumors, started a couple of years ago. They were about a rogue assassin, killing other ninja left and right.” The man explained, the cold sweat rolling down his temples.

Y/N said nothing, it made him swallow nervously. “No one could find their bodies; all that was left were pools of blood and a single black rose.”

Then Y/N squinted at him, eyes narrow and fierce. “They called this assassin: Black Rose. I thought it was just rumors but…”

“You’ve changed your mind?” Y/N asked condescendingly.

“Well I’ve never seen anyone leave black petals lying around when they use clones or teleport said clones.”

There was a pregnant pause as both parties stared at each other, one’s heart racing and the other’s heart steady as drum.

Y/N clicked her tongue. “You should’ve believed the rumors, maybe you could’ve lived longer. Your complacency is what led you here.”

She saw the man tense up. “I believe them now so maybe we could make a deal.”

He tried to sound tough or unaffected by the aura surrounding this woman, but inside the terror was speeding over her nerves, up his spine, nearing choking him.

“I don’t make deals with rogues. I’m afraid that this is the end for you.”

“No!” The man screamed out, the panic now controlling him.

No please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got resources, information; just tell me what you want.” The man pleaded.

Y/N took a step back, raising both hands to form a single hand sign. “I want you to disappear.” Then in a barrage of hand signs, too fast to keep, Y/N weaved her fingers together before landing on the final sign. “Ninja art: Black Flower Decay.”

A whirlwind of black flower petals swirled around them as if the wind was guiding their movements, eching their way closer and closer.

The man watched the petals coming his way and one single petal landed on his cheek; it was hot, burned even. But it was one petal, and for a split second he thought maybe he could take it, however that thought quickly left his mind when more petals started to collect on his skin.

Now the burning sensation grows in intensity until eventually the pain became overwhelming. The man again screamed out but this time it was more gutural; more real.

In a final blow, the wind directs the flower petals on every square inch of the man’s body. Then the petals began to completely break down the man’s body til nothing was left.

The man’s body was gone, the clones disappeared, the petals vanished, and the only thing left was a single black rose placed on the ground.

In seconds, Y/N was already miles away from the location of the rogue she’d just eliminated. Not to mention the other shinobi that she also killed when they took off with information that could’ve easily led to the destruction of the Leaf.

And no matter what she was not going to let that happen, not when she loved ones waiting for her.

Three years had passed since she was assigned on this mission, and not a single day went by that she didn’t think about her friends back home.

She wondered if any of them had made Chunin or Jounin, or if Lee had made a complete recovery from his surgery, or even wondered if Hinata had confessed her feelings for Naruto.

These were the types of things that wandered through her head, the things that kept her sane. Though after all this time, she wondered if they thought about her.

Maybe the first couple of months, sure since it was only a couple of months after Sasuke abandoned them all that she was sent away, but they were ninja; they had to focus on training, completing missions, trying not to die.

Truth be told, they most likely didn’t have the time to even wonder about her well being. Who would after three years? For someone who didn’t even say goodbye?

Oh well…

She was assigned a mission and had to complete it no matter what. That’s why Lady Tsunade entrusted this mission to her and only her.

Y/N was ripped out of her thoughts by a sudden and powerful burst of lightning right for her.

In a split second, she managed to dodge the attack in mid air and jumped to the nearest tree branch. From behind the sound of the lighting making contact with another tree causing the wood to splitter and blow apart.

The attack kicked up a bunch of dust to which nothing was visible for a couple of minutes.

Y/N waved her hand through the air to try to clear the area, watching as the dust only moved away from her general vicinity but nowhere else.

Her eyes darted around trying to fight the source of the attack, but before she could come to a conclusion she heard a voice from a somewhat short distance.

“I’m surprised you were able to dodge that so easily.”

That voice, that voice sounded familiar.

No, it couldn’t be.

As quickly as it appeared, a gust of wind swept away the debris, wiping the area completely clean of any signs of attack.

Her eyes widened, staring directly at the figure that stood on the solid ground twenty feet away. It was-

“Sasuke?”

“Most people would have been killed by an attack like that.” The Uchiha stated coldly.

Shaking the surprise, Y/N pulled herself back into espionage mode. “What are you doing here, Sasuke? Finally have a guilty conscience and decide to get over your superiority complex?”

Sasuke didn’t react. He didn’t smirk, or laugh sarcastically, he simply stood there with a cool expression. “You’ve caused Orochimaru some trouble; eliminating his line of resources and so he’s asked me to deal with you.”

“He’s still alive then. I’m surprised, I figured by now you would have killed him and taken control over his lackeys.” Y/N continued to retort back while on the inside she was getting nervous.

He hadn’t demonstrated his full power, however she’s always known he was strong. He was a Uchiha afterall.

“That will come eventually. Unfortunately, there is still something I need from him so until then I will do what I have to do.”

Y/N didn’t have anything else to say instead she stood there quietly, her right hand subtly reaching behind her into her tool bag.

Just as she had the kunai out of the pouch, she watched Sasuke vanish and his overwhelming presence was suddenly behind her.

She whipped her head around, eyes meeting a pair of crimson ones.

________

“This is so stupid!” Naruto complained very loudly for all to hear.

“Oh shut up, Naruto! You haven't stopped complaining since we left the Hidden Waterfall Village.” Sakura yelled back at him.

All Naruto did was huff as the entire team dashed across the treetops.

“It’s just if there are going to be rumors about the Akatsuki hanging around, they could at least do me the favor of actually being there.” Naruto added with a pout.

“Are you serious?” Choji chirped in from the back of the formation.

Then Shikamaru cut in. “Think about it; if the Akatsuki were actually there, we would’ve had our hands full even with the six of us.”

“Besides, you should know by now that rumors are not always true. So stop pouting.” Ino interjected as well, her own annoyance palpable in her tone.

Naruto grumbled in response, whatever words he was spouting to himself not audible to anyone else.

He remained mumbling for a while, even sprinting ahead of everyone without thinking about it.

“Stupid Akatsuki, stupid mission, stupid Shikamaru, stupid…” His vision caught an unusual color in the corner of his eye.

It wasn’t far so he immediately went to go take a closer look, oblivious to his team members flying right by only to stop once they noticed he was going in a different direction.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Sai asked, not expecting anyone to know that answer.

“Naruto! What are you doing?” Sakura from up on a tree branch as she saw Naruto jump down to the dirt floor.

He did not turn around to reply, but kept walking through the grass and bushes of the forest. “There’s something weird over here.”

Sai, Sakura, Ino, Shikamru, and Choji all exchanged looks of confusion before Sakura followed after him first and hopped down off the tree.

Naruto had a few feet on them as he stepped into a small clearing, seeing blood painting the ground.

He gawked at the sight for a second then focused on the next unusual thing, more unusual than blood in the middle of the woods.

In the middle of the pools of blood sat a single black rose.

Throwing caution to the wind, Naruto reached forward to grab ahold of the rose. His fingers had barely skimmed the surface of the dark petals when Sakura’s voice called out to him.

“What are you doing?! It could set off a trap.”

Naruto was too wrapped up in his own thoughts that his brain didn’t register anything his teammate was saying as he turned around to face them with the rose in the palm of his hand.

“Guys, what’s a rose doing out in the middle of nowhere like this and around all this blood?”

Once the gang’s eyes rested on the rose in Naruto’s hand most of them remained confused, but Shikamaru’s expression changed to one of knowing anxiety.

“Black Rose.” Was all Shikamaru uttered and everyone looked over at him now.

“What?” Choji questioned first.

“There’s been a lot of disappearances within the Land of Fire lately, all kinds of ninja gone in the blink of an eye with only their blood and a single black rose left behind.” Shikamaru explained, taking a moment to observe the battle field they were standinding before continuing.

“While there’s not a lot of tangible proof, the ninja that’s been doing this has been credited with over a hundred assassinations over the last three years factoring in they are even assassinations; but given the amount of blood I would say so.”

Ino couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of three years. She subconsciously mouthed them to herself, and her mind immediately jumped to the realization that her best friend had been gone that exact amount of time.

Is it possible-

There was a thud and a rustling within a tree off to the team’s right, about six feet away.

It took only a moment for each member to get into a defensive formation as they eyed the direction in which the rustling came from.

The tree leaves moved around a bit some more and then a figure fell out from the tree landing at the team’s feet causing all of them to jump back.

Even Sakura and Ino had gasped when this mysterious fell out of thin air.

From what they could see, it was a female; about their age, probably about average height with what looked to be a long scarf hanging around her neck and covering part of her face.

It was easy to tell that she was very unconscious even with her face covered. And she was injured.

“She’s bleeding!” Naruto pointed out as soon as he realized that fact.

He rushed over to her side while assessing her wounds, then reached to pull her mask off. His back blocked the others' view of the female and they waited for any kind of signal from Naruto.

“Uh guys?” He said, voice laced with shock and a slight tremble of anxiousness.

“What is it, Naruto?” Shikamaru calmly asked.

Without another word, Naruto took a couple of steps to the side revealing the woman to them.

There was lull in all sound, even the breeze that rushed against their ears suddenly went quiet. Everything that had once made sound now only sounded like the white noise coming from a tv, growing louder by each passing second.

It was almost too much.

“Y/N?” Ino’s voice broke them out of their trance right before she took a hesitant step forward.

Her mind seemed to catch up as she lunged forward, her best friend’s name leaving her mouth one more time. “Y/N!”

She bent down next to Naruto, violet eyes darting across Y/N’s body to see if they were more serious injuries. In her search, she saw a large laceration across Y/N’s back. The blood from the wound had soaked into the fabric of her uniform causing a clot to form there.

“She has a severe wound on her back, it’s big; probably eight inches in length.” Ino started to describe, weaving a quick hand sign then holding her hand over Y/N’s back, her hands glowing green as she began to heal the opening.

Sakura rushed over, appearing on the other side of Y/N. “Has it begun to clot?”

“A bit.” Ino answered curtly. “It looks like the tissue itself wasn’t. The blood soaked into the shirt, it’s acting as a sort of gauze.”

The others stepped closer to nervously observe Ino and Sakura’s movements.

Sakura then reached into her back pouch to pull out a black-brownish jar with a rigid lid. “Sai! Come over here.”

Sai reacted swiftly, making it to Sakura’s side in no time as she opened the jar in her hands.

“Now Sai, I want you to very slowly and very carefully peel back the fabric of her shirt; as you do I’m going to apply this paste to keep the wound from bleeding. It’ll act as a temporary bandage. You got it?”

“Got it!”

And just as Sakura had said Sai followed her instructions to the letter and as she mentioned as well, every inch of skin that was revealed under the uniform shirt, she applied a nearly transparent gel onto the surface of the wound to keep it from free flowing.

The moment that was finished, Sakura put the jar away and directed her gaze to Ino. “We have to go, it’s another couple of hours to the village at least. If she’s gonna make it, we have to go now.”

Ino nodded, stopping her healing and taking a hold of one of Y/N’s arms; the one closest to her. “Let’s get her up.” Sai then assisted with the other arm, and they both wrapped each arm around their shoulders.

“If we really push it, we can make it back to the village in less time.” Shikamaru suggested, his expression now back to normal with a subtle hint of concern.

“Well let's hurry then.” Choji added.

Naruto quickly stood up from his position, bringing a fist slamming into his other palm with a look of determination on his face. “Yeah the only chance Y/N’s got is if we stop talking and get on with it.”

All six ninja exchanged brief glances at each other then took off in the direction of the village with Y/N coming in and out of consciousness.

It felt like a lifetime but eventually they made it and as Shikamaru had said, they really pushed it and got there in only thirty minutes.

It was definitely a rough half hour, although it was a small price to pay for getting their friend the treatment that she desperately needed.

They all barged into the hospital, shouting several things all at once that it was hard for the front desk nurse to understand what they were saying. The point got across after Lady Tsunade showed up.

She’d heard that Y/N had returned to the village or rather had been dragged back because she had a serious injury to the back.

Sakura requested that she assist Tsunade in the surgery, but she denied it saying that Shizune would assist which left Sakura feeling helpless.

Tsunade understood that she wanted to help her teammate and friend, someone who had disappeared much like her love Sasuke, but even from a glance she could easily discern that Y/N’s injuries were serious.

Even though Sakura was a skilled medic ninja, she lacked the experience of delicate surgeries and Y/N’s condition required delicacy.

Sakura, Naruto, Sai, Shikamaru, Ino, and Choi waited with what could barely be considered patience, out in the waiting room.

Everyone sat down in an uncomfortable chair except for Naruto; he opted to pace.

Of course it set everyone on edge, but he has always been a fidgety person so add a bit of stress to that and he couldn’t sit still.

Though, Sakura did yell at him for not sitting like a normal person (her words). Normally Naruto wouldn’t have argued with the matter because she would’ve beaten him to a pulp for not heeding her word, but not this time.

He exclaimed that there was no way he could sit down since one of his friends was in surgery. Sakura remained quiet after that.

The silence permeated the very air they were breathing as they kept waiting for some sort of news on Y/N’s condition.

Until finally, Tsunade came out to meet them.

“She’s going to be just fine.” That was the first thing she said to them with a confident smile.

All the young shinobi had sighed in relief, the stress dripping off their shoulders to disappear forever.

“However,” Tsunade prefaced, “She’s in a medically induced coma so she won’t wake up for a while. The best thing she needs right now is sleep; this is also to keep her from moving around with that back injury so it’ll heal.”

Once more the young ninja exchanged looks of relief, happy to know that their friend was going to make it.

________

Nearly a week passed before Y/N woke up from her coma.

Her eyes felt the glare from the sunlight seeping in from the outside, and a warm sensation encasing her wrist.

When her gaze shifted to the presence of the warmth, she saw Lady Tsunade standing at her bedside while checking her pulse.

Honestly, at first, she didn’t recognize Tsunade for a few seconds until she spoke up.

“Well hello there, sleepy head. Finally decided to wake up.”

Y/N blinked a few times. “Lady Tsunade?”

The Hokage gently set Y/N’s hand back down to her side before crossing her arms and smiling down at the young woman. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“How-” She looked around the hospital room confused. “How did I get here?”

“I had sent several of your friends out on a mission to investigate rumors of the Akatsuki near the Hidden Waterfall village and on they’re way back, they found you lying in the middle of the forest.” Tsunade wasted no time explaining, her smile falling to a more casual expression.

Y/N’s eyes darted away to the hospital ceiling again, mouth gaped open subconsciously as her mind flashed back to that last thing she remembered.

“I vaguely remember somebody picking me up from the ground, but it’s all kind of hazy after that.” Y/N admitted.

Tsunade took a deep breath before speaking. “That’s not shocking, you were critically injured. It’s a miracle you were still alive when they brought you in.”

Both paused to gather their thoughts, the room becoming silent.

“What happened to you out there?” Tsunade asked with a startling seriousness.

She took some time to think through it, going back to every second stuck in her struggle against an old classmate. A classmate she actually used to know fairly well, and now he was nothing more than a stranger that she crossed unfortunate paths with.

“It was Sasuke.”

Tsunade didn’t even look surprised or shocked, it seemed as though she was already aware of who had almost killed her. After a minute or two, Tsunade nodded (more to herself).

“I see.”

“You don’t look surprised.” Y/N mentioned quickly.

The older blonde woman shook her head. “When I was performing your surgery, it was easy to make out the lightning pattern on your back. And not only that, upon taking a closer look I could see that the lightning had managed to barely sear the bone of your spine.”

She watched Y/N’s eyes widened at the revelation. Tsunade continued, “The attack was so precise that it scarred the bone, there’s one person I can think of that could use lightning like that.”

Y/N listened in horror, while trying to keep her mind from exploding with all the information coming in at once. “I am going to be okay?”

“Yes, luckily the scarring on your spine was superficial and there was no permanent damage that will affect your ability to walk or anything of the sort. The real problem was trying to close off the laceration, but that’s been taken care of too.”

“Oh thank goodness…” Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, holding her hand up to her chest.

Tsunade stepped forward, arms resting back at her sides. “However, you will need to rest as much as you can and you’ll need to start physical therapy.”

Y/N grumbled something under her breath; she would’ve rolled her eyes but her head hurt too much.

“Don’t get an attitude with me. It’s important to get your body back up to speed, that surgery took a lot out of you.” Tsunade scolded, her own brows pinching together in a frown.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” The younger ninja waved her off, choosing to now stare at the wall ahead of her as she sat up against her pillows.

She tried to suppress a deep rooted groan, unfortunately it proved useless, as the shock of pain in her back caught her off guard.

Her mouth let out a gasp before her teeth came clamping down on each other to soften any other noises that would try to escape. 

“Try to move around slowly. Even if you were asleep for a week, you need to give yourself some time to heal.”

Y/N’s nearly popped out of her skull when those words processed in her brain. “A week? I’ve been here a whole week?”

Lady Tsunade opened her mouth to say something only to be interrupted when the hospital room door came slamming open.

“I can’t take it anymore!”

A familiar bright blonde haired male came bursting into the room with no regard for what anyone else was saying (Tsunade). He ran over to Y/N’s bedside, a now bright grin on his face.

“Hey Y/N, how ya doing?” He asked casually. It soon earned him a hard whack to the back of the head, a pink haired girl moving in.

“Naruto, you idiot! I told you to WAIT!” Sakura shouted quite angrily. Then she yanked Naruto back by the collar of his orange and black jacket.

Slowly, but surely several other people began to filter into the room, each other with their own unique uniform design.

And she knew every single one of them! Her face didn’t show it but she was glad to see them, it had been too long since the last time she saw them and now here they were.

Every one of them was taller than she remembered; particularly Shikamaru. Back then, she used to think that Shikamaru was kind of small but not so much now; he was fuller, broader.

He had grown up quite a bit.

Sakura had still been yelling at Naruto when Y/N shook herself out of her head, and focused on what was happening right now.

“Come on, Sakura…Cut me some slack okay? It’s been forever since I saw her last.”

��Ugh…” Sakura sighed as she placed a couple of fingers to her temple to dampen the oncoming headache. She switched gears in a few seconds as she faced Y/N, a small replacing the scowl.

“It’s been too long though, what have you been up to?” She nicely asked.

Y/N paused for a second as she thought of what to say; suddenly her throat felt unusable and her mind blanked. All the time she spent thinking of her friends, she never thought about what she’d say once she saw them again.

“O-oh…you know, finishing up a mission” She plainly answered, trying to sound like she used to.

What did she used to sound like?

There echoed a collective noise of surprise coming from her friends, their faces matching that.

“A mission? You mean the past three years, you’ve been on a mission?” Ino cut in, stepping forward to now be standing close by Y/N’s left side.

Y/N’s eyes danced over the faces of the people she once knew, to realize that they were different. It made her throat feel snapped shut.

She swallowed, noticing the soreness of it. “Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Choji asked, his voice taking on obvious sadness.

Y/N went to answer but Tsunade cut her off. “It was a stealth mission of the highest order. It needed to be kept secret. No one was allowed to even be aware of why or when she was leaving the village.”

“So that’s why you left without saying goodbye.” Ino voiced as she held her hand against her chest as if she were trying to keep herself focused on the now instead of thinking on what happened back then. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but when she learned that Y/N was gone and no one knew why, she feared that she had succumbed to the same darkness that corrupted Sasuke.

Y/N was her best friend, they told each other everything especially the dumbest of stuff. They always said “Hi” or Good morning, always trading a goodbye before departing on a mission. In some weird way, they felt secure in that. To them it felt like a guarantee that even though they said goodbye it would never be the last.

So when Y/N suddenly wasn’t there anymore, it left Ino afraid that she had been unable to stop her from following a path with no way to return.

Y/N hung her head in shame, now having a difficult time looking them in the eyes. All she saw was the lingering disappointment swimming in their eyes.

“You’re different than before.” Naruto added in the middle of the silence.

She knew all too well.

“Back then, whenever you were around us you were always smiling, always laughing with us. And even when we’d end up in the hospital after a mission, you were always there to cheer us up.” Naruto continued, his usual boisterous personality on the back burner as he spoke softly and sincerely.

“But now, you’ve got this blank look on your face like you don’t know what smiling is.”

He wasn’t wrong. Not at all.

Three years spent on a mission tucking away her feelings, forgetting how much she missed being home and being with friends, and forgetting what made her who she is would make anyone feel as if they didn’t belong in the very place they called home.

It wasn’t a revelation she was prepared for.

The moment she tied that headband to her head she thought the it would be in the middle of the battlefield that she’d feel the most on edge, never did she think that moment would fall on her when she was surrounded by those she loved.

“Don’t be so insensitive, Naruto.” Sakura scolded him again, though this time she spoke less angrily and more concerned for Y/N’s reaction.

“Look, what I’m saying is that you’re not the same as before. What happened out there?”

Finally, Y/N looked up. “A lot of things happened out there. And-”

“Okay, that’s enough for one day.” Shikamaru advised after several minutes of not speaking.

“But Shikamaru-” Naruto began but Shikamaru spoke over him.

“Remember she’s suffered a critical injury; she still needs time to heal and us bringing up details of a delicate mission isn’t helping.”

At that, Naruto’s blue eyes drifted to the tiled floor in a silent agreement.

“Shikamaru is right, the best thing you all can do for her is to let her rest. Her bandages need replaced anyway, so clear out.” Tsunade ordered gently while crossing her arms over her chest.

Silently, each member made their way out of the room, glancing back to Y/N a few times (collectively) before they were out the door. Y/N and Tsunade waited until they could no longer hear their footsteps to say anything else.

“He’s right.” Y/N uttered, staring down at her palms.

“That’s his other gift…” Tsunade said thoughtfully, walking around Y/N’s bed to face the window. “He senses changes in people, no matter how subtle. It’s easy to forget when he acts like a moron.”

Y/N felt her mouth quirk up into a sentimental smile. “It's because of that ability that makes him such a force to be reckoned with.”

“I agree.” Tsunade stood by the window for a few more moments then looked over her shoulder at Y/N. “Alright, how about we get those bandages changed?”

________

Time passed, at what felt like, a blink. 

Another week passed before Y/N was cleared to go home, but it felt like time rushed by her. Even when her friends would visit her, the hours they’d spend trying to fill Y/N on what she missed, seemed like mere minutes; gone without a chance to turn around. 

Maybe that was better. 

Since that first visit, Y/N hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of guilt hanging over her. Every time any one of her old friends came to see her, she saw the sadness in their eyes. 

She attempted to act like how she used to, happily-go-lucky, but it was all forced and definitely difficult to keep that up so she quickly decided to let it naturally come back to her. 

Whenever that would happen. 

It was hard; knowing that her friends expected her to revert back to the old days, and be who she was. And she wanted to be that for them, she truly did, it’s just being on a mission that negated any sort of humanly interaction or connection made it seem like it was all a dream to begin with. 

And when she couldn’t deliver, the disappointment always returned. 

Now she was a walking blank canvas; splashed with a coat of white to hide any unique colors and patterns.

It almost scared her how much she didn’t react or feel.

Would she ever be the same? 

The thought lingered at the forefront of her mind while Y/N sat criss cross on her own bed. 

Her back was slouching a bit which caused her to grunt in pain when she straightened herself out again. 

Lady Tsunade ordered her to sit as straight as she possibly could to help the healing process, but she was a creature of habit so she’d start out with correct posture then slip back into a slouch then would quickly correct herself again. 

It was causing a lot of unnecessary pain. 

Y/N huffed as she forced her shoulders to lie straight and back up, being as perpendicular as she could. While she did so, she kept her eyes on the blue sky filled with an abundance of white, fluffy clouds. 

Cloud watching was a hobby of her’s, particularly when there wasn’t a lot going on during her mission. 

Any time she felt nervous or anxious or bored, she’d tilt her head back and watch them float. 

There was something very relaxing about that process. 

But she didn’t enjoy it for long when a knock came at her door. Y/N perked up, head whipping to the other side of her room. 

“Who is it?” She asked aloud. 

“It’s me, Ino.” The muffled voice said on the other side of the door. 

Bracing herself, Y/N carefully lifted her aching body up from the bed to make her way to the front door. 

She opened the door to find an anxious Ino, twiddling her thumbs. “Hi.”

“Hey, can you come with me somewhere?” Ino abruptly asked. 

Y/N raised a brow at her. “I guess, but where are we going?”

Her answer visibly made Ino relax. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “It’s a surprise.” 

Then she turned on her heel, making her way down the apartment building hallway and in no time, Y/N followed close behind her. 

For some reason, Ino chose not to make conversation on the way to wherever it was they were going. 

Instead she quietly led the way, leaving the village houses behind with each passing step and ventured through some trees. 

Something about the path they were taking looked familiar, so much so that it caused a warmth to center in Y/N’s gut spreading over her nerves like a warm blanket.

When it came to forests, three years isn’t enough time for it to change, and it looked exactly as it did back then. 

Ino eventually stepped through the set of trees, and made it into a sunbathed clearing, completely lavished with a mass of flowers. 

Y/N eyes grew wide at the sight; she couldn’t remember the last time she had been here even before she left. 

Once she graduated from the academy there was never time to come back here, to relax and enjoy the simple colors of the flowers and their comforting smells wafting through the air.

It still looked like the small piece of heaven she loved so dearly. 

“I can tell you remember this place.” Ino finally said, turning around to fully face Y/N; a soft smile on her face. “I know how much you used to love it here.”

“Why are we here?” Y/N asked, her own gaze observing every flower grazing her legs. 

Ino stepped up to Y/N, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Because we loved this place when we were kids, so let’s enjoy it.”

Then Ino lightly nudged Y/N to follow her again and this time they didn’t walk that much further when they met a slight slope slanting downwards from where they were. 

Ino took a spot on the small slope, then again nudged for Y/N to sit down with her. She did. 

As soon as Y/N seated herself onto a patch of grass, Ino reached out and pulled out a white flower with a yellow center. “Do you remember what kind of flower this is?”

Y/N let out a quick airy laugh, caught slightly off guard by the question. “Uh..a jasmine.”

Ino nodded with a smile. Still holding the jasmine, she plucked out another one. This flower was drenched in a bright pink, petals resembling lace. “This one?”

“A carnation.” 

She picked another one; it had a long green stem with a bushel of tiny purple petals at the top. “This one?”

Y/N nodded. “Lavender.” 

Reaching for one more, Ino pulled up a flower with a somewhat stringy inside, center white and the petals gradually from that bright white to a light pink. 

“How about this one?” 

To Y/N’s shock, she didn’t recognize it. It definitely looked familiar, but there were several other flowers popping in her head that matched the look of it. 

Staring at the flower, Y/N cautiously shook her head as if she were afraid she would disappoint Ino. 

Ino held the flower up to her nose to smell the fragrance, closing her eyes a second to relish it before opening them again. “It’s a gladiolus.” 

Y/N sadly decided not to respond to that. 

“It was your favorite one back then. When we were still in the academy, you told Sakura and I  that they could be all sorts of colors like pink..” she gestured to the pink one in her hand. “Or yellow or white. And you also said that they had healing properties used by our medic ninja. It was easy to tell how excited you were to tell us about it; how much you knew about flowers.” 

“What’s going on, Ino? Why are we out here?” Y/N finally confronted the strange behavior of her friend. 

Ino rested her hands in her lap, the flowers she’d plucked nearly falling from her limp hands. “I thought that if I could remind you of what you used to do, what we used to do together when we were kids, maybe it’d bring back the part of you that’s been hiding.” 

“And you were the only one who wasn’t disappointed in me to try, huh?” Y/N laughed humorlessly. 

Quickly, Ino faced her friend. “None of us were disappointed in you. We were all worried because you weren’t yourself anymore, and we could see how upset that made you.”

“Then why are you the only one who’s said anything? Why are you the only one out here?” Y/N began to feel the hopelessness grow in her chest like an infection. 

Somewhere in the past week, she had rationalized that she had lost her friends because she couldn’t be there the same way as she could three years ago. 

“I’m the only one out here because I asked everyone if I could be the first to help you remember. After this, Sakura and Naruto got their own thing planned for you.” 

“What do you mean?” Y/N questioned, utterly confused by that statement. 

“Well…” Ino began then recounted what happened only a few hours ago. 

It was the middle of the afternoon when Sakura, Ino, and Naruto strolled down the street. Originally, Sakura and Ino were walking together but then Naruto saw them and caught up to them to talk as well. 

There was some simple chatter going on between them when Naruto began to complain. “Don’t you guys think it’s weird that Y/N isn’t acting like herself anymore?”

Sakura and Ino stopped in their tracks, standing beside each other as Naruto took a few steps ahead before stopping himself, arms coming down to his sides after being held up in a casual posture. 

“It’s not weird.” Ino answered somberly. 

Sakura frowned. “It isn’t unusual for people to change when they’ve been alone on a mission for that long, especially if it was high priority.” 

Naruto gritted his teeth. “I know, but it’s still weird to me. She used to be so happy back then, it was never boring when she was around, she had so much energy and now it’s like that person is gone. Like someone is impersonating her.”

“She’s not gone.” Ino was quick to add. “I can still see the cheerful girl we used to know, I think she’s just got lost along the way.” 

Sakura nodded. “I think you’re right.”

There was a brief inter pause when Ino gasped, startling both Sakura and Naruto. “I have an idea!” 

The other two ninja waited patiently for Ino to tell them what her idea was. 

“We’ve been trying to fill her in on all that she’s missed the past three years right? Well if we instead we show her things of our past together, from when we were kids?”

Sakura’s eyes lit up. “Like when we played in the river together?”

“Or when we read comic books and played games together?!” Naurot chided, his voice grew louder than it was seconds ago. 

Ino snapped her fingers and grinned. “Exactly! If we re-experience places we went, things we liked to do then maybe we could remind her of who she is.”

“It’s worth a shot at least.” Sakura smiled, looking between Ino and Naruto. 

Naruto threw his fist up in the air. “Are you kidding me? That idea is awesome!” 

“Alright, then from now on, each of us will try to remind Y/N of our precious memories together. Ready?” Ino closed her hand, and stuck a fist out to her friends. 

Sakura and Naruto both bumped Ino’s fist, earning an excited cheer from all three at the same time. 

“You see? That’s all we want, is for you to remember not who you used to be but who you are.” Ino explained, leaning over to a bundle of gladiolus flowers and extending them toward Y/N.

Her violet gaze could see the beginnings of tears gathering in Y/N’s eyes. “Like these gladiolus, maybe we could begin to heal you. If that’s okay?”

They fell, the tears that had been clouding her vision rolled down her cheeks, leaving a warm sensation in their wake. 

For the first time in a long time, Y/N let out a relieved sob, taking the bundle of flowers from Ino’s grasp. Her head dipped down to stare at the colorful bouquet, watching her tears fall onto the petals and pool there. 

The shame and guilt that hung off her injured back, finally disappeared, giving her the chance to breathe again, to actually breathe. Each inhale of air felt cold going down her throat but left her refreshed. 

It was overwhelming.

Ino gave her space, letting her friend cry, to push out everything that she’d kept buried under a lock and key. 

It wasn’t until Y/N had pulled her head back up and extended her arms out, that she hugged Y/N tightly to her and she reciprocated. Ino could feel her own tears begin to build. 

Y/N cried a little while longer, then allowed herself to speak through the sobs. “Thank you; for not giving up on me.” 

Ino pulled back, hands then resting softly on Y/N’s shoulders again. “That’s what friends are for.” 

That caused Y/N to let out a tearful laugh and Ino mimicked that. 

It was good to be home.

a/n: this was a long one, and I probably wrote more than I really needed to but honestly I do that more than people think. Regardless, if you're reading this thank you for making it all the way through this; it was a lot.

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 9 Ch 1-3

On the one hand, I'm loving the Wolfwood centric chapters because I think he's such an interesting character. On the other hand, I know what's coming and the looming presence of vol 10 haunts me the further in I get. But here are some thoughts on Wolfwood and Livio from the first half of this volume.

Ch 1

Omg more baby Wolfwood!!! And a baby Livio!!!

Damn, Wolfwood is very determined to get across this bridge. I wonder why the guard looked like he recognized him though.

Wolfwood is such an annoying big brother, just tossing things at poor crying Livio’s head. Notice though that he’s just trying to feed him and keep him hydrated. He’s always been disguising his sweetness and care as rudeness. 

Oh Wolfwood, he’s just trying to give Livio’s life meaning when he doesn’t feel like he’s worth anything. I wonder how long he’s been at the orphanage to be so familiar with that feeling of being worthless that he treats it so casually. It’s certainly not as new or raw as it is for Livio.

Oh yay, Livio!! He saved that girl and now he feels accomplished! 

Livio’s eyes looking all blank and empty while he’s standing in a dark alley…it’s so ominous. I really gotta give Nightow here that we haven’t spent a lot of time with young Livio and he’s already making me feel a lot of emotions about him. 

Oh no. OH NO. This doesn’t get any easier to handle on second read. Livio looks so scared of himself when he sees the blood on his hands and especially the look on Jasmine’s face when she sees him afterwards.

And still, Wolfwood is defending him! Once you’re his friend, once he cares about you, that’s it. He’s in it for the long haul. In reality, he has such a big heart, and the Eye of Michael tried so hard to kill that part of him. 

So, Wolfwood comes home to find it besieged by the man he once thought of as a brother, who he barely recognizes anymore. It’s pretty grim, and Livio himself looks like he has mixed feelings about being back.

Oh? I thought Livio was part of the Eye of Michael. Why was he thrown out? Also, isn’t Chapel the head? Can’t he just…reinstate him if he wants, without this whole proving himself charade? This is Chapel though so I don’t know why I’m expecting anything different. 

Also more reasons I want to hunt Chapel for sport. His love for his family is what kept Wolfwood human and what motivated him for all these years. It’s the best thing about him. (Though there’s some foreshadowing to him saying these attachments are fatal…I’m gonna take a break to sob in the corner for a sec, brb)

Where did these children get a gun from??? Actually, on this planet, I don’t know why I’m even asking that question, guns are everywhere. But still. 

These mercenaries are the worst of the worst. Like, calling children worthless and being so willing to kill them for just some money, just to get a rise out of someone. Says a lot about the Eye of Michael that this is who they hire.

But hey, Livio comes to the rescue! Though whether it was actually to save the kid or just to see what was going on remains to be seen.

Ch 2

So the orphanage kids vaguely recognize Wolfwood as someone they think they know, though he’s older than he should be. Thus begins the question that has been plaguing me for months: how old is Wolfwood??? 

Wolfwood comes in and fucks shit up, as usual. But the big thing here, as many people have pointed out, he’s giving them a chance. He’s not shooting to kill. He’s living up to Vash’s, and now his own, philosophy. To the bitter end, he’s going to try and be a better person. 

But these guys are horrible. Like I said, the worst example of humanity to contrast Wolfwood (who at least in Vash’s eyes is something like the shining example of humanity in all its complexity). The mercenaries shoot their “friend” rather than save him to get a bigger share. As if we needed any more reminding what Wolfwood is up against. 

Wolfwood is really playing up the action hero bit this time. And you know what, it’s so cool. 

But he totally learned that fake-out shooting background trick from when Vash rescued. They’re learning from each other. (Aaaaand I’ve made myself sad again)

I love a good callback! Wolfwood once told Vash this and told him he’d have to make a choice. But now we know he was also talking about himself. He hasn’t had a lot of options over the years, especially once he joined the Eye. But now, it’s time for him to make a choice. He has to decide who he is, whose side he’s on, and what he’s willing to do to protect what he loves. 

I hate to say this, but for once Chapel has a teeny tiny point. Wolfwood doesn’t have room for doubt here, and he is a man who has had a lot of doubts over the course of the story, both about Vash’s actions and his own. There isn’t any more time to run away from his situation. He has to face it head on and with surety.

Exactly, Chapel! Wolfwood hasn’t changed, he’s stayed true to himself and the man he wants to be. He’s not using his true powers because that would mean killing and above all, Wolfwood is done being a murderer. Before he was killing to protect his family, but now he’s decided that’s enough. For them, he’ll stop and he’ll save them without giving up another piece of his soul. 

Okay, Chapel, I get that you want him to be an efficient killer, but Wolfwood is 100% maiming these guys to get through them. Like, they are not coming out of this unscathed, in the slightest. He’s very much putting them out of commission as well. 

LIVIO CAUGHT A ROCKET AND REDIRECTED IT WITH HIS BARE HANDS???? INSANE!!! 

On the one hand, yay Livio saved the orphanage! On the other hand, he did it because orders and also because Chapel isn’t done using the orphanage to torment Wolfwood.

Ch 3

Awww, the kids remember Wolfwood and think of him as a protector. Because that’s who he is at heart!!! 

“We have to rely on ourselves. We cannot rely on someone who isn’t here.” BUT HE IS!!!! AND HE CAME BECAUSE HE LOVES HIS HOME SO MUCH. 

Has Wolfwood been wondering for all these years what happened to Livio? Did he literally only in the last few months find out that he’s also a member of the Eye? Either way, it’s a gut punch for him to be confronted by him and realize how much he’s changed. That crybaby Livio has so wholeheartedly taken to being a killer, when Wolfwood once tried so hard to protect him from that. 

Poor Livio. No Man’s Land is such a cruel world that people just beat up helpless kids for being in the way. He left the orphanage, a place where he was safe and loved, because he felt like he was a danger, because he felt like he didn’t deserve their love and care. Livio himself isn’t much of a fighter, but he doesn’t even try to defend himself. This is just what he believes a monster like himself deserves. 

The Razlo notes are so ominous, but Livio just laughs at them. They’re violent but they’re also offering to protect him, and he just shrugs it off. He doesn’t want anything at all. 

My favorite, though, is “I’ll be your fangs.” Perhaps like Double Fang? 

As Livio is being badly beaten, he thinks of saving Jasmine, but he’s also overcome by how much he just doesn’t care anymore. He’s sick of being a punching bag and of being helpless. What does it matter now if he’s violent if at least it gets the hurt to stop? 

I love that Razlo is literally represented as a dark shadow the first time Livio meets him because he’s literally Livio’s dark shadow, the part of himself he’s been afraid of for so long. 

Notice how we can only see one of Razlo’s eyes, his left one. The same side of Livio’s face that’s covered in blood and the same side of his face he wears his skull mask on. He’s literally split in two, between life and death, purity and blood. 

Okay, but how did Razlo know about the Eye? Was it because they’d come to the orphanage recruiting while Livio was there? But they obviously don’t present themselves as a cult of assassins when they come (at least, I assume they don’t, because I can’t imagine Ms. Melanie willing giving children to them otherwise), so how would Razlo know that they would fit in there?

I forgot Wolfwood goes for a kill shot here! Although, he knows he’s up against the Eye so it’s not gonna keep Livio down forever. But imagine reading this as it was coming out and thinking Wolfwood actually killed him! Because it certainly reads that way.

[jewwyfeesh]

Things that Gradually Drift Away - 1 (2024 ver)

Writer: Mitsuki

Characters: Sakuma Ritsu, Isara Mao

Translated by: jewwyfeesh

Mao: You’re working really hard too, so you don’t have to bother yourself with that ‘troublesome one’ of mine anymore, okay?

2024 remake of the first ever tl posted here; im still having some technical difficulties so pictures will be few. happy reading!

[ ♪ ]

Season: Summer

Location: Yumenosaki Academy Library

Ritsu: Good evening, ‘Transfer Student’ ♪ Why are you still here so late? It's Summer vacation right now; you’re not gonna find another soul in school.

Good children go home at night~ It’s not like you’re me. If you loiter around in these kinds of places at night, you might get snatched away by monsters you know?

…‘Transfer Student’, you look so lifeless now. Usually, you would’ve already talked back by now, saying stuff like “it’s still daytime, night hasn’t fallen yet”; even if I explain, you wouldn’t listen.

But, not talking back is also praise-worthy, yes? Would you like me to praise you?

Naaah, I think not. ‘Cause it’s too troublesome ♪

…Mm, why would I be here during the ‘nighttime’, and awake too? To be honest, the thing I cannot stand the most is the sun. I should be sleeping right now because I don’t have the energy, nor do I have the strength.

I wasn’t aware of this just now, but after hearing the ‘Transfer Student’ mention it, I found that rather unimaginable.

Perhaps it’s aaaaall Maa~kun’s fault?

It’s already the Summer holidays, but Maa~kun’s still drowning in work, and has to come back every day. He’ll be kinda pitiful if I’m not arround to accompany him, right?

That’s why I’m in school too. When the sun shines on my back, it’s like I’m being tortured.

But I am willing to suffer for my no good ‘childhood sweetheart’[1].

This is how things actually went, but Maa~kun wasn’t grateful at all, and kept complaining non stop.

Truly, what a dishonest child. I wonder what went wrong during his early childhood education ♪

Soooo that’s how I ended up over here. Sleeping here is very comfortable. The air conditioning is cooling, and the books are super useful. If you’d like to try, I can give you half of my stack.

Eh? You’re here to look for materials?

Like this, you practically have no free time, ‘Transfer Student’. Ah, don’t tell me – I don’t want to know. If I heard about it, it’ll increase my troubles even if I’m not interested in the slighest.

Slow and easy is the best… ♪

But even so, the very least I could do is to help you look for some books, for I’m most familiar with this area ♪ What kind of materials are you looking for? I’ll tell you where they are, and you can go retrieve them yourself.

After you’ve found them, leave this place to me yeah? Fuwaaaa… fu… ♪

…My, the curiosity of you teenagers truly knows no bounds. The book I’m reading, and the things you’re looking for, have no correlation whatsoever.

Even if it’s just the name, I am under no obligation to tell you. So you can stop asking about it~

Knowing more isn’t always a good thing~ There will always be situations where knowing less is more – you’ll be happier that way.

You see, taking the ‘Seven Mysteries of Yumenosaki’ as an example. Before knowing of it, you weren’t scared, right, ‘Transfer Student’? But the second you came to know about it, even the smallest action could cause you to faint ♪

See, for fabricated ‘mysteries’… when the number of people who are in on it increases, it’s no longer scary. The fewer people who know about it, the higher its effectiveness.

If everyone knows about it, it is no longer a ‘mystery’ that can hold its water, no?

Whatever I’m preparing right now is precisely that – thus, I cannot leak anything to you, ‘Transfer Student’. So be good and just give it up ♪

Ah… My throat is so dry from constantly yapping to you, and it hurts. Help me open this drink, ‘Transfer Student’. I’ve already done so much for you.

Gimme ♪ ‘Transfer Student’ won’t deny anyone of anything, huh, which is why everyone flocks to your side. Everyone in Knights, Anija… Maa~kun too.

Or… Should I say, you have some ‘mysterious’ power that can draw people in? If that’s the case, could you give me some of your blood too? Who knows, maybe your superpower is flowing through your veins ♪

…I’m kidding. I don’t want your blood. When you’ve found whatever you’re here for, get out. Hurry up, and stop disturbing me.

Remember to shut the door properly. I’m about to go to sleep, so if another reckless bastard barges in like you did, things won’t be fun. Doing things at this hour is really too tiring.

Location: Student Council Room

Mao: Oh, thank you ‘Transfer Student’! You’ve done a great favour looking for all those materials for me.

I’m so sorry – I’d only intended on getting your assistance with planning for Trickstar’s Summer vacation training, but you ended up getting dragged to help out the Student Council.

The week prior were chock full of exams and ‘S1’ and whatever not, so the paperwork accumulated by the Student Council is taller than a mountain. Just sparing it a glance makes my head hurt so bad.

If I continue being buried in work like this, I think I might need to ask the Vice President for some stomach medication?

That’s why I had to call on you for help, ‘Transfer Student’. Even though these documents can’t be handled by someone outside of the Student Council, but… I think it should be okay for you to help look for some related materials…?

To say the truth, we’re really shorthanded right now. Everyone’s practically at their wits end.

Ah, but there’s no need to worry. I won’t keel over and die before the work gets completed. I feel a little lighter being able to tell you all of this.

Don’t take it to heart, okay? Else I’ll feel really apologetic.

Oh, speaking of which… Did you see Ritchan in the library? Has he been resting?

Huh? That’s rare – for him to be awake during the daytime, and reading to boot…?

Usually no amount of yelling would have any use. He’s really laid-back, isn’t he?

Ritchan would never let himself feel tired… Even though I say this, I’m still worried. I’ll head over to the library to check on him… and take a little break while I’m there.

‘Transfer Student’, you think there’s something off about him too, right?

I really apologise for the trouble he’s brought you. He’s older than you, yet you still have to run after him for this and that.

You’re working really hard too, so you don’t have to bother yourself with that ‘troublesome one’ of mine anymore, okay?

Matters regarding ‘childhood friends’[1]… you can leave it to me, the ‘childhood friend’ in question ♪

It’s okay, you can let me handle it. After all, I’m plenty experienced in this area.

Hey! Don’t give me that kind of look. I don’t take pleasure in doing this – I’m only saying it because I’m really used to it.

[ ☆ ]

Story Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

[1] here they use the cn idiom 青梅竹马, which means childhood sweethearts / a couple that had an innocent affection for each other in their childhood / a couple who grew up as childhood friends

[ussjellyfish]

1, 3 and/or 24 for the fic writer asks! (These are questions that could run long answering, so feel free to answer as many or as few as you like, please!)

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I wrote several drabbles, which was so much fun. I love how they're like poetry and you're so limited with what you can do or come up with. It's all about the economy of it, and I get wordy or have too much talking, so drabbles are really good for me. They're an excellent challenge.

They were fun to write and turned out well! people enjoyed them. I'm really into my niche little OTP at the moment so my audience is small, kind, and generous. They were enjoyed. I got to really think about how to make the most use out of the words I have.

Another new thing I did was write in second person POV? I have this very odd little fic (you will be mentioned in their biographies) which is about a side character to my current OTP, and how he perceives them, and it was neat to write. I had been having a bit of a block, so somehow writing that cleared my thoughts and I was able to work on Quantum (which is wonderful).

I have only written second person pov once before, so this was an adventure, but it let me say some fun poetic things and really get into how someone like Vance (who is the shining example of a good admiral, good dad, good person, but not extraordinary). He's a utility admiral, where he does a great job, but he's not a protagonist (like Janeway, or Sisko, or Kirk).

Michael is, and how strange it must be to have someone like her just turn up and turn your universe upside down, because she's that once in a blue moon, virtuoso kind of captain.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

The USSJellyfish signature fic (because I am the babyfic specialist) is the long, slow moving, character gets pregnant (usually through accidental-magical-handwavy means) and goes on a long emotional journey before giving birth under unpredictable circumstances (I think I have about 10 of these, depending on how I define it). Sometimes I don't get to the birth, depending on how long the story is. Sometimes my head moves on before I get there, some of these are REALLY long and took me more than two years to complete.

This is one of my favorite things to write. I get to fully immerse myself into the character's feelings. I get to do the big world building, I get to go on a journey...they're wonderful fics to write.

They take work, and it's HARD to sustain that kind of effort and inspiration for two years or so. i have a few that I burned out on the ship before I finished, or swapped.

The first one I posted was started in 2007, so I've been at this for 16 years.

It's the most self indulgent wonderful thing to write (for me). It's so much fun when it goes well and I love it and getting to the birth is wonderful because there's so much I can do with a birth scene, I love them. Usually my favorite characters haven't had children in canon so I have to do some cheating (Star Trek makes it easy, so does Once Upon a Time, and Agents of SHIELD).

I feel guilty about writing them. They're just babyfic and not important and not really plotty and no one really needs them and just niche for me and...self indulgent. So very self indulgent.

And that's okay. (I sort of believe it typing it but, I know intellectually that they're wonderful and fill a space and people should write what they want to write and enjoy it. What really matters is that they're bringing joy, to me writing them, to the handful of people reading them.

I learned in 2022 that I could write without needing to get feedback. Firefly (Star Trek Discovery, Mirror Philippa Georgiou & learning to have feelings), has several chapters that have no comments, and I wasn't sure if anyone was reading them, but I enjoyed writing them.

I got a little spoilt in 2022 and 2023 having people who would workshop plot ideas with me, and they're much busier than they were so that's gone for the moment. So I have to get back to the independent writing place. (I'm kind of there, it's less fun). It's also hard writing something that takes two years, because if you want to work on it with people, you need people who will be into what you're into for two years, and have time to play with you, for two years. I have several stories that have outlasted the friendship I had at the beginning. Usually I made other friends by the end, but it's a long, lonely endeavor.

There's a venn diagram of niche ship and having time to work on it and sustained interest and I feel rather alone at the moment (again, I've been there before) and it's okay. It's a good challenge to work through things on my own and have a dialogue with myself about what I'm writing. It's doable. It's less fun.

Life in general is a lonely place at the moment. I need to make new offline friends and branch out my online friends and...

One of the ways I make friends online is talking about writing and shipping and when I'm really into my tiny tiny ship. (as I am in the moment) it's not the easiest way to make friends.

The thing I'm trying to say that I've learned about myself as a writer, is that I am capable of being a self-sustaining creature. When I'm really into something, it's nice to just let myself enjoy it, and write what I want to write. I shouldn't (but do) feel bad for that, and lonely, but...the only way out is through. So I need to write what I like, and enjoy it. The other option is not writing, which is miserable. Writing by myself is better than not writing because I don't have people, but it's a different kind of energy. Less of a yes and, sort of thing, more of a find your joy.

Embrace it? I learn to be less self-conscious of a writer as I go, but it's always a process.

Right now I'm writing the "giving birth under unpredictable circumstances" chapters for my favorite ship at the moment (Michael/Laira) which is my emotional climax to my favorite ship at the moment in my favorite kind of fic to write so it's everything I like at one time.

AND IT'S HARD.

I need to get it right and find the right emotions and I have to drag myself into it to write it with the right emotional truth and detail and senses and...

It's the best but it's hard, and I'm on with it, so extra hard. (who wants to plot babyfic birth scenes...it's super niche).

I feel guilty for having likes that are so...unliked? That's a thing.

I enjoy it enough to keep going though.

[frogs-in3-hills]

14 and 27 for the writing asks!!!

14. where do you get your inspiration?

aaah tough question! honestly i get the greatest inspiration from other art/writing. which in some ways i think is indicative of my inexperience with writing in general, not saying that’s a bad thing just the truth haha. but beyond that i also just love storytelling as a mode of having conversation with other stories. fanfic and genre fiction appeal to me because they let me examine how the cogs turn in other works that i love, and expand on the ideas that are most interesting to me. also sometimes i’ll just see a great bit of prose and go “wow i wish i could write like that! i better go practice writing now so one day i can be that good!”

recently i’ve been trying to be more intentional with filling my creative well, so i’ve been keeping a journal where i write down cool stuff that i come across. probably 50% of it is animal and plant facts, so if i ever write sci-fi i am very prepared to come up with some weirdass aliens agdjgc. so i guess i would say that science and nature is a big inspiration for me as well! those things come up frequently in my work (best published example is my fma fic, but i also have a lot of wips rn that rely heavily on science-as-metaphor).

27. what is your favorite part of the writing process

it’s tied between two things! the first is the very beginning when i’m just brainstorming and writing random scenes to feel out the energy i want. i jump all over the place when i write, so the beginning is when i feel like i have the most freedom to go with my gut and let my best ideas dictate how the rest of the story will flow. i am absolutely that guy who will write a whole story around that one cool bit of dialogue i came up with in the shower

second is near the end, when i’ve had a bit of time to sit away from my first draft and i can start going back to edit. i usually make myself take time away from the draft once i’ve finished it, so it’s a relief to get back to it with something that lets my nitpicky instincts shine. i should really start beta-ing for people because i could literally just edit forever…... if only i actually stuck to my own stories long enough to reach this phase ToT

ask game

[eternalwritess]

Hey, could I have a Hazbin Hotel matchup?

I'm a bisexual aroace (If you've heard of "demiromantic"; that's how I experience romantic attraction). I use he/it/they pronouns.

I'm an INFP, though I have gotten ISTP sometimes. I usually keep to myself around strangers, and my first words to people that I'm not introduced by friends are usually just work-related with a bit of small talk (even in fandom spaces, surprisingly). Once I get comfortable around people, I tend to let my childish nature and antics shine through, and once I consider you a friend, it's hard to ever fully shake me off. My friends sometimes call me an "old grandpa", with the way I know a lot of random psychology and biology facts, and the way I fumble with new technology, slang, and texting acronyms. My love of non-fiction and my adherence to grammar rules certainly doesn't help. Simultaneously, they (lovingly) call a 12-year-old boy, with the way I don't hesitate to pull out a "your mom" or "that's what she said" to the conversation and with the way that I almost exclusively watch animated movies and shows over live action ones. I carry with me 15 packets of soy sauce in fish-shaped sachets in my (several) pockets. Why? Because I think it's funny, and the confusion I bring to those around me with my soy collection gives me a sense of joy. (I do other things of a similar calibre, but I wanted to name an example) Despite all of this, I tend to gravitate towards the "Mom Friend" archetype. I carry with me a lot of people pleasing tendencies (I get a lot of anxiety around not upsetting others), and that translates to making sure that the people around me are happy. I also tend to fill a "Therapist Friend" role because of this fact, my psychology facts, and how intuitive I can be at times. I tend to isolate myself, whether by physically or mentally leaving the room, when I feel upset, and I don't really like talking about negative experiences I have unless those experiences have been resolved.

On a brighter note, I consider myself quite the creative person. I draw a lot, though I usually only draw other characters instead of my own OCs. I have a discord server that I use to jot down either: a) my opinion of a certain media b) images/reactions I find funny/relatable c) infodumps about AUs or crossovers that I've made I don't really write, so I consider "c)" to be the next best thing. I also love music. I listen to mostly indie music, with a couple of generic queer bands thrown in there and a couple of musicals' and video games' OSTs. I play the violin and the trombone, so I may be biased in saying that I love jazz (really doesn't help the "old man" allegations, but who cares). In terms of non-creative hobbies, I love reading. Although I find myself drawn to the odd science non-fiction book, my heart lies in fantasy and mystery novels (this does include webtoons, manga, and webnovels, though I don't read those as much). On the same vein, I love video games (where else would I get those OSTs?). I tend to like story-rich games that are either turn-based (think Undertale) or no combat (think Slime Rancher), though if the mechanics aren't too overwhelming, metroidvanias are nice (think Hollow Knight). The last main hobby is food. If I didn't give you "mad scientist" vibes, let me tell you, I "Victor Frankenstein" my way through every meal, when time permits. I mostly mix and match what I'd think taste good together based on what I was craving at the time. I'd also say that, apart from Quality Time, I show affection best through giving foods that I've made. It works in reverse, too, where I get pleasantly happy when people I know well offer food to me. There was this one time I was bickering with some friends and one of them held a packet of chips to my face, and I tell you, the way I immediately shut up the second I saw it... I was almost embarrassed by how well that worked...

I'm really sensitive to a lot of textures, and the biggest ones are stickers (and anything sticky in that way) and wet things (think water fountains splashing water unexpectedly, fruit juices spraying on my face when I cut them too harshly, even stepping on wet floorboards without socks can set it off). Clothing/carpet with short hairs send literal shivers down my spine, but only when I touch them with my fingers/feet. I don't like kissing (at all.), so I normally stick with nuzzling. Hugs and spooning (both with people I'm comfortable around) are okay, however.

I don't really have any pet peeves, other than just blatant disrespect of basic boundaries as well as these boundaries in particular.

Apologies if this is quite long, I can go on a tangent a lot. Double apologies if English isn't your first language. I hope you have a good day (or night, depending on when you read this).

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮!

The way you met was most likely she found you after an extermination not wanting to find help for your wounds and instead took care of you since you might've been new to hell

You were quiet at first and she was fine with that slowly talking to you and trying to get you to open up about yourself

She would ask you questions here and there not minding if you answered or not

"So uh... first time in Hell huh? It's not as bad as it looks... I promise" :)

She would also make jokes until you got to open up

She doesn't mind it all at if you follow her around to talk to her. In fact she loves it and will most likely do the same since she has some clingy tendencies

She would also love to hear you spout random facts about psychology. Actually it partially is one of the reasons why she started the hotel.

She also fumbles with new slang so you'd have some fun there :)

When she first noticed the whole soy sauce packets thing she found it extremely confusing and then funny. (she has that type of humor)

So every now and then she'll ask you for a soy sauce packet when she's bored

"Can I have a packet please?"

With Charlie she's not very hard to please so I think that you won't get anxiety over that. In fact if you do anything for her she'll become overjoyed and do something for you

When you tend to isolate yourself (especially physically) she tries to help you and talk to you more to see what's going on

If you have any unresolved issues she'll try and ask you about them and see if you want to talk about them at all or see if she can help with anything

Although she totally understands if you say no as she has her own (*cough* daddy issues *cough*)

"Do you want to talk about it?..."

She loves watching you create things and seeing the things that you've created

She'll listen to music with you all the time dancing around the room and singing at the top of her lungs (whether you join her or not is completely optional)

She'll also go up to you and ask if you want to go to concerts with her or if you want to have a silly little karaoke night with her

You both also probably have started a book club where you read books together and discuss them. She's really interested in romance btw :)

"They just have to get together!!"

She also loves fantasy and will try mysteries from time to time but she's quite bad at them so she tends to avoid them

She'll also try to play video games with you from time to time but she's really bad at those and doesn't understand any of the controls so she just watches you instead probably giving commentary and praising you as you go on

When you mix and match food she'll try it with you as long as it doesn't look too out of her area

"That tasted amazing!!!"

Adding onto that she'll also get you food all of the time trying to find out your favorite one

She's gotten you tons of chips, sandwich, cookies, olives, anything you can think of

She also tends to bake for you every now and then just as a surprise

As for sensations she totally gets it and would probably have a few pet peeves with those too. So you'd probably both have a very specific covers and mattresses

She'll also always respect your boundaries and sometimes even try to go out of her way to respect them

She's perfectly fine with just nuzzling or cuddle every now and then <3

Overall you're both a very sweet and caring couple

[pumpkinpartynoelle]

Exactly this! The most common issue I see new writers fall into is not being able to "commit to the bit", as we've come to call it. Roxy (one of our more active headmates) initially said it about comedy but it really applies to a lot more in writing. If you don't commit to the bit, you end up with, for example, the terrible jokes everyone hates in Marvel movies tepidly making fun of themselves while not being willing to go far enough to make that funny either. "Well that just happened" type jokes. Put simply, if you want something you write to hit properly, you need to commit to it, pretend to be confident even if you're not. It's text, they can't see your actual tone, they don't know you. In person I'm an anxious wreck but when you're writing you have time to think, work out what you want to say and how to say it, so say what you want to, not what you think you have to. Since we personally have the most experience with comedy, let's imagine you have a joke you're writing that you like, yeah? Doesn't matter much what it is, but you're not sure if it'll land, you don't know if anyone else will find it funny. I can think of a few options for how to handle this scenario off the top of my head:

1. Keep it in.

Don't rework it, don't make a joke about the joke, just keep it in and play it straight. If people find it funny, great! If they don't, whatever, it's not being dwelled on or anything and life moves on. They can just move on too, and find something else they like later in the work, or if they don't like any of it, they can just read something else. They're probably not your target audience, and if you're targeting an audience who never seems to like your work, you have the wrong audience. They might make fun of you for it, they might insult you, but if people really want to do that they'll FIND a reason, real or imagined. You're not writing to stop people from being assholes, you're writing to make art. Don't compromise your artistic vision for the sake of assholes who hate that vision anyway. If they push you, and you bend to them, they'll know that pushing you works and they'll keep doing it, and you will be much less satisfied with the final product.

2. Keep it in, but don't draw attention to it, maybe try to shrink its impact or make fun of it to show you know it's not all that funny to most people.

Why? You find it funny, otherwise you wouldn't include it. And if you're including a joke that you don't think is funny at all, also why? Try again, or put a placeholder there, or don't go for a joke if the scene still works fine without one, or come back to it later and see if you're feeling funnier, but why write up a full joke and include it in the final product if you don't find it funny? Especially in the context of fanworks, you're not writing for other people, you're writing for YOU, and there are people that will see that passion and enjoy it if you let it shine through. You worry no one else will find it funny? But you do! So obviously some people think it's funny, you're living proof. Plus, if someone reads it and they do find it funny, like you WANT them to, the thing they found funny is immediately undercut by the implication that no one should find it funny. Even people who liked your joke will now have the fun sucked out of it for them, the very thing that told them that joke is now telling them they're an idiot for liking it. The second half ruins it for the people that liked the first half, and the first half is still not funny to people that liked the second half, so it still makes them wonder why it was even included in the first place.

3. Joke about the joke.

Usually, this is done as a response to a flaw in option 2. And yeah! It sometimes fixes the problem of people that think the joke is unfunny not having anything funny there to laugh at, if they happen to like the joke making fun of it, but it still makes people that liked the first joke feel bad. The first joke is still unfunny to people that liked the joke making fun of it, and you as the writer have to put yourself down. Not only are you gambling on both the first joke failing the second joke succeeding, instead of just the first joke succeeding, but you even have to etch that lack of confidence permanently into your own work.

What this says is "I think this joke is unfunny but chose to include it anyway", it says "I'm insecure about my writing and think that pre-emptively insulting myself will spare me" which won't work and makes you seem like an easy target, and it also says "making fun of my work is totally fine and something I like enough to include into my own writing". Even if all of that lands all you're doing is cultivating an audience that likes joking about how bad your jokes are.

4. Double down.

This is one of my favourites. Think a joke might not be funny? Bring it back later and evolve on it, iterate on the joke. If it's not funny now, or even isn't a joke yet, the fact that it keeps coming back and changing can make it funny. For people that already liked it they get to have a joke they like come back and get played with. Hell, even if it actually wasn't funny, there's a comedy in repeatedly bringing back the joke that can make it funny. It's slightly more of a risk than option 1, but I think overall it'll give you even funnier jokes with much more sticking power if you're willing to truly commit to it. Just remember that you as the author should be able to see the comedy in it even if your audience can't, even if it's just as potential rather than an actual written joke, or you're going to have a much harder time bringing that comedy out by expanding or iterating on the joke.

And again, this doesn't just go for comedy. Confidence in your writing, even if you have to fake it, goes a long way in nearly any genre. Write what you want, whether people like it or not, because at least that way you know someone will be able to like it. You will. You're going to be spending a lot more time with your own work than anyone else will be, you're the one writing it after all.

Literally cannot emphasize enough that my #1 writing advice is to stop being afraid. Stop being afraid of sounding too cringe, or too stupid, or too horrifying, or too horny, or too weird, or too much, or too little, or too you. You need to put your entire pussy into your art. Sure, it won't be to everyone's tastes, but if you keep yourself to the blandest tamest safest roads possible you will be of no one's tastes, not even yours.

[the-firebird69]

Today we are beginning the second project and we are on the final phase of the first project at the very large planets. Neptune will be going behind the Sun and just days I think two days and I'm told the correct from now and we must prepare all of us every person who is of all kind needs to sign on to our military at this time as these projects require a massive numbers of people and these systems are not found beyond the solar system here and that's the need is great to extreme. I'm told 99% are better do not have duty in the solar system here I never shall and are not asked to it is only by volunteer but it is part of interplanetary defense network. My father and mother and Hera's father and mother their grandparents fraternal and all of those involved in this project are going to speak and we are requesting and they're probably just want to summit to close out this phase of Saturn and open up this phase of Neptune and others will speak after Uriel and goddess wife and regarding goddess of China his father of jet li and the father of Mrs Chen and that's who they are they say and I believe it

Zues it's really both of us except for that last line LOL Hera

And thank you very much for that introduction we are proceeding to phase III of Saturn's project number 2 and we are now entering project number two of Neptune it is so much bigger projects much more aggressive and we needed to go in order for us to survive. Tomorrow we begin phase one. And we'll move into phase 2 only days after and there's much more prep than we're ready for we have models and examples of things that works however it's a different atmosphere and different surface and different substances many of them below are similar and it will work the same but it is a much colder atmosphere and we have to look at that seriously and we shall and I am handing out a basic outline of what you have to do and what it has to withstand again as a check and how much equipment we need and we are going to have a resource pool where we can check in and notify everyone that we have that and we're going to begin that now and tomorrow we wish you the best of luck until the meeting and we hope to see your shining faces there happy that you met the goals and yes of course the meaning chart and we are going to post those and he wants us to go to ours for assistance and in our areas for our portion of it we'll have what they have on the earth they have and drive and they show a thermometer and how many donations they need usually but in our case will be how many signese and we want to do that. This will divvy it up and as with any drive we will Express why and what we need people for and what the posts are like and to duration of duty and what it entails and what kind of positions and we will say in what areas we're lacking and we have this daily and started today hopefully physical form of rough we're going to send our basic outline we're going to review it with Olympus real quick and it's part of it which is a creativity but we'll have like a general outline we are to ask those who are signed on to do the recruiting and to explain that it's very serious an imperative and extremely tough and we're going to do it now. I'm taking the wheel in this one and we are going to get our work done and we're going to meet and we're going to meet our goals there's no reason why we shouldn't recruiting needs to start moving and we need to start making things and we need to start doing it during The fray and it will grow us and we need to do that it's why we're doing it it is like a miracle grow and it's volatile but it is extremely effective at doing it and I'm putting it out there now we have other programs we're going to adopt and a lot of methods we saw used on Saturday we're going to use and we're going to have a huge meeting today and tomorrow and for the whole duration as we did on Saturday and I have some ideas as well time is of the essence we need a lot of equipment on things that work and I'm making a list of the basics then we'll find tune it and send out when we need from everyone this is great everyone did a great job on the last project and we will be ahead shortly and it's great we've never been ahead and this is what he has been promising team that's going to move over that we have a huge team and he wants to grow his teams on Earth that can move over to what we're doing and he says it's very very close to what it's like it's dangerous you have to be careful and we do say similar because you're working in a hostile environment and you're going to learn if there's stuff it's almost required training and we need to do it now I got an initialize all this and he wants his and her cadre and to help get it going and we work great together.

So I'll say god and goddess bless and let's get moving on this now I'm going to set it up a meeting and we think Hera and Zeus and Thor and Freya and zig and zag and his big list of those who works on Saturn these people worked a lot on it did a lot of work Hera did a lot of work and Zeus did a ton of preliminary stuff and some work on it she was working her tail off and it was good for her and we need to block more people and come up with a way to do it and we have that way and we're going to release it soon and I'm part of that Ariana Nuada lobo proxima midnight and morekickoff as well as gu and oya and Hera's side

More to announce shortly

Uriel and Goddess wife and yes we are God Lee and goddess Chen of China

Olympus

[pazodetrasalba]

Morality plays

Dear Caroline:

I was a bit surprised by your stating that the best fictional moralities are like this. Does the adjective imply that in the case of non-fictional moral choices you adopt a different stance, or merely that the above mentioned moral issues are simply the ones you enjoy encountering the most while consuming fiction? Of course, this doesn't have to be a case of exclusive or, as it could perfectly well be both.

Still, my intuition is that you share this mindset for your real-world decision making, and it can be gleaned in texts of yours where you preach the virtues of doing the hard, the unpleasant and the difficult in a sort of secular ascesis and training of the spirit. At the same time, you also drop in occasional references to your supposed laziness and not living up to the most stringent practices of the Ideal EA.

Preachy and ethical literature has long been unpopular in the contemporary world, but perhaps you are acquainted with the morality play,  a genre of early Tudor drama which usually featured 'embodied' virtues and vices, angels and demons, all struggling for the soul of the generic human character. This is actually a very old and medievally flavored type of writing, inaugurated by Prudentius' Psychomachia and flowing along a broad allegorical river or labyrinth through the Ordo Virtutum, The Castle of Perseverance, Everyman and The Pilgrim's Progress. And yet in transmuted form, it still manages to rear its (not necessarily) ugly head in both high and low genres - an example of the first could be Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, where Settembrini and Naphta fight for the soul and mind of Hans Castorp and embody liberal versus reactionary/socialist worldviews, and of the second, the rationalist fanfics you so like to read.

A more secularist view of these moral conundrums would perhaps tie them with arguments from evolutionary psychology, and the tension members of the human species have between the instincts of self-preservation and self-sacrifice, egoism and altruism. We are somewhere in the middle of a spectrum that runs from bees and ants, all too willing to let themselves die for the greater good, to snakes and some other unsocial species that hardly ever collaborate even with lovers and offspring. And probably closer to the latter than the former, which would explain why so much indoctrination and stern social rules and punishments are necessary to get most people to behave.

We could also talk about moral luck, the ways in which morality plays a devious game of chess with chance and generates from similar inputs vastly different judgemental outputs. Myself, I'd rather not be put to the test (Lead us not into temptation) lest I should fall short, a feeling that must be tormenting you greatly on the inside these days, when fear of the future might retreat just enough to allow for this sort of reflections. Even if you fell, remember that despair is a much greater sin, and whatever the οἱ πολλοί might think or say, I trust in your innate goodness, and believe in some secular form of Romans 8:28 - “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”. You are a lovely candle shining in present darkness, Caroline, and I am sure you are worth the hope.

Quote:

Now I shall sing the second kingdom there where the soul of man is cleansed, made worthy to ascend to Heaven.

Here from the dead let poetry rise up, O sacred Muses, since I am yours. Here let Calliope arise...

Dante, Purgatorio

[unmarked-credits]

Because I'm sick of this argument