#personal but like not really individualism is a disease that's slowly killing us

[not-cael]

I've been struggling so much for so long all by myself that it's easy to forget that the world is full of beauty and love and community and how we are truly never alone because someone somewhere thinks of you when they don't see you and ppl like brennan who strive to make the ppl around them feel seen and cared for remind me time and time again and for that I'll be forever grateful

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Horsemen of the Apocalypse AU is a dark au where Reader, a newer mutant to the Xavier Institute, is learning how to use their powers and get along with the others. They slowly grow on them, especially Logan and Scott and Rogue and Kitty, and are a pretty nice person.

But they start to grow obsessed with stopping a prophecy that has haunted the mutants for over two thousand years, one depicting the end of the world, the rise of a new era, and four mysterious beings who bring it about...

Reader, going through all the notes they can and taking photos of hieroglyphs and old texts and tomes, makes a large journal, so they can decipher what they say, and try and find who the prophecy foretells, and convince them to not fulfill it. Reader is hopeful, and a bit secretive, only sharing their discoveries with the adults...

Reader slowly deciphers the book, making out that the four horses depicted in the texts are statuettes, kept in different museums and antique places, and gets Xavier to have missions to find them and collect them, so they don't fall into the wrong hands. Reader is able to decipher who each Horseman is, and is careful to reveal only the first three, asking for words of comfort and wisdom from their dad-like figure Logan and their grandpa-like figure Xavier, swearing them to secrecy about it... (they don't reveal the fourth one, feeling a need to just... not).

Reader gets to know the other four individually, and has plans to make sure this prophecy never comes to pass!

Sadly...

The older mutants already had a plan in place, one long before they ever knew the kids...

The plan was simple: Once they knew who the four Horsemen were, they'd kill them. If they're dead, then the end won't come, and the many mutants amd humans will be saved, right?

But... now they know these kids... They're their babyies... their cubs and pups and young ones and own children... how can they do this? Logan doesn't want to, but he knows that if they don't, it could end the world and the others... Xavier doesn't want to lose them, but the needs of the many outweigh the few... Erik and Victor don't want more blood on their hands, not from one of their own, but, this is the fate of the world, of everyone else they care about at stake; can they really put a few lives ahead of the other kids/cubs?

Over the next three days, Reader feels unwell, uneasy, worried. They'd felt a sharp pain one night, and they'd cried, not knowing what had happened, just that something terrible had (Remy had died, asphyxiatied to death by a man he saw as a father, Sabretooth...)... The next day, Reader and Logan are sent to the cold moutains to find something that could stop the apocalypse...

Reader is asleep, deep asleep, when they feel a deep pain in their chest, and they wake up (Scott had died, falling to wild animals in the woods, fighting until he couldn't anymore...)...

And standing above Reader, claws high above them, a pained expression on his face, is Logan...

Reader runs, grabbing their journal and fleeing down the trail, trying not to fall off or through any cracks or holes. But eventually they tumble down, down, down, through a crack, and into the freezing depths... they spend the last few days starving and freezing to death, determined to not be found, lest the last of then die... they die curled up in the icy dark, the journal in the satchel next to them...

But it's too late. They're found a few days later, and so is their book. And with the final name known, the last member is killed, poisoned, and dies in his sleep... (Pietro, held tight by his father, who apologizes for all of this, that it isn't more peaceful, that it was him, that it was not someone else...)

But this doesn't stop the prophecy... it only fulfills it...

The great goddess, Death, brings about the great changes, taking away those who die of war and fighting, starvation and hunger, poison and disease, and when the world is cleaned save for the last struggling few, she places a curse or blessing upon them:

For their actions, they will protect and serve the ones they killed... and for the love they had for them, they will be their Angels, their Protectors, and have high places of honor in this new world...

It is both a blessing and curse, as they reminded day and night of what they'd done, of who they lost, and wait to bring them back... and they do, giving the fruit and medicine of Lethe to them, washing away their pains and cleansing their mind and bodies. They keep them fed, safe, warm, loved, hidden in their temples, curled up in nests and beds, cradles if they're turned into helpless babes to better help their minds adjust...

Except Reader, when they're finally awake, and barely remembers their own name, stumbles out of their straps and tubes and cot/pod, and goes to find the key to their past and who they, and these strange people, are...

(But they're missed, terribly, by their brothers and fathers and mothers and other siblings, the entire world misses them, for without the love amd care of the One Over Famine, how can their be crops and harvest and sweet water and fresh food? How can their parents, their Angels and Protectors, rest, when their little one is not safely in their nest, fed and sleepy and safe from harm and pain? How can their brothers rest without their sibling, how can they feel warm and complete? How can their other siblings care for them, hug them, if they aren't there to do so?)

And so the hunt for Famine, for Reader, begins...

( And the statuettes turn into horseys, and are very beautiful and big and love their riders and dedicated ones)

@thewickedweiner @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danni1323 @weebwholovesuchihasasuke @crowwithguns Ask all the questions you want! I have ideas for this au, and I'm ready to talk about it! (And yes, the horses have names!)

[trashyswitch]

Late Night Thoughts

I can make Sheldon Cooper lose his mind in 10 words or less; It is scientifically impossible to kill every germ.

And now for a mind-numbing, deep thought that I'm struggling to wrap my head around. TW: Talks of dimentia/Alzheimers, talks of a loss of memory and loss of ones self.

A person's life is made up of memories, right? And it's through those memories that a person grows psychologically, mentally, and emotionally. We talk about our regrets because they stick with us as painful memories. Usually, we'd rather avoid such memories because they are uncomfortable to replay in our minds. And yet, we feel a small sense of pride for learning from those regrets...because our thoughts on the memory changed, we had grown further as a person. Without that specific experience, we would not have emotionally and psychologically matured. With this in mind...A reminder that a person with dementia/alzheimers is slowly losing their memories. They're losing the one thing in their life that formed them as an individual human. That is likely why a dementia patient's personality changes so drastically. For example: My grandma has the early signs of dementia. Back in her late 20's to early 50's, she had been a perfectionate, stubborn woman. But seeing how her actions affected the others around her, she spent the next few decades actively trying to improve herself to be more loving, generous, caring and supportive. But because of the dementia, her younger personality is slowly leaving her mind and coming out in her words and actions. She is losing those memories...and she is losing those years of practice she remembered developing in order to improve herself. Without those memories of practicing, she forgets those coping mechanisms and returns to the person she originally was. This also may explain why moderately progressed dimentia patients regress to a younger version of themself...Because those memories they formed later on in life, are nearly non-existant by that point. All they really remember was their younger years. And depending on the day and their mind's progression, their body may regress to their older adult self, their younger adult self, and eventually their childhood. It's an absolutely terrifying disease that is incredibly hard to treat...cause once those memories are gone, there is no getting them back. Sorry if I terrified you, or made you sad while reading this...It's just thoughts I had going through my head at 3:27am.

[cloudbattrolls]

Thought Police

Thrixe Varzim | Present Night | Near Bellam Xavier’s Laboratory

Thrixe enjoyed going to Bellam’s lab to learn from the blueblood, and to get his input on wildlife samples and scientific procedure. He was especially grateful for the scientist’s tolerance of his eldritch nature, which had come out recently after an accident with a sample.

Though he grimaced as he recalled how that sample had wound up contaminated by another one, a virus given from someone else who visited the cerulean…

“Hey.”

Thrixe had known they were coming as he walked toward the building Bellam used, but his fins still flicked in slight surprise as he turned to look at the tall hemoanon, stopping as they called out to him and walked up.

“Hello.” He said, slightly cautious as always when they approached. Yes, he was half horrorterror, but Ginger was…disturbing.

He could sense magic now, and while they did seem to have some minor ability with it, their disease aspect wasn’t quite that either, nor psiionics. It was something…inherent. As if a piece of the world were made manifest in one person. It should have killed any individual made to bear it.

Yet the armored troll was fine, when that should have been impossible.

“Sorry about the other night.” They said in their deep voice. “Not that I meant for that to happen. But I understand if you thought I did.”

Thrixe winced; he’d wondered as much. 

“Accidents happen.” He admitted hesitantly. “I’ve been guilty of them myself.”

The hemoanon laughed softly. 

“Don’t blame you for being uncomfortable. You can probably sense me better than most trolls can.”

He nodded.

Disease growing and fading and dying in ripples. Diseases feeding on themselves and others around in them in the same body, an entire microscopic ecosystem held in one troll. 

It wasn’t just that, either. 

As much as he tried to shut it out, there was something else. Something emotional, gently simmering like embers on a fire.

“You aren’t going to…do anything, are you?”

He felt their confusion.

“Gonna need some specifics, Thrixe.”

The violet looked in the direction of the blueblood’s lab and waved his hand in a hesitant sort of way.

Ginger paused for a moment, then laughed hard.

“No. Never. I’m not as stiff as you, but I know how it is.”

Thrixe frowned in slight offense.

“It’s an ethical necessity.”

Ginger shrugged. “It’s polite and realistic is all. You really think I’d want to make him uncomfortable? He’s my friend.”

Thrixe nodded, understanding fully.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, though.” They added, slightly amused.

The hybrid blinked.

“I’m not.”

Ginger snorted deeply.

“I know someone beating themself up for not being normal enough when I see them.”

Thrixe looked away, fins drooping, unable to form a retort.

“It’s good to know what we can and can’t do, folks like us.” They said with a shrug. “You’re aware of that stuff, so why be mean to yourself? Sure, being polite’s important. But you could stand to loosen up a bit.”

Thrixe glared up at the horseman of pestilence, but then his ire faded and he sighed, looking away.

“I’m a lot stranger than you. I have to be careful. At least you’re a troll.” He said, sighing. 

“Yeah, and if you actually want to be pure troll I’m not a walking biohazard.” Deadpanned the hemoanon.

Thrixe flushed slightly, caught out.

“Be more honest with other people, and yourself. It’s less of a headache in the long run.”

“Who wants to hear that, though?” Said Thrixe softly. “I’m only accepted by my friends and moirail because I do my best to be normal. I do care about that. I just…don’t want to be that way all the time.”

The armored troll shrugged.

“If they can’t handle that, it’s their job to say so. It’d be sad, sure, but better than a shock down the line.”

Thrixe nodded slowly.

“Advice I got from my ancestor: don’t try and live in other people‘s heads, there’s no room.” They rumbled with amusement.

Thrixe laughed a little.

“So you were raised by them?” He asked, interested.

Ginger nodded.

“All us Mycobas are, assuming we’re found as grubs. I’m sure there’s been a few strays. My old man’s been dead a while, but he was always good to me.”

The hybrid blinked. 

“Wait, how old are you?”

“Older than you think.” Deadpanned the armored troll. “Not ancient, though. Let’s say I still have plenty of sweeps left in me.”

There was a few moments’ pause as Thrixe did math in his head, then looked mildly scandalized.

Ginger laughed at him, guessing the source of his dismay.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“I just think -”

“Good, keep trying.”

Thrixe laughed despite himself.

“I guess if you’re not going to do anything…” he said grudgingly, but with a bit of amusement.

“Nope. That’s not a reason why not, though.”

Thrixe’s fins went back slightly as Ginger laughed at him more.

“You act like I shot your lusus.” They deadpanned. “Or asked him out.”

The violet made a distressed noise as the hemoanon cracked up at him further.

“You are too easy to mess with.” They chuckled. “You wouldn’t last a second in some of the bars I like.”

“I used to work for gangsters.” He grumbled. “I’m not a complete innocent.”

“Right, it’s me that offends you, Mr. Starfish.”

Thrixe hmphed. 

“I’m not offended, I just think it’s inappropriate.”

“I will not apologize for my good taste.” They deadpanned. “Sorry, my bad - you want me to say I’m a horrible person for even thinking of it?”

The seadweller looked awkward.

“Thought crimes aren’t real, Thrixe. Stop listening to the empire propagandist in your head. Think what you want, feel what you want, you don’t win prizes or make anyone’s life better by denying yourself. Doesn’t mean you have to act on any of it.”

Thrixe continued to look awkward. Ginger supposed he had to have a talent. They went over and patted him on the shoulder. 

“Chew on that for a bit. I’m gonna go see Bellam.”

They walked onward to the lab, the violet watching them go.

[yoonyia]

I was attacked

kaliya is an oc of mine that I'm currently workshopping and he is a mental challenged individual with a father that beat him and his mother

he, at the age if 13 (but due to some weird bullshit that I don't know why I added- he was mentally and physically around 8) killed both his parents because they both made him upset to keep around

hes not traumatized or anything

he's in general slightly psychopathic but I won't use that term because he isn't a psychopath but just know he didn't kill his parents because he was abused he killed them because they wherent fun anymore and just sad to watch

he gets taken in by the police and they send him to school for a bit then immediately take him out after realizing he's a child genius, then since he's a criminal (criminals of a certain crime threshold are considered government property) they take him and put him into a science institute for mostly medical research

the story starts when he's around 21~22 and he's a smiley cocky abusive bitch that uses his charm, flattery, and good looks to manipulate and use people (which is also what his father did but he dosent really know that)

the plot starts with him trying to fix his glaucoma through a sort of biochemical vaccine(?) thing that was supposed to fix his steadily going blind eye (his mother was blind (glaucoma) and sadly it was genetic, he dosent blame her because his moral compass is non existent and he simply does not care) then he just created a fucking awful disease where all your blood slowly drains out of your body (drains is a lose term the blood kinda just settles, dies and either has to be removed or it just somehow evaporates, actually spilling out of the blood is rare) and eventually if you have this infected blood in your system too long you start dying

so it's 2 components, the blood makes your veins stop circulating properly and it's a toxin

and he accidently spread it to a bunch of people and all of their deaths are now his fault

and he's also dying

but unlike all the other people that caught it (all experimentees) he's actually important so he keeps getting blood transfusions (they didn't know about the poison blood thing yet) and eventually he just replaces all his blood with unaffected blood

somehow

but for some non scientific reason he just can live with no blood now

and he's basically dead

like he dosent have to eat drink or sleep

or breathe

but he's not rotting for some reason and he can move just fine and his cognitive functions work fine so he's just

immortal

kinda

he's an undead basically and no one knows what happened

so like all government systems that exist on this great blue earth they use this person who can't realistically die and make him a weird super hero public servant type of thing

and the plot is him not being an asshole

eventually

he kills 12 cops after learning what empathy was and he feels guilt for the first time ever

but what he was like before reminded me of that writing prompt

and then my friend hit me with the "you?"

bitch I know this kaliya asshole somehow ends up with my personality

I'm sorry I didn't know how to write someone hateable so I wrote myself

[crazygalore]

GABRIEL MAY (MALIGNANT 2021) X READER HCS

Triggers: NSFW, blood, gore, mentions of death, murder, violence (though NOT directed towards the reader)

SFW:

- Ok first and foremost this relationship had a rocky start, and that's putting it mildly.

- You were basically caught in the middle of Gabriel's murder spree, simply because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And let's not kid ourselves here, when this bloodied backwards man - who moved like the lovechild of Sadako and John Wick - went apeshit on a bunch of armed cops... You thought you were done for. Like, honestly, you used to judge people in horror movies, who would basically just stare at their attacker with a dumbstruck face, yet there you were, unable to move at all, paralyzed with fear. And then everyone else was dead and this strange madman was looking straight at you, tilting his head to the side like a curious cat.

- Gabriel, on the other hand, had no reason to kill you. Unlike the policemen he had just slaughtered, you hadn't tried to harm him, and it was clear to him that you were just an innocent and unlucky bystander. Therefore, he didn't want to kill you, but he couldn't risk leaving behind the only surviving witness to his murder spree, either. "You're coming with me." His rapsy voice crackled through the dead policemen's radio receivers, startling you even more than you already were. A backwards contortionist murderer, who could apparently control electric fields? Oh, fuck to the no.

- And then he began approaching you with heavy footsteps, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He knew he could easily overpower you in a fight, or chase after you in case you decided to flee. And you knew it too.

- Thankfully, your overwhelmed brain knew exactly what to do in order to get you out of that crazy situation. So, you promptly passed out just as Gabriel had reached you, and he quickly caught your slumping form in his arms. You woke up in what appeared to be an old dusty attic, gagged and bound to a chair. Seeing as you were awake, Gabriel lost no time threatening to kill you if you tried to escape, and threw his makeshift gold knife in your direction to make a point. The blade was embedded in the wall behind you, just a few inches above your head, so all you could do was tremble in fear and nod in agreement. 

- For the next couple of days, he would visit you often, mostly at nighttime, to bring you food, clothes and anything you might need. If you needed to freshen up or use the restroom, he would blindfold you, and lead you down what seemed like set of stairs, and then into a bathroom (which was the only other room inside that house that you would see for a while).

- At first you were terrified of him, but slowly you realized that the disfigured man, who introduced himself as Gabriel, meant you no harm - so long as you didn’t act foolishly. But eventually, the two of you began having small conversations here and there, and you soon realized Gabriel was an intelligent, observant and unexpectedly charismatic guy. And despite his obvious anger and hatred for the world, he was actually capable of empathy and even kindness - at least towards you.

- He liked you, and you began to like him as well, which only furthered his trust in you. Although it took him a while to open up to you, Gabriel ended up telling you about his traumatic past, and his complicated and codependent relationship with his sister. But what really surprised him was the compassion you showed him afterwards. 

- For the first time in his wretched existence, he was being treated as a person, as an individual who deserved to be seen, heard, understood and respected for who he was. And, to be fair, he had no idea how to react at first. Not that you could blame him, since everyone he had ever come into contact with had treated him as a monster - as a disease that needed to be eradicated. But you continued to treat him with the consideration he deserved, even going as far as showing him physical affection, when he allowed it. You held his hand to show your support, you hugged him when he seemed to need comfort - and, in turn, Gabriel fell irrevocably in love with you. 

- You were the light in the dark of his existence, you were the only person in this world that he genuinely wanted to have around... But it was out of love that Gabriel realized he would have to let you go. Someone like you deserved better than to be locked up in that attic, and it seemed terribly cruel of him to taint your existence with his cursed presence. He was literally half a man, and he believed you deserved to love and be loved by someone who could always been around when you needed them.

- So, one night, he blindfolded you again, and drove you home. Once you had reached your destination, Gabriel took your blindfold off, and urged you to forget everything about him, and return to your mundane life. But to his surprise, you refused to do so, and even insisted that he visit you whenever he could. But he argued that he was indeed a monster, and you couldn’t possibly need someone like him around. And, of course, you begged to differ. Because not only did you enjoy his presence, but the moments you had spent bonding together had been the happiest and safest you had felt in a long while - and you told him as much.

- Having heard you speak so fondly of him, Gabriel could no longer contain his burning longing for you. So, acting on an impulse, he wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, and pressed his mouth to yours in a desperate kiss, which you returned in kind. The blood on his face stained your skin, and his crooked teeth scraped your lips - but despite the sloppy messiness of the act, it all felt so surreal and perfect to the both of you. And, for a while, you just stood there, clinging to one another and savouring this first moment of shared affection.

- Your relationship changed after that fateful night, as Gabriel would visit you quite often afterwards, so that you could bask in each other's company. And your home became Gabriel's shelter, where he could spend a few hours of peace and quiet, next to the only person who had ever loved him.

- The more time you spent together, the more you got to know the complicated man that was Gabriel. Thus, he turned out to be a fiercely protective and nurturing lover, a voracious reader, and an apt conversationalist. Furthermore, he encouraged you to do whatever made you happy, and supported your interests and hobbies.

- You, on the other hand, helped Gabriel reconcile with Madison, so that they could coexist as peacefully as possible. And once they worked out their issues and began trusting each other more and more, Gabriel introduced you to his sister. Not gonna lie, it was a strange situation for both you and Madison, at least at first - but everything worked out surprisingly well in the end.

- Given the twins’, erm, special bond, it was a given that you and Madison would become pretty close as well - which was rather nice, because it meant you could now return Gabriel’s visits, and hang out at the siblings’ house.

- To say you had a positive effect on your lover would be an understatement. Gabriel was so much calmer in your presence, and his killing sprees were no longer a common occurrence. However, if anyone dared hurt or upset you in any way, they'd mysteriously go missing, only to be found dead and horribly mutilated a few days later.

- Honestly, though, unless you really want someone to pay with their lives for their mistreatment of you, then don't tell Gabriel (or Madison) about them.

- "Gabriel, NO!!!" "GaBrIeL YES!"

- This dude is insanely strong (and probably harnesses electricity to make himself become even stronger), so he can and WILL carry you bridal style everywhere. Not to mention he is touch starved as hell, so physical signs of affection are a must between the two of you. Hand holding, cuddling, kissing - he's gonna soak that fluffy shit up like a dry sponge.

- If you are watching a movie, or reading a book together, he's gonna lay his head on your lap and wrap his arms around your waist. Play with his hair and tell him how much you love him, and Gabriel will practically melt against you.

- Surprisingly romantic for someone who had been treated like an abomination his entire life. He learned everything from the books he had been reading ever since he was a young boy. Candlelit homemade dinner, with music playing softly on the background, every Friday night. And he WILL ask you to dance with him. As expected for this agile guy, he is an instinctively good dancer.

- He's also a pretty good cook, which kinda makes sense cause he shares a brain with Madison.

NSFW:

- So, because Gabriel shares a body with Madison, it kinda makes sense that he would ask her for permission to become intimate with you. It's only the polite thing to do. Thankfully for her, she won't have access to the memories regarding his sex life.

- I fully embrace the community's take on Gabriel as transmasc. So I feel like he would use a strap-on on you most of the time. It's a mystery how he got it, but best case scenario he controlled Maddie's body and bought it - or literally broke into a sex shop and stole it.

- Gabriel is a very sensual and passionate lover, whose entire focus is your pleasure. In fact, he practically worships your body, and covets every breathless moan he can coax out of you with his hands and his mouth.

- Because he's abnormally strong, he may unintentionally get a bit rough during sex, leaving faint finger-shaped bruises on your skin. So you might have to remind him to be gentler, and he will quickly comply, apologising for the discomfort he might have caused you.

- Dominant as hell, he will pin your wrists above your head, as he fucks you into the mattress. But, with the right incentive, you could convince him to let you take control in the bedroom.

- Surprisingly vanilla. And NOT into anything that may cause you actual harm. Also not a fan of degradation. Which makes sense, since he's been called a "cancer" and monster his entire life.

- Praise kink that goes both ways. You are perfection in Gabriel's eyes, and he loves reminding you of that. And if you return the favour and tell him how good he makes you feel, and how beautiful he is in your eyes, he will become putty in your hands.

- Knife play, but only when it comes to cutting off your clothes. He won't hold his makeshift dagger to your throat, or drag its blade across your skin, unless you insistently ask him to.

- Speaking of intense stuff, if you enjoy a bit of rough and tumble in the bedroom, and let that slip, this boy will become positively FERAL. Hickies all over, which you would probably wear as a badge of honour, or try to cover up with a scarf if you are shy. And he WILL tease you about them all the damn time.

- And did I mention Gabriel is a tease between the sheets as well? Like, he will edge you for hours on an end, until you are reduced to a sweaty, trembling and mumbling mess, begging him for release with teary eyes. Only then will he give in and let you cum.

- Aftercare is a must, even if he was very gentle with you during lovemaking. He will clean you up, bring you the snacks and beverage of your choice, and then cuddle you until you both fall asleep.

Tagging:

@sole-screws​ @ajokeformur-ray​

[maulusque]

Clone genetic enhancement ideas

So the clones were genetically enhanced, but i don’t really see any writers (in fanfic or in published stuff) really exploring what that MEANS beyond “clone very stronk”. Here are some ideas that would actually make clones significantly different from just a regular-ass human in peak condition. 

-enhanced senses: eyesight, hearing, etc. I’m talking eyes like a HAWK

-better reflexes

-quicker information processing

-can hear sounds of higher and lower frequency than standard humans

-can see light of a broader spectrum than human standard

-learn quicker, retain information and skills better (potential problem: if you learn something the WRONG way, that way might stick really well)

-photographic memory (really useful for memorizing layouts and maps)

-immunity to various diseases

-can tolerate a wider range of temperatures and environments

-increased stamina and strength baseline. Clones can just run full-tilt for hours and hours and be like “ah a nice stroll”. Over long distances, they can out-pace jedi in the same way that humans can out-pace horses.

-higher tolerance of certain poisons/toxins (clones can straight-up drink ethanol, and get maybe a little tipsy)

-bodies respond quickly to physical stress, and slowly to the absence of it (basically, this means that physical conditioning results in stronger muscles and a stronger cardiovascular system really quickly, and it takes MUCH longer for a clone to lose strength and conditioning due to not exercising than standard humans. Think how much valuable training time is saved if they only have to go on a run like, once a month in order to stay in shape)

-increased ability to function through intense pain and acute injuries. Basically, semi-disabling the pain system so it’s less distracting. Probably not good for the survival of the individual in many situations, but an advantage on the battlefield. 

-heal faster and better, with fewer long-term complications. Clones can dislocate their shoulders and NOT have the joint be permanently fucked up, because the Kaminoans re-designed the whole damn thing to suck WAY less.

-actually, unique internal anatomy. There’s probably a lot about the human body besides the shoulder joint that is actually just really stupid, and something no intelligent designer would actually build. So the Kaminoans can fix a lot of that stuff. Better knees, maybe. Stronger ribs. Maybe Cody punches droids not just because he’s a mad bastard, but also because his metatarsals are literally as strong as steel. 

-Hearing loss/hearing damage? No problem, your ear can regrow those little hair-thingies that help you hear. 

-Of course, it takes energy to maintain muscle mass, which is why human bodies lose it if we’re not using it. Clones need significantly more calories than standard humans. However, their digestive systems are enhanced to extract calories and nutrients from food much more efficiently, so food goes much farther. Potential weird side effect: maybe clones only have to poop like, once a week?

-You could probably extend that into increased ability to tolerate long periods without food/on low rations, despite the increased need for calories. 

-wouldn’t it be NEAT if the kaminoans somehow designed self-repairing DNA. This would mean that others couldn’t take a DNA sample from a clone and modify it to create their own clones (basically, it protects their product. It’s like DRM for clones). This ALSO means that clones couldn’t get cancer, and that they’d be immune to radiation poisoning. So a clone could just walk up to a sphere of uranium at critical mass and pick it up. Maybe with oven mitts on if it’s hot. (this would also make it harder for a rapid-aging cure to be developed, but uhhhh fanfic writers find a way)

- “bred for obedience” I think most of this would have to be accomplished through tightly-controlled messaging and cultural norms as the clones grow up- basically, enshrining obedience as a desirable and almost sacred trait, to be prized higher than anything else, including the lives of your brothers. In the same way that we hear stories of people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones, the clones would grow up hearing stories of soldiers sacrificing their brothers’ lives to obey an order from a superior. 

-SOME of the “obedience” thing could be engineered, though. Humans are already super social, but it would probably make sense for the clones to have an even greater need for social bonds. This would make for greater teamwork and coordination, and better unit cohesion, since the clones would be more inclined to prioritize friendship/agreeing with someone over winning an argument. It would also make it so they’d bond with their natural-born generals more easily, so they would obey them not just because they’re supposed to, but because they’d be much quicker to see them as a friend, and someone who’s trust they want to earn, someone they want to incorporate into their group and make happy.

-consequently, clones who find themselves alone do NOT do well. Isolation has a much more profoundly negative impact on clones than on regular humans.

-Originally, clones designed to operate alone or in small teams would not have the social enhancement- ARC troopers, spec-ops teams, etc. There wouldn’t be much of a noticeable difference in everyday interactions, but they’d also be vaguely weirded out by what they interpret as aggressive friendliness from their brothers, and their brothers would think they’re a bit shy and standoffish. 

-actually this social modification would make it MUCH harder for clones to kill people. REGULAR HUMANS are already super bad at killing people- i remember reading this article about how as soon as soldiers have to point their weapons at actual people, their aim gets mysteriously much shittier. Even when compared to situations that are exactly the same, except they’re not shooting at other humans. So reconcile this how you will, idk.

-I imagine a lot of these enhancements would be accomplished not through DNA, but through microorganisms. Retroviruses could explain the DNA resistant to modification, and the increased healing speed, and possibly some disease resistance (do i know anything about retroviruses other than a vague concept of what they are? no i do not. will that stop me? also no.) Their metabolism can be partially explained through specially engineered gut microbes.

-not sure how they’d go about making clones “resistant to any stress”, because you can’t exactly turn off the trauma response in the brain without breaking a bunch of other things. They could probably do a bit of fiddling to make clones more resistant to chemical imbalances, and therefore more depression-resistant. I think most of the “stress-resistance” would have to come through training. Either they train the clones to basically suppress everything, which might work alright in the short term. OR they actually have systems in place that help prevent the development of things like PTSD and help treat trauma. Meaning the clones are literally trained in self-care, positive self-talk, talking about their pain with their brothers, and having community rituals around things like death and grief. I don’t think that’s super likely because one thing that’s integral to those concepts is the concept of “i am a person and i have worth, and if i feel angry about something bad happening, that is ok and valid” and considering that a whole lot of bad things happen to the clones all the time and their childhood is a whole boatload of bad all happening at once, i don’t think the kaminoans would want the clones realizing “hey wait a minute i’m a person and i don’t deserve to be treated this way and it’s ok for me to be mad at you”. 

- the clones were supposedly engineered to be “less aggressive” but i think there was literally nothing more to that than a cover story for the control chip. The clones wouldn’t be raised with a lot of the aggressive western concept of masculinity, where anger is the default reaction to like, everything, and your personal pride is extremely important and also fragile (no offense lmao). So you wouldn’t have clones posturing and getting angry over perceived slights and fighting each other all the time, like everyone in-universe apparently expects to be the case. Anyway, why would you want your soldiers to be less aggressive? they’re literally supposed to fight and kill the enemy. You want them fully capable of getting angry, anger is the human response to fear and danger that lets us DO something about it. 

-obviously the biggest component in how they behave would be how they are raised, but that’s an entirely different post

-Specializations! I imagine that initially, the Kaminoans had different clones with different traits engineered specifically to fill certain roles. However, as the war went on, they struggled to keep up with demand and had to start shoving clones into whatever roles were needed (hence Fives and Echo becoming ARCs, despite not being engineered as ARC troopers). 

-Command clones would have better abilities in the executive function parts of the brain that deal with extrapolation, planning ahead, spatial reasoning, etc. They’d also have increased visual pattern recognition (like a pigeon)

-search-and-rescue troops would also have the pigeon pattern recognition abilities. The coast guard literally strapped pigeons to helicopters who would tap a button when they saw orange in the water, because they were better at spotting it than humans. Pigeons can detect cancer in microscope images of cells, because they’re that good at pattern recognition

-Pilots would have hella reflexes, excellent spatial awareness and spatial reasoning skills, much greater ability to process visual information, stronger hearts and blood vessels (to resist greater Gs of force), and they’d also be much shorter, to better fit into a cockpit. Which reminds me of Axe, that poor bastard from Ahsoka’s squadron over Ryloth who was almost eight feet tall. rip poor Axe, how did you even become a pilot, you long bastard.

-medics who can smell certain diseases. If you want to get a little bit out there, make the medics able to purr so they can sooth stressed-out patients. 

-infantry would have even greater endurance than everyone else, as well as greater tolerance for, and ability to, remain constantly on alert.

-ability to fall asleep at will? that would be super dope.

-maybe more efficient sleep, so to an adult clone, 4 hours of sleep is genuinely sufficient.

-concept: clones can sort of turn down their bodily functions- slow their digestion, heart, lungs, the whole nine yards- to last longer in adverse conditions. Sort of a half-hibernation (or quarter hibernation- they’d still be able to talk and think, but they’d feel very lethargic). They wouldn’t be able to function very well, but it would be great for things like enduring intense cold, periods without food, low-oxygen environments, and it would be especially useful if you were wounded and waiting for help, since you could slow your circulation, meaning it would take you a lot longer to bleed out. This state could be triggered by a combination of physical actions such as sitting or lying still, breathing slowly and deeply, and focusing on slowing the heart down (humans can actually slow down their hearts consciously if you practice at it, this is basically that, but turned up to like 1100).

-one thing that never made sense to me was the whole “we’re running out of jango fett’s DNA, all the new clones won’t be as good, and we have to stop ventress from stealing the original DNA” because like, can’t they just, get the EXACT SAME DNA from the clones?? you know, the exact genetic copies? With all the enhancements already done? But now my idea is that the kaminoans have engineered the clones so their DNA straight up can’t be copied. The clone’s own body can obviously replicate it, but if you take a sample and try to extract the DNA, it just self-destructs or something. This is to protect their intellectual property, but also means that they literally have to use a couple of Jango Fett’s actual human cells for every single clone they make (and the fact that they then have to do all the above enhancements to every single embryo helps explain why there’s so many small mutations, such as hair color and height). So they kinda shot themselves in the foot with that one. 

-of course since things like ADHD and autism have a strong genetic component, the kaminoans could theoretically engineer those out of the clones, but actually FUCK THAT so for whatever reason, that’s just not something they are able to do, and neurodivergent clones are absolutely a thing

[ot3]

Sorry to bother - feel free to ignore. I’m trying to write an orv fic bc. I like them. And I’m having trouble understanding why with the regression depression it’s the happy memories that get yjh the most. Best I can figure it’s bc he can use the bad memories to propel him forward - like he’s doing this to avenge them. But the good memories force him to realize these people are gone and he’ll never see them again. Do you have any thoughts? Thanks!

i think that's definitely more or less accurate! i think the 'those people are gone and he'll never see them again' bit you've pointed out is the critical piece here. ill stick my further thoughts below the cut. this is really long because i've pulled a LOT of long chunks of text from the novel to shore up this point. i just got home from work so my thoughts are gonna be a little bit incoherent here. skip to the end if you're not interested in reading all the segments i pulled from the text. spoilers all the way up through chapter 508

first things first, let's just go back to the novel and look at all the bits where YJH's depression gets brought up

“Maybe Yoo Jonghyuk-nim has already repeated a few lives. You have fought against terrible enemies and struggled against the beings of this world to save people. Enduring alone, lonely memories… We respect your sublime spirit.”

This jerk, such skillful flattery. Yoo Jonghyuk would be moved to tears if he heard. Later when he was depressed, I would have to tell him these words.

“But Yoo Jonghyuk-nim should’ve realized it from your past regressions. Even if you have an outstanding miracle, you alone can’t fight against the disasters that will come.”

Plus, he was right.

- from ch 48

「 Everything is twisted because of this person. 」

「 It is different from what I know in the earlier regressions. The amount of information available is too limited. I can’t save the world like this. 」

What was this?

「 The reason I was hurt by the Salvation Church was because we spent too much time in the last round. It was a mistake to train for 100 years then. My mind was permanently damaged. 」

「 Maybe it was a mistake not to get the Absolute Throne.  」

「 I will start from the beginning again… 」

Dammit, the regressor’s depression had begun. Was it due to the mental attack? I cried out in fear of what he would decide. “I’m hurt you jerk!”

- from ch 140

「 Those people can’t save the world, even with 100 trucks. 」

「 Once again, the answer is regression… 」

“Now now, our Supreme King isn’t in a good mood right now so back off. Do you want to die?” I personally stepped forward to get rid of any causes of depression.

- later on in ch140 as well

This jerk, he was always so impatient. He had been given time to rest but he was still busy thinking. Regardless of his depressed state, Yoo Jonghyuk was Yoo Jonghyuk.

“Before that, let’s take a moment to breath. The view is great.” I said while sitting on the roof railing.

Yoo Jonghyuk asked me, “What are you up to?”

“I’m just looking at the world. Isn’t it beautiful?” The city of Seoul was destroyed by the monsters. I quickly added, “It was originally a beautiful place.”

“I don’t like landscapes.”

“Why?”

“They are things that will disappear someday.”

I thought I had a bit more understanding of the third regression Yoo Jonghyuk after fighting against Shin Yoosung. I wanted to believe he was a person who could love this world without giving up or feeling despair.

I told him, “However, we need to protect these things.”

“Kim Dokja, you don’t know.”

This might be my misunderstanding. Yoo Jonghyuk could give up at any time because he was still in the midst of his regressions.

In the end, Yoo Jonghyuk’s purpose was to prevent the ‘destruction of this world.’ Paradoxically, he could give up on this world at any time. His essence was regression and this fact would never change.

“No, I know,” I replied.

“What?”

“The fact that you can regress at any time means that death is meaningless.”

I looked down at Lee Seolhwa caring for the injured. Lee Seolhwa was feeding her boiled soup to an unknown person. Despite her efforts, there was a high probability that the character would die. Even if they lied now, they would die tomorrow. If they miraculously survived tomorrow, they would die the day after tomorrow.

It was the same in the fourth regression and the fifth regression. There would always be ‘death’ in the world of Yoo Jonghyuk, even after passing the 100th regression.

“If there is no sense of death then the value of life also disappears.”

- ch141

There was the vague belief that he could do better in the next round with more information. It was easy for him to give up on this regression if something went wrong.

This was the precursor symptom of ‘regression depression.’ Some of the contents of Ways of Survival passed through my head.

It was around the 48th regression. Yoo Jonghyuk had consulted with an incarnation of the constellation ‘Discoverer of the Subconscious’ on the ‘regression depression.’ At the time, he seemed to be speaking like I was now.

I continued speaking, “Yes. It might be as you say. If you repeat it 10 or 20 times then it will surely get better. You’ll be exposed to more scenarios and see more of the future. The real problem is when you someday save the world in this manner.”

“What does this mean?”

“At that time, do you really think you saved this world?”

“…”

“Do you think you will be able to keep the same mindset after repeating it 100 or 200 times?”

“I won’t regress that many times.”

I silently stared at Yoo Jonghyuk.

「 …Don’t tell me? 」 Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes slowly widened.

I kept speaking, “Are you having nightmares these days?”

“…”

“You won’t be saved, even if you save the world. The moment you save the world, the worlds you have forsaken will come to you. Despite saving one world, all the other worlds you abandoned will drag you to hell.”

- from further down in ch141

「 Yoo Jonghyuk felt lonely as he saw these watches. They got their time back but he still wasn’t

living in this time. Yoo Jonghyuk suddenly thought. If so, where do I live in those countless hours? 」

It was the monologue of Yoo Jonghyuk, who once saved the Demon World. It was also one of my favourite scenes from Ways of Survival.

I suddenly seemed to understand a bit of his mind. To the regressor Yoo Jonghyuk, the time in these worlds didn’t belong to him. In a life that could go back over and over again, the present time was meaningless.

Once this was over, I would ask Aileen to make me a watch. If he had something like this, he might become more attached to this world. Maybe the regression depression would get better…

- ch 207

A person who regressed more than a thousand times. A spirit that had become insensitive from the hundreds of suicides and tragedies that an individual could suffer. The extremely widespread regression depression…

「 Yoo Jonghyuk of the 1863rd round is the despair of the world itself. 」

- ch 285

Abnormal condition? There was no way. Who was the 1863rd regression Yoo Jonghyuk? This was Yoo Jonghyuk who was the Ruler of the East Hell and killed the Devil of Principles. There was no one among the constellations who could place an abnormal condition on the present Yoo Jonghyuk.

Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes were blank.

I felt uncomfortable like something was stuck in my throat. No, there was. There was only one person who could cause an abnormal status in Yoo Jonghyuk.

+

* The target is suffering from ‘regression depression’ due to an unknown cause.

+

It was Yoo Jonghyuk himself.

Regression depression. The spirit of the man who had been broken over 1863 lives made the regression depression almost a passive, low level skill. Once he fell into the depression, his consciousness was caught in the weight of his memories and he couldn’t wake up.

[Kill him! He isn’t invincible!]

The ruthless strikes caused Yoo Jonghyuk’s body to bleed little by little. It was strange. Originally, the regression depression shouldn’t occur in this situation. In the 1863rd round, Yoo Jonghyuk had learnt how to manage this disease.

- ch 286

then this REALLY LONG BIT from 287. it has stopped letting me indent for some reason so i guess ill bold this.

I knew how to wake up Yoo Jonghyuk from his regression depression. In other words, it meant I also knew how to sink him deeper into that melancholy.

I saw Yoo Jonghyuk’s fingertips moving and opened my mouth. “Do you remember? The 33rd round. You cleared the 40th scenario and Lee Jihye said this.”

Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes dimmed and his moving fingertips stopped.

「 “It would be nice if Master didn’t have to go to the next round.” 」

“Think about it. You weren’t always unhappy. Right? In all the rounds, there were moments when you were happy.”

Yoo Jonghyuk’s expression was becoming stiffer.

“The 173rd round. You protected Earth for quite some time. You also saw Lee Jihye receiving her high school diploma and Lee Seolhwa smiling at someone’s child.”

「 “Jonghyuk-ssi, are you happy that you’re alive?” 」

Every time I spoke, Yoo Jonghyuk’s expression collapsed. It wasn’t despair that broke down Yoo Jonghyuk.

“The 383rd round. You finally cleared the 75th scenario. Fortunately, nobody died in that round. That was the first time. Then Lee Hyunsung told you.”

「 “Jonghyuk-ssi, I won’t forget today until I die.” 」

The feather-like memories sank into his head.

“Then the 498th round…”

Yoo Jonghyuk’s palms moved to cover his ears. The usual Yoo Jonghyuk wouldn’t have fallen from this much. Now it was different. I held his hands and kept talking. “That happened 10 times.”

A human sank deeper into the water just because of the weight of these feathers.

“Twenty times.”

My breath clogged up and my lungs tightened. I could feel what Yoo Jonghyuk was going through. Only I could feel it. The most primitive darkness at the bottom of one person was swallowing his ego greedily.

“100 times. It repeated over 1,000 times.”

All those words were destroyed. All the happy memories flowed back to a time they could never return to. Through the countless regressions, the meaning of happiness faded. All the values he preserved became pieces of torn paper.

“Yoo Jonghyuk.”

Yoo Jonghyuk’s self was sinking into the deep sea. It was to a place that he could never come up from without someone’s help.

“Have you protected all the things you wanted to keep?”

I looked at Yoo Jonghyuk’s miserable face and thought: Don’t worry Yoo Jonghyuk. I’ll do the rest. You stop and rest.

[Your understanding of the character ‘Yoo Jonghyuk’ is increasing explosively.]

Yoo Jonghyuk’s empty eyes were showing memories of losing his master. I didn’t use Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint but it wasn’t hard to read.

「 I want to die. 」

「 I want to finish all of this. 」

「 If only I can never wake up. 」

A few drops of rain fell from the sky. It was black rain made from the blood of the demon kings and constellations. Liquid also flowed onto Yoo Jonghyuk’s face. Yoo Jonghyuk’s gaze lowered and finally fell on me.

I was looking at the moment a human’s spirit collapsed. There was a broken voice. Like a creaking machine, Yoo Jonghyuk stammered, “Wh,at… should, I, d…o?”

i think this one is obviously very important.

then, the 'have you protected all you wanted to protect' stuff obviously reaches its culmination in the finale

⸢The regression depression.⸥

That was the only weakness of Yu Jung-Hyeok, who had repeatedly regressed for a very long time.

[In the 173rd turn. You managed to protect Earth for a pretty long time. You got to see Yi Ji-Hye receive her high school diploma, and you even got to see Yi Seol-Hwa smile with another’s child in her arms.]

The light in Yu Jung-Hyeok’s eyes was wavering.

⸢It wasn’t despair that could defeat Yu Jung-Hyeok.⸥

⸢Small feather-like memories settled down inside his head one by one.⸥

The ‘Dokkaebi King’ was using the exact same method I relied on back then.

⸢The breathing got harder, and the lungs were getting tighter.⸥

⸢A man drowning in water would sink even deeper under the surface from the weight of a mere feather.⸥

I couldn’t afford to idly watch on anymore. I shouted at Yu Jung-Hyeok, telling him to wake up, and not to fall for such an illusion.

However, my voice couldn’t reach them as if a non-conductive barrier was set up between us. And the ‘Dokkaebi King’ was smiling away, perhaps to mock this entire story.

[Yu Jung-Hyeok, have you protected all that you wanted to protect?]

Slowly, Yu Jung-Hyeok’s knees sank down.

I roused the Status of Fables. I needed to undo that ⸢Stage Transformation⸥ right now, But, how should I…

Grab.

There was a hand still tightly clutching mine. It was Han Su-Yeong.

“That’s not a battle you can interfere in.”

“But, if he’s left alone….!”

“….Even a star that can’t be seen still emits light. You said that, right?”

….A star that can’t be seen?

Her words made me look back at Yu Jung-Hyeok once more.

His gaze being lowered had come to a stop. Blinding sparks were completely enveloping him.

Tsu-chuchuchuchu….

Something was waking up his fading consciousness.

[Great Fable, ‘Ones that Remember the Apocalypse’, has begun its storytelling!]

That was a Fable I wasn’t aware of.

As the sparks lessened gradually, several silhouettes revealed themselves. Now that I took a closer look, Yu Jung-Hyeok wasn’t alone. No, four others were standing beside him.

A tall man, a young man with blonde hair, a girl with a ponytail, and finally…

[[He couldn’t protect anyone. That’s why he now stands in this place.]]

….An Archangel with blindingly-pure wings.

Astonishment quickly dyed the Dokkaebi King’s expression.

The Fable from the destroyed 999th turn was now burning brightly like the conflagration of end times on the edges of the Archangel’s blade.

[[Because he believes there are still things left to protect.]]

- from ch 508

Now here's a couple of tidbits about depression when it comes up for Other entities:

The fastest thing to get shaved away after becoming a Constellation was their own ‘Fable’. The more a Constellation depleted its story, the weaker its power would get. They would grow bored, disinterested, fall into depression, or lose themselves in tedium.

Constellations would desperately seek out other Fables in order to escape from such a quagmire. In other words, they would search for a new tragedy to escape from this horrible eternal cycle, even if it was only for a brief moment.

- ch 498

⸢[Constellation, ‘Abyssal Black Flame Dragon’s’ ■■ is ‘Something that can’t be found’.]⸥

I had read what his ■■ was from the original novel. His description showed up when he became Yu Jung-Hyeok’s ally for a little while during the 1863rd turn.

⸢The evil dragon suffering from the worst possible depression in this <Star Stream>.⸥

The reason why the ‘Abyssal Black Flame Dragon’ believed his age to be 15 was simply that he’d not be able to continue on if he didn’t.

A life stretching for thousands, no, tens of thousands of years, made an originally solitary dragon into such a creature.

In order to stop itself from decaying, he chose not to age. He chose not to lose his curiosity of the world. He chose to torment Incarnations or play bizarre pranks. And for his final prank, he even chose to betray the ‘Absolute Evil’, too. He stood on Yu Jung-Hyeok’s side and while mocking the <Star Stream>, breathed his last.

- ch 503

okay so

i think there are a couple of different ways to look at the regression depression in line with each of orv's 'themes'. of course despair at losing his comrades is the main primary emotion here, but there's subtler stuff going on here too.

for starters, the foundational components of any creature within the star stream is its stories. the more your stories are known and shared the more powerful they are, etc, etc. time and time again their shared stories are the thing to save them and ground them. but as we see with the hellscape of eternity, yjh begins to become isolated from the interpersonal aspect of the story as he loses the people he originally formed these stories with. the stories are how people communicate. as YJH progresses through his regressions he is unable to relate to the 'story' in the way you are supposed to, and this essentially causes a complete ego death. life no longer has any meaning for him, because he is fundamentally incapable of connecting with people. the [impossible communication] of a life and a burden that can't be shared.

then there's the [samsara] aspect - being worn down by the endless repetition of fate. everything is the same, over and over again, and yet we still delve into it hoping to get something new out of it. maybe the story will be different this time. ABFD was able to stave off depression by keeping himself in a state of permanent novelty - there was still something left to discover - but as YJH progresses through the regressions and falls deeper and deeper into repeating the same pattern, the tedium becomes too much. he has nothing new to experience. he has repeated everything this reality has to offer - or so he thinks - and it shows no sign of ever changing. if it's the same every time, why stick around? why not go again? it doesn't matter. none of it matters. you are just part of the wheel.

and if we think of it in terms of [good and evil] we see yjh slowly become something that almost any human being would call a monster. as kdj says in that conversation with anna croft near the end, "can you really call someone a human if you have to look so hard to find their humanity?" as far as it goes. yjh commits some atrocities! Because of said aforementioned removal from reality and ego death, he is able to fully justify any action it takes no matter how horrendous. and yet his noble goal never changes. undeniably, what he is by the end is some sort of monster. but still, of course, just a man. and he knows this. he feels himself slipping a little bit more, every regression. he knows its coming. and he doesn't want it. he wants to maintain his humanity.

but really i think we can almost best think of yjh's regression depression as almost his equivalent to the [fourth wall]. whereas the 4th wall is a unique passive skill that protects kim dokja by preventing him from fully conceptualizing what's happening to him as 'reality', the regression depression harms yjh by preventing him from conceptualizing what's happening to him as 'reality'. in a sense, his friends and loved ones have almost become 'characters' to him as well, as he already knows the way this story happens. he is an outsider, observing these beings interact with each other but not quite the same as them. he is an anachronism. this isn't his present. this is a present, one he can take or leave at any time. the thing yjh does in his later regressions - using people as tools - is something kdj does in the beginning of his journey. because, well, it doesnt matter if this isn't the 'real world'! they mirror each other.

that ended up being so much longer than i thought it would im sorry. i hope this was even like 10% helpful.

[nickywhoisi]

I've just had the worst morning and I don't know how to go on...

I was shivering cold the entire time. I don't remember how much sleep I got but I do remember tosding and turning. That's always bad news. Then the security guard who had allowed me to use the white spot bench had the worst kind of wake up call, which was just not okay for my personal meeds to wake up slowly. He jammed me into too much full gear, and it really was morning like the promise. But that wasn't even the worst thing.

When I used that bench, I thought that meant I might be sage somewhere. That I could rely on this white spot bench, though were it any other situation, I would not have done this at all. But as I was turning around just to figure out where my lost belongings were...I jyst saw two men carrying off that very bench, and for some ungodly reason they put it somrwhere into the garbage area. It was all too much at once, and now I feel like they want me to kill myself, or I ferl like I want to kill myself. They openly made this action against what I can only know is...me, as a homeless person who never chose this. They openly acted on a petty hatred, as if "oh, we don't want homeless people getting even a shred of safety or security, so we're gonna take away this standin bed now, oh noes mah business." As if they thought I have some incurable disease just by being a homeless person. They are effectively saying through this one motion we hate you and will never support you or treat you like a fair human being if you don't have a house or act like the rest of us. I just...cried real hard a short while ago, then decided to post about it. Being in this destitute life situation, I am beyond comprehending why...what makes people so unpeople-like, when it comes to homelessness? Why do homeless get so...sledgehammered with such cruelty like this, when we are already under so much, no too much loss? Why can't it be enough that I am suffering loss of sleep every cold night, why must you all deepen the knife wound by forcing me to watch my one piece of solace dragged away to never be used by anyone again, let alone me? Why did you all forget that this was for everyone, I knew that too?! Why did this heartbreak have to happen after I used it?! As if...this very act is a victim blaming fabricating of guilt of some kind. They are trying to somehow make ME feel guilty for, what staying out of the cold and getting a safe spot to rest? And none of these individuals were around for me to even speak to about this matter in person, so now I'm stuck with this discomfort in my guts all because of them. EVERYONE, DO NOT GO TO THE WHITE SPOT ON SCOTT ROAD. DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY OF YOUR MONEY OR SUPPORT. THEY DON'T DESERVE IT. THEY ARE OPENLY OPPRRSSIVE TOWARDS THOSE WHO ARE ALREADY AT ROCK BOTTOM DESTITUTION, THEY DO NOT AND LIKELY WILL NEVER CARE ABOUT YOU OVER THEIR SLIMY SELFISH AND NONSENSICAL BUSINESS PRACTISES. God...how can anybody be oppressive and bizarrely cruel towards literal poor people who do not deserve any of it? Like myself, now...

[brightlotusmoon]

From a comment thread in my ADHD group about the reality of ADHD as a disorder.

-

"Education needs reform for this and many other reasons, which will make learning easier for most, but will not “eliminate” ADHD.

Part of the problem is that this framing removes protections from those of us who need labels and accommodation in order to manage our lives."

...

"While I understand what this author was going for, this article is clearly written by a neurotypical who’s never grappled with day to day living as a Neurodiverse human.

Yes, many of our struggles exist because we live in a society that thrives on high production value at the lowest cost.

Yes there are studies showing our brains have evolved in a manner unsuited to our current living condition.

But at the end of the day it is still a disorder and it needs to be labeled and recognized as one. When we try to trim the edges of a complex issue and say “it’s about dealing with adversity” al you’ve done is give people the green light to say we simply don’t know how to cope with stress and that’s some how our fault.

You can’t boil down the complex spectrum of mental health like this because it somehow makes you feel better sorry.

All this article will accomplish is giving NT’s further permission to dismiss our struggles and push us further and further away from getting the proper treatment we need.

Again, this is a complex issue that can’t be boiled down into a 1000 word article. The reason you see less cases in Finland vs the US is because of so many factors like socialized medicine, advanced and well funded education infrastructure, an economy that isn’t stuck in late stage capitalism propaganda.

The reason you see more cases being diagnosed is because more and more people feel comfortable discussing mental health, because we are slowly moving away from the outdated diagnosing models that assume only boys can get ADHD, and in America especially we are dealing with generations that have increased trauma like 9/11, the crash of 2008, housing crisis after housing crisis, Covid, economic inflation without proper wages. The burn out is astronomical and no one wants to properly deal with that.

So it’s incredibly unfair for this author to sit there and say “it’s a simple matter of not being able to deal with adversity” and assume that’s going to somehow fix us."

...

"My concern for this study is that it will be used to justify and reinforce the ableist notion to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and then it will make not overcoming "adversity" as a personal failing.

I also take issue with the position that we can reform individual systems (i.e education) to mitigate mental disorders. IMO, reform is just a bandaid and it doesn't address the base causes of trauma/adversity which are things like poverty and economic instability, hunger, domestic violence rooted in patriarchal masculinity/homophobia/transphobia, state violence (i.e. police killings, child migrant detention, etc.), and imperialism/war.

The article mentions ADHD as an adaption to ancestral adversity, though it doesn't mention the research on epigenetics that point to trauma being passed intergenerationally through biological/genetic changes in offspring.

I'm curious to read the full study. I feel it has some good ideas, but I caution putting too much weight into one study as presented in Forbes."

...

"I only skimmed the first two paragraphs thus far. Lessee - PTSD might be a response to adversity - um, no sh*t Sherlock! And quite often yes depression and other conditions are as well. That part of why trauma-informed care has become such a significant thing in psychotherapy circles. Then it says ADHD may be from our ancestral environment but doesn’t match the way we live today - uh that means it’s not adaptive and is creating a problem. That’s also why treatment is more than just medication which is what they are focused on. They also said something about despite medication the prevalence of depression hasn’t decreased. I didn’t see how they made that determination but - um, people have to continue to see their treating providers and have the diagnosis if they are going to continue to receive the treatment. Yes it might be in remission, but for some only as long as the medication is being taken (and I’ll say that’s more likely if someone doesn’t receive therapy - I’m a bit biased in this regard 🙂) … I also doubt physicians or clinicians are changing the diagnoses. Heck, I went through a difficult breakup and requested medication - I later saw the doctor ”diagnosed” Major Depression - uh, no, and that diagnosis still shows up. Other thoughts too, I could (and probably should really write an article of my own). I also saw they make reference to polyvagal theory, an important relatively concept in understanding and informing how we treat clients - again beyond medication alone.

Social reform, sure we need it. I’m assuming this reform is to address things like poverty, systemic racism, etc. It’s cyclical: systemic stuff contributes to physical and mental conditions/disorders/diseases. I’m all for less trauma and all the various -isms.

BUT one issue does not negate the existence of the other. That there is an adversity aspect doesn’t rule out the biological aspect. “Yes AND” not “yes but”.

And now I’ll get back to what I was doing before I got sidetracked by seeing this... 😃 (And read the rest of the article later - so great to have such a big reaction to something I barely read! Oy…)"

-

[mci-writing]

I Thought Rhododendron was a Warning (Midoriya Izuku x reader) [Hanahaki Au]

A/n: This fic originally was meant to be posted July 26th for @birds-have-teeth's Izumonth Server Collab! Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, even though it’s a little late ^^’

Warnings: Angst; Hanahaki Au; Barfing of flowers, descriptions of throwing up; descriptions of choking and being unable to breath; descriptions of blood; descriptions of coughing up blood; descriptions of various forms of pain (namely chest and throat pains); mentions of the word toilet and it’s various synonyms

“People always say to be cautious of what flowers you cough up when you choke up, but how are you to know which ones are a warning sign and which ones are in dire need of check up? Sure, colors and shape could give it away if you know your botany, but what if you’re completely clueless? That’s where this guide to flowers and their symbolism comes in, to help you overcome your Hanahaki and your feelings without having to immediately get the surgery-” Midoriya vividly remembers each time that commercial or one similar would appear on the television and they were always followed by his mother’s quick response of changing the channel or turning it off altogether. Her statements that would follow were always disapproving of such products, saying they would probably kill a person off faster rather than actually help them with living longer. 

That was really his only exposure to any forms of Hanahaki discussion at home. His mother never really felt the need to elaborate on the disease other than giving the basic fact that you normally caught it under unfortunate, romantic situations. What these situations were, he had no idea, and the only clue he really had on that matter were things he’d hear in passing conversations at school. There’d been rumors of other kids in his middle school catching cases, yet they never really seemed to be enough to actually draw his attention to the illness.

He had assumed he would continue to live in that naive, blissful unawareness he’d developed over his juvenile years, but his years at Yuuei forcefully and uncomfortably opened his eyes without his consent. The first month consisted of their Pro teachers reminding them of just how much more important their lives were than a small crush and that they should keep their attention on their studies rather than trying to confess their feelings. Aizawa was especially vocal about this, to the point he set aside a day to tell the class stories of students and Pro Heroes that had to let go of their dreams when they died of the disease and how the percentage that did receive the surgery were never the same. And those words of advice followed him through his Yuuei days, echoing each time there’d be an announcement of one of his many schoolmates lost to the disease. It especially hit different when one of his classmates caught a cold case and, many times, no one had even known about it. He remembers watching Kaminari choke to death in front of everyone on the sports field one day and another time it caught Hagakure before the premature intermission of their second Sports Festival.

Midoriya believed he’d heeded enough warning not to find himself in the situation he currently found himself in. Even now, each mention and memory of Hanahaki is being thrown back at him as he tries to find where to go next with the blood covered, grassy vomit he recently regurgitated into his toilet.

“Midoriya?”

The flowers. Always take notice of what flowers you spit up. Even just an attribute of a vine of stem could help determine your current state- The sight of the flowers makes him wonder how he didn’t choke on the individual flowers, each a small flower in a bundle to make up a cone-shape. There were mainly two of the cone-shaped put togethers, a few smaller flowers and their petals also hanging around and floating in the water with small twinges of stem. 

“Midoriya, are you okay in there?”

He knows a set of lilacs when he sees them, even with the accompanying splotches of blood. It’s a common starter flower during most first attacks that has killed just as many as it has warned. They were usually associated with innocence and purity, the beginning of a budding annoyance that Midoriya wouldn’t easily be able to just overlook-

“Midoriya? Are you feeling well? You seemed a little faint in color before running off to the powder room-” It’s too late when he hears the bathroom door open, his body lurching forward in surprise at the sudden interruption, “Hanahaki…”

It’s too late for him to hide the evidence and he can’t just immediately make up an excuse for why there’s a nice sight of bloody lilacs chilling in his toilet. The frightened, paling appearance of the sudden guest’s face doesn’t help in the slightest, their feet seemingly glued in place as their eyes dart between the obvious mess of the floral bile and his completely frazzled form.They were pretty sure he was still shaking, but whether it was from fear or him fighting to get the choking feeling of flowers out of his throat had been beyond them.

“I… It’s not what it looks like! A-At least, I hope it’s not what it looks like! I’m fine, though! It came up easy-” Midoriya rambles on nervously, his hand coming up to tug at his white tee while his green eyes glance around the room for various explanations. His hands whimsically move about and around him, coming together to hold and clench themselves before releasing to move on to picking and playing with each other, “A-Anyway, I’ll get myself cleaned up and we can finish the- (Y/n)?”

His rambling stops once they fall to their knees before him, their hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Their eyes glance him over, an extra emotion swirling through their (e/c) irises before they pull him into a tight hug, messy shirt and all. He’s taken aback by the sudden action, his own limbs slowly coming up to wrap around their form. Their hand comes up and pats his back softly, those pats turning into reassuring back rubs as he continues to toss up flowers into the commode.

“I’ll help however I can, Izuku...”

“Blaaagh”

“Like getting you a breath mint. Immediately getting you that breath mint” They state as they quickly rise to their feet, heading out the bathroom door and closing it behind them.

~~~

He originally believed everything would be fine after that one incident. He planned to get it under control, use home remedy after home remedy to prevent it from affecting him any further. He confidently felt he was making strides to recovery without needing to get a surgery to remove feelings he still couldn’t even place. He could survive having one mild attack in his life and live the rest pretending he never had hanahaki. 

He knew it wasn’t that simple, but to have the hope peacefully tug at his chest in comfort with each ad he passed seemed as though the force of his life was taunting him once more by waving a seemingly unattainable dream in his face. The idea of constantly drinking weed killer was still very concerning with how often it’d been recommended (he decides to set it as his last ditch effort when the weeds become too much for him) and he’s pretty convinced he should close this article (Y/n) sent him out of fear of something infecting his device. Well, that was the plan up until something peaked his interest.

Lo and behold, surrounded by the most erotic and scam ridden ads Midoriya’s seen on the internet, sat a flower alignment chart. His curiosity is piqued at the sight of the familiarly unfamiliar diagram and his fingers are quick to hover over the image before downloading and sending  it to his partner in deciphering where he currently stood on the danger scale. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: It’s a flower chart. Tells you your danger zone

Well, yeah. He figured that much given the sight he’d found it in the first place. He sighs in exasperation as he lays back against his pillow. He closes out of his messaging app, going to google for a more broad and direct response to said chart.

He hovers over his keyboard as he thinks of where to start in terms of keywords. He wasn’t too concerned with the flowers he’d spit out yesterday, in terms of how at risk he was of having thorns pierce his lungs. He starts with similar charts, lifting himself from the comfort of his sheets to grab one of his many empty journals stored under his bed.

He maps out his own diagram, taking only the results many of them had in common and noting the rare differences between them on another sheet. He decides to check the other things out in the morning when he catches just how late it is, his eyes skimming over his finished project before setting it over to the side. His eyes linger on his home-screen a moment after, the sight of him and friends smiling back at him so happily reminding him of why he needed to get rid of it. 

The memory of the white flowers fill his mind again at that, some of the lilacs speckled with a red he’s seen out in the field too many times. It reminds him of how congested he felt, the tightness of his chest and how he struggled to even get any of it passed his throat, let alone ignore the piercing feeling he felt as the weeds also made their way out of his system. He had to keep himself from panicking to hold up the front for his friends while they were in the other room and hold back the fear he felt when (L/n) caught him bent over the toilet.

His cheeks flush from the awkward aftermath of that encounter. There was already some distance between them prior (why had been completely unknown on his end), but the sudden tense feeling after the whole bathroom situation with the complete opposite of the comforting feeling they gave when they found him there. Even now, their responses and questions just didn’t click the same way they did a week ago. While he, of course, wanted to approach the situation and figure out what was up, he just couldn’t. He had no way to go about it.

And now he’s literally puffing up daisies, possibly on the verge of death. If they’re in a bad place now, he can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be when he does die. 

The thought has his heart pounding in a different way than the adrenaline he’s used to feeling, aching in a way only they could cause. He finds himself blankly gazing at their smiling face, seemingly on the brink of laughing at something one of them said. All the while, the reminder of his hours ticking down if he doesn’t handle this soon hollowly echoes through his mind.

His breathing begins hallowing as the heavy feeling in his chest returns in a seemingly swift attack, the stems digging at various parts of his body in an almost threatening manner. He feels himself lose his breath a moment, his head spinning and eyesight dotting before he manages to break out of his flinched stance enough to rush himself to his bathroom. He doesn’t have time to really process too much aside for him throwing the toilet seat up. The pointy stems force their way out of his mouth, reinforcing just how painful the whole thing is. His eyes tear up and he’s there long enough for paresthesia to kick in on his legs from the cut off of proper oxygen flow.

His body trembles when he finally finishes hacking up the fauna. More blood covers the flowers than he last remembered, white corona surrounded by bright yellow perianth with both covered in unsymmetrical red splotches. His chest heaves as he desperately inhales as much air as he can. His back presses against the cold wall tiles of his bathroom after he manages to catch enough breath for his mind to begin functioning properly. It’s the first thing to alert him of his senses coming back, the blur of his eyes slowly coming to after. 

With the little energy he has left, he climbs over to his toilet once again out of curious desperation. Proudly standing on end are numerous daffodils, taunting him and reminding of just what he’s going through. He’s suddenly hit tier 2. No warning and immediately after him worrying over the well-being of his friends. 

He uses the wall to get to his feet, pushing off of it and steadying himself on the toilet tank. The lid makes a loud clank against it, causing him to jump a bit and fall back against his sink counter. He winces slightly from the pain, his hand gripping the area and rubbing it soothingly. His hand grips the counter, using it to hold himself up as he reaches over and flushes the toilet.

He’s exhausted when he finally gets back to his bed, ready to let sleep drown him into a healing rest, yet his phone’s notification light continues to flash in the corner of his eye. He groans as he leans over, the light practically blinding him as soon as his screen flashes on. He flinches, eyes remaining squinched as he swipes away social media alerts. 

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: Please be careful tonight. I’ll be there in a heartbeat if you need me

His face heats up a bit as he reads it over, coming to a revelation he wished he’d come to sooner. His body seemingly sits up on it’s own as he feels his chest tighten a moment. 

His breathing grows labored once more, his hand gripping his chest in some weak attempt to ground himself. His hand reaches for his phone as calmly as he frantically could, managing to dial (Y/n)’s number, a shade of red blooming over most of his face. It wakes him up a bit, his emerald eyes widening in a sudden realization that he 

“Hey, Izuku? Something up-”

“I-I need some help. C-Could you- Agh!” He falls back in pain, his grip tightening as he continues to scream out in agony. His throat feels lodged up, something feeling as though it’s forcefully crawling up. He painfully swallows it back, a faded voice echoing through his ears as he feels his eyesight fade to black.

~~~~~

Midoriya blinks away the sleep in his eyes, the blaring lights from the ceiling making it a little hard to truly open his eyes. The overwhelming smell of insulin and antiseptic fill his nose. He struggles to make out his surroundings beyond that due to the feeling of an extra weight holding his body down. He shakes around a bit to shrug the figure off of him, sitting up enough to see just a little more of the white room. He’s sure he’s in a hospital room after further assessment, more than likely thanks to (Y/n) after he called them in the midst of panic (and it makes him pretty glad he let them take one of his keys when he first moved in unless he somehow forgot to lock his door again).

He lays his head back against the pillow provided for him in exhaustion, yet he’s unable to just close them and rest. His mind is practically racing with so many thoughts, thoughts he wished he had his newly formed chart for. He couldn’t have just jumped danger levels like that, especially not after just finding out the person of his affection had been his current lifeline just a few hours ago (or what he assumed had been a few hours. Kinda hard to tell when you’re passed out from loss of air for a majority of that time). It wasn’t off the table, and he knew that fact, but it was too soon for the both of them. They were already at an awkward place before and he doesn’t just want to force his feelings onto them, especially if they’re going through something he didn’t know about. It felt wrong.

There’s a shift as (Y/n) sits up from laying over him. They take a moment to stretch, a couple of their bones popping and cracking before they relax to sit back against their seat. Their face makes it obvious that they had fallen asleep and their arm is quick to wipe away the bit of drool on their cheeks. Midoriya feels his face warm at that, his eyes quickly averting when he notices their attention drift to him.

 “Hey, sleepy broccoli. They had to pump a LOT of pain medicine in you” He perks up as they begin speaking to him, an almost prideful smile on their face as they continue, “They say you’re lucky that a sudden attack like that didn’t kill you. I, of course, was rooting for you! You’ve come back from worst”

Yet, he can see the painful look being held back in their expression. He stares a moment, taking it in and trying to figure out why they even had that hesitation on their face. He sighs out, weakly smiling up at them and attempting to sit up on his own, “S-Sorry to call you so late in the night. Your number was already there and I guess my fingers acted on instinct”

“Yeah… Instinct” They murmur, their thumbs rubbing over one another out of nervousness. They stare at him a moment, an awkward silence filling the room and causing Midoriya to wonder if he’d responded the wrong way. 

He goes to fix up his statement, enforce how grateful he is for their assistance through all of this. They get caught in his throat before he can mutter a word, another choked up feeling coming and going.

“They did say your symptoms have been escalating a little faster than what they’re used to, considering you’ve begun developing vines along different parts of your chest and torso. They plan on putting you on watch for when things become too much and they have to… t-they have to do the procedure to… remove them… Seems this person’s really running their circles around your feelings, Izuku” They let out one of their worried ‘hehs’, sending him a pitiful smile of the same calibur. They pull their phone from the pocket, opening their dial-up before turning to him with a solemn smile, “So let’s get them called up, yeah?”

He feels the feeling crawl back up his throat, this one a little harder and scratchy; A hurtful kind of scratchy that makes him feel like something’s tearing at the inner skin. Another lump comes to his throat when he notices the tears in their eyes. He’s unable to tell if it's the weeds or something else entirely, “(Y/n)...”

“Don’t pull a (Y/n) and give up on them, please. My biggest regret was giving up on my feelings for you, but now I know for sure they’re not in vain” A few stray tears run down their cheeks only for their hand to quickly come up and wipe them away, “So please, Izuku… Tell them how you feel before you feel nothing at all-”

He’s unable to hold back as he feels himself cough, his hand quickly going to cover his mouth and catching the dark red petals that fall. (Y/n) is to his side, gripping his shoulder with one hand. One of their fingers holds the call button to request for assistance. Their (e/c) eyes widen in fear at the color of the petals in his hand, more of their tears coming and dripping down their face.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Izuku-”

“No! I-It’s not!” His arms cross over his chest, hands holding at opposite shoulders as he rocks himself. His chest heaves before he releases another sickly, airy cough. He manages out a dark crimson rose, his hold on himself tightening as more vines etch their indents onto his skin before taking a familiar, healthy shade of green. The shade contrasts with the growing paleness of his skin and the growing red bruises from the thorns pricking at his it. He coughs up another rose and the shades of red are almost indistinguishable as the shade of his own blood gets darker and comes out more clumped than before.

“Izuku, we have to go get you a doctor-”

“No! N-Not until…” he struggles to get the words out as it gets harder to breathe. He tries to ignore the feelings of needing to throw up, swallowing down the thick brushle in his chest. He’s unable to do so, coughing up another and another until his arms are completely decorated in the thorny vines. He takes a deep breath, slowly sitting up enough for his emerald eyes to meet their (e/c) ones. He fights down the nauseous feeling, his face twisting into a grimace as he pushes the small phrase, “I-It’s you-”

A sharp pain catches him before he can finish, various doctors and nurses rushing to his side as he screeches out from the unrivaled pain in his chest. They’re forced to watch as the color in Midoriya’s eyes begin to fade before his body fully goes limp in their hold.

They’re chest seemingly begins to contort, their heart squeezing with emotions they shouldn’t be feeling, that they couldn’t be feeling. The feelings all collide at once as they stand to the side, watching the futile attempts of the medical team to save Midoriya Izuku. They stand there until the team leaves, a dullness to their stare as the staff wheel him out of the room.

And once they’re gone, (Y/n) finally breaks down again...

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

The Alter Ego of Rakugo — Tlazolteotl

Steam surrounds her —

She leans back, her breath out disturbing the laden air around her. A hand outwards beckons you in, fingers slipping from you to her.

But the smile she wears is warning of what comes next.

Summoned mere days before the onset of the [] Singularity, Tlazolteotl appears to have simply arrived on a whim.

—

Tlazolteotl, the goddess of steam baths, purification and lust, and the patron of adulterers, took the form of a lady within a bath one day — one who stated plainly, ‘to help their haven remain.’ The very temazcal they stood in serves as the scene for the meeting between patron and human — and with a nod, the deal had been sealed. The woman, placed into a form made by the gods themselves — and the human form taken by Tlazolteotl, the goddess set off for parts unknown.

—

<Design (I really suck at this stuff so like, feel free to kill me)>

A tanned lady, clad in a wondrous skirt of red, black, and gold — a half-and-half design, drawing down to just above knees, loosely fit — handcrafted, perhaps by the person themselves. White crescent moons adorn the sides of the skirt, just as a white line adorns its edge. A poncho of a sort covers her upper torso, from chest to the mid-stomach, clad in black and red just like the skirt — a crescent in white displays itself prominently on her chest, its points facing upwards to the stars. A black, red, and gold necklace finds itself just above the poncho, shimmering softly. Shining gold bracelets, adorned with black designs of beasts and beaded with water from steam, remain upon her right wrist.

Upon her head, a headdress of black, with white feathers placed along its length — the tops carefully painted a sharp black, red highlights at the ‘intersect’ between the white of the feather and the black of the paint. Her hair, long, straight beneath it, tied up carefully to allow it to flow beneath her headdress — smoothly, perfectly, as though done perfectly, and cleared by the steam. The ends, looked at closely, turn a bleached green — slowly, yet vividly nonetheless.

—

Personality

Her personality is one of vice. Her soft smile and inviting gestures serve as the prelude to a seemingly lustful, perverse personality — intent on tempting someone to join her. She tends to hold little to no respect for those who fall for her schemes, even outright cursing them with disease and illness (erring on the side of STDs). While she may offer forgiveness, she appears to only do so once.

However… For those who pass such an initial test — she proves remarkably friendly, despite her quite obviously disturbing demeanour. Her tone and words may be stuffed with seduction and entendre, yet she tends not to bother someone she has already tested. Earning her favour, then, proves remarkably simple — as all one must do is take care of themselves, and maintain their relationships despite whatever comes in their way. For this, she allows the Master to seek her aid, and the healing of her temascal — though she won’t allow someone to enter without the company of one of the opposite gender, no matter what intentions either person has.

…Alter Egos are a collection of gods. An amalgam. And so is Tlaz.

For she is composed of four sisters, coalesced into one being by mythos.

If separated by use of a Noble Phantasm, they each take on individual forms, somehow all utilizing the same base ‘human’ form.

It’s best not to think about it too much.

—

SKILLS

Steam’s Delusion A+

-Within the heavy steam, those not used to it find themselves hardly able to stand from the heat. Their minds fog — and so do their inhibitions.

(Inflict Def Down (20-30%, 3 turns) and Burn (1000, 3 turns) on all foes.)

Curse the Unfaithful EX

-Within the heavy steam, Her word is law. Those who take her as their patron pay a price.

(If target has Spreading Fire, gain Debuff Success Rate Up (20-50%, 1 turn). Then, inflict probable Skill Seal (70-120%, 1 turn) and probable NP Seal (20-50%, 2 turns) on target foe.)

Purify the Lustless A-

-Those who grow used to the heat, who retain their wits, will be healed.

(Heal target ally (2000) and grant all allies Def Up (20-30%, 3 turns).)

—

Noble Phantasm

Temascal — The Underworld’s Purification, the Sinful’s Punishment

Steam clouds the battlefield; obscures all in her path.

“Yes — those, there… Aren’t they sinful indeed..? Come —“

All are entranced — the weak of mind, the sinful, move to her.

“—and be cursed.”

—The weak fall to their knees,

And the strong breathe out, in relief.

(Inflicts Spreading Fire (100% - 300%, increases with Overcharge, 3 turns) and Burn (1000, 3 turns) and Def Down (30-50%, 3 turns) on all foes. Heal all allies (2000), and all allies gain Def Up (30%, 3 turns).)

[tribeworldarchive]

Worldview: Death and Coping

Out of respect to the families of those affected by the recent tragedy in the USA, this week's worldview will take a look at how death affects us all and at how it has affected members of the Tribe.

There is no right way to go about business in the aftermath of such brutality but next week we will return to our previous worldview schedule.

We will take a more in-depth look at death and traditions surrounding it at a later date.

THE VIRUS

All the adults died from contracting this man-made virus. The antidote for this was kept top secret and was not discovered until long after the world had changed in ways no one could ever have imagined.

The tribe called the Mall Rats came about when all the individuals came together after the death of the adults. Some had lost not only their parents and grandparents, auntie's and uncles but also adult brothers, sisters and friends.

These kids all reacted differently to their loss. The older girls like Salene became quite motherly, looking out for the younger ones.

Little kids like Chloe were really scared and insecure, often clinging hopelessly to cuddly toys, the only thing left from their old life.

Some of the guys like Bray became strong leaders whilst others, like Lex, looked for ways to become someone in this New World.

There were natural leaders and followers, followers like Ryan and Ash who just wanted someone else to take responsibility.

There were self-proclaimed leaders like the Zoots and Ebony's - power crazed. But were they power hungry as a result of insanity, personality or personal loss?

THE NEW WORLD

As wise people say, death is hard for those left behind.

Once everyone had more or less come to terms with their new life, they seemed to choose to get on with things and try not to waste too much time with sentimentality. They were all devastated that they had lost everything that meant something to them but knew that nothing could be done about it.

All the Tribal kids would feel depressed and emotional at times because it is them who were left behind. It is them who have to rebuild the world in their own image, whatever that image may be. Them who have to fight for survival without the support and advice of adults.

The Mall Rats shared their feelings of loss when they felt bad about things and found that talking helped. Talking about what they missed and finding out that others felt the same way. Talking about hopes and fears and dreams.

And finding out that life does go on. It simply has to. There are new friends to make, new people to fall in love with, new relationships to discover and new families to create.

OTHER LOSS

Death still occurs in the world of the Tribe. People still get sick, have accidents and are killed in battle, in the fight for survival. Some women might die in childbirth. If there is not enough food to go around there might be famine. Old diseases like dysentery and typhoid might rear their ugly heads again due to lack of hygiene and clear water.

Polio, mumps and tetanus might start to take effect on the bodies of those who were too young to be immunised in the old world or who have been born in to this new world. Loss might be felt more than it would have done before the virus took affect due to suppressed feelings. Or the shock that even after all these kids have gone through loved ones can still be taken away from them.

The deaths of Zandra, Dal and the supposed death of Amber hit the Mall Rats like a direct blow to the heart. Even Bob's death affected the kids badly. The death of Ned shook Alice, Andy and Tally to the very core. Zoot's death was a shock for Bray and Trudy, even for Ebony in her own way.

TRADITIONS

Traditions have changed over the years and through different cultures and religions. Some people believe that the body should be cremated, some that it should be buried and some that it should be embalmed. Funerals differ from religion to religion,country to country.Some people like to visit the grave of a loved one. Others keep the ashes in their home as a reminder of the person who has gone.

Some people are devastated because they never find the body of their mother or father, brother or sister, son or daughter friend or relation. These bodies might be lost forever due to boats sinking, planes crashing or natural disaster.

FEELINGS

There is no right way or wrong way to feel about death. The only thing we really have in common is that we will be born and we will die. Some people can deal with death, no matter the nature of it.

Others find that they are in total shock and cannot articulate their feelings, keeping them suppressed. Others who are in shock act in a blasé fashion, pretending they do not care. Some people really do not care. Some people express their emotions by becoming aggressive or anxious. And others go through the natural grieving process.

THE GRIEVING PROCESS

There is a natural process that most people go through when they are faced with life changing situations, including death, which is classed as the most stressful situation someone can go through.

The first feeling tends to be shock. Shock affects different people in different ways but the most common feelings are palpitations, fluttery Œnervous' stomach, the shakes, and lack of hunger and emotion.

These feelings tend to last for a short time as the body deals with the sudden influx of adrenaline it gives off when put in such a situation. Similar feelings can reappear at any stage during the grieving process.

Disbelief is the next common stage, with the feelings that the world is on an uneven keel, that nothing seems real, that your head is full of cotton wool.

The next stage is often anger. Anger at everyone who hasn't lost someone. Anger that other people would dare to go on with their lives while your life is a mess. A really passionate onset of tears and frustration.

Emotion creeps up again and then slowly, very slowly comes the realisation and the acceptance that what has happened has actually happened and that life is still going on, the world is still turning and that nothing can change what has happened.

HELP

It is natural for you to go through this grieving process.

But if you continue to suffer from these feelings long-term and they are taking over your life or preventing you from carrying on with your life in a normal way, please seek help. Similarly if you are experiencing feelings of guilt at being left behind or are feeling suicidal, seek help immediately.

If you do not care about what has happened to you or are not touched by what happened in the world a week ago and are concerned by your lack of feeling, please talk to someone about it.

As we have mentioned, there is no right or wrong way to cope with tragic circumstances but if you are at all worried about your feelings or lack of them, it is important to share your thoughts with someone. Even if all they tell you is that it's okay and that you are normal it will help.

Seek help from a teacher or councilor, parents, family, friends, support groups or GPs.

[bittersweetmelxdy]

heyy, I know that u are also currently doing the christmas countdowns prompts... But if u'd wanna, how abt Lucien teaching Mc something for work or actually anything! I absolutely love your writing and I hope u are happy,because your prompts made me always rllly happy😊

hahaha.... does this show how far behind in requests I am... sorry this is late but here it is, hope you like it x

Also this may not be entirely accurate, I am doing a science degree but I haven’t grown a bacteria culture in a petri dish for a while, and the last time I can remember I was in year 10 I think (14 years old), so this is what I remember doing, so it probably isn’t proper scientific procedure.

Title: dating a scientist has some perks Pairing: Lucien x MC Words: 1,273

You had come to the Loveland Research Centre as you had a half day and you were currently waiting for Lucien to finish up the last bits of his work, so you both could go home. You were sitting on the sofa for visitors and were sneaking glances at him secretly. However, Lucien had always been an observant individual, and he smiled noticing how conspicuous you were being. 

Raising his head, he put down his papers in hand, “Do you need something?”  

“Can I ask for some advice?” you bit your lip lightly, in slight hesitation as you didn’t want to bother him whilst he was working.

“Is it for a show?” Lucien quirked an eyebrow at you, and at your nod, he pushed his chair back a little from the table and held his hand out towards you.

You swung your legs out from under you, and then gingerly stood up walking towards your boyfriend. Placing your hand lightly in his, you let out a slight yelp of surprise as Lucien used his grip on your hand to pull you into his lap as a tangle of limbs. You squirmed in his embrace, and Lucien kept his arms loosely around you, keeping you where you were but allowing you to situate yourself to be more comfortable. Once you ceased your wriggling, Lucien pressed a kiss to your temple, and then waited for you to ask him for help. You unlocked your phone, bringing up the document that was relevant to the problem you were having.  

“We’re doing a program on how scientists like yourself analyse different diseases, so that the public can become more knowledgeable on the subject. The program we’ve outlined looks like this...” Lucien smiled lightly as you explained the show and it’s structure with clarity pointing out the highlights for him to consider, and he nodded, his heart full of pride for his girl, and he gave you another kiss, this time to your cheek, as a reward.

“So, what is the problem you are facing?” Lucien didn’t beat around the bush, and directly asked you what you needed from him, as he was always happy to help when it came to you.

“I’m just curious, how do you grow those bacteria plates; you know on those clear plates?” you asked, looking up at him, your curious eyes fixed on him.

“Do you want to grow one?” Lucien asked, figuring that the best way to teach you, was probably to show you.

You nodded excitedly and you hopped up, pulling Lucien up as well with your hands around his wrists, an amused expression painted his face as he led you to one of the free labs. After helping you suit up in the appropriate PPE (Personal Protection Equipment), including your own lab coat, goggles and nitrile gloves. You giggled, feeling a little silly dressing up with the help of your boyfriend, but when he was done, you posed dramatically for him, turning this way and that to show Lucien your figure in the lab coat.

“So, how do I look?” You threw a playful wink at him.

Lucien shook his head, releasing a huff of amusement, fixing the lapels of the lab coat, “It suits you very well.” he kissed your forehead lightly.  

Like the gentleman he is, Lucien held the door open for you and then after indicating you to sit down, he gathered the various tools from different cupboards, setting them out in front of you. You immediately reached towards the petri dish to open it, but you were stopped by Lucien’s hands covering yours.

“If you open it now, you won’t do it properly. We need to keep it sterile for as long as possible for the best results.” at you nod of agreement Lucien took a lighter out of his pocket, and passed the flame across the tip of a metal scraper a few times before explaining patiently, “All the equipment is stored properly but these just endures that it is completely sterile before we start.”  

Lucien then handed it carefully to you and you held it tightly, awaiting further instructions. Lucien then carefully opened the small bottle containing a bacteria sample, and under his watchful eye you scraped a small amount onto the metal scraper, lifting it up but keeping it far from your face and close to the bench. Then you scratched the jelly in the petri dish with the bacteria sample, after Lucien lifted the lid and then he closed it tightly. He then desterilized the metal scraper using the lighter to kill the bacteria and then placed it in a tray to be further sterilised by the technicians. You found a label and a pen and wrote the date and you name carefully upon it and then stuck it down, and Lucien helped you taped the lid securely, to ensure only your bacteria sample would grow.  

“Are we done?” Lucien looked up at your question, watching you as you squinted through the clear lid at the dish, wondering why nothing was happening.

Lucien knocked his knuckle lightly on the top of your head, “It needs at least a week to grow, so be patient and next week you can come back and see it.” he then held out his hand, and you placed it on his outstretched palm, and then Lucien went to put it where they kept the other lab cultures.

The next week went by so slowly for you, you had marked the date exactly one week from the day you had grown your lab culture and as you marked off the days you couldn’t help but claim to Lucien how slowly time was passing. Lucien would only smirk and continue to tell you to be patient, punctuating his statement with a kiss to either your temple or cheek. He had noticed that you had even been visiting him a lot more often at the research centre, claiming you were only “passing by”, and he knew you were just excited to see your hard work come to fruition.

Finally... finally, a week had passed, and you were bouncing with every step as Lucien led you into the lab. He handed you the petri dish nonchalantly, and he watched with affectionate eyes as you held onto the dish like it was made of gold. Lucien crouched slightly, pushing his head next to yours, and helped you lift the dish above you head so you could see the underneath, and you gasp was everything to him. Looking to the side, he saw your eyes glittering, a trembling finger ran across the plastic surface, running over the butter yellow circles, that Lucien explained in his calming tone were the bacteria cultures you had grown. Lucien loved the fact that you were so excited to take a step into his line of work and being able to teach you even a little of the work he often partakes in, made him really happy. After you had taken plenty of pictures of the bacteria culture on your phone and posted a picture to your moments, you placed the petri dish on the bench and threw yourself at Lucien, wrapping your arms on his neck, a bright smile stretched across your face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” you babbled into Lucien’s neck, before pulling away slightly, standing on your tip-toes, “I know you’re busy, but I’ve always wanted to learn about this.”

Lucien shook his head, lowering his forehead to rest against yours, “It’s no trouble, like I said, if you ever need any help, I want to be the first person you call.”

[awyeahitssam]

Ella!EnchantedAU - Stiles has the curse of obedience. 

Scott smiled, taking his hand. 

Stiles pulled him to his feet.

The next three words the floppy-haired boy says make Stiles’ faint smile falter completely.

“Be my friend.”

...

Thing is, Stiles could have chosen to hate Scott McCall. Some days, he very nearly did.

But Stiles was compelled to be Scott’s friend. If they didn’t speak for a few days, Stiles would begin to get painful hand spasms until he at least attempted to contact the other boy. By the third day -- Stiles enjoyed nothing if not knowing the limits of his curse -- Stiles’ body moved automatically, typing out messages or walking to Scott’s house without his consent.

Stiles wasn’t a very kind child, but he never turned his acidic tongue on Scott. 

After all, even to people he liked Stiles was kind of a dick.

But when Scott said ‘let’s be friends,’ it seemed like the curse defined the word by Scott’s idea of ‘friends’ rather than Stiles.

That turned out to be a rather good thing, because Stiles was fiercely loyal and protective. Scott… wasn’t. 

...

“Behave, Stiles,” the Sheriff would snap, and Stiles would.

“Just make dinner tonight, son.”

“Tell me the truth.”

...

Stiles glanced around, trying to come up with something that didn’t have him keeping the oversized manchild afloat for another hour and keep an eye on the Kanima at the same time.  

Whiskey eyes landed on his phone.

Scott.

Derek followed his gaze, scowling harder than ever. “Don’t—“

Stiles dropped him before Derek could finish the order, swimming to the phone.

In the end, Scott was no help.

...

“You’re going to tell me where Derek is.”

Stiles grit his teeth. Like hell.

“Why would I help you?”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded. The mad glint has dimmed to something pitless. Hollow. Stiles didn’t trust it. 

“Because I’m ordering you to.”

Stiles feels his heart rate pick up, his breaths quicken, his palms start to sweat. He swallows through a dry mouth. 

Peter knows.

He knows. 

But he hadn’t actually ordered yet. 

As if hearing the thought, Peter goes on. 

“Find Derek for me.” Stiles remains still, staring Peter down, eyes condemning for the first time. There’s a vicious fury rising in his chest, wild and uncontainable. The last time Peter dealt with fire, it hadn’t ended well for him.

“Find Derek Hale as quickly as you possibly can,” the man modified, gazing back at him calmly.

Specificity. Stiles’ worst enemy. He’s good at getting off on technicalities, at disobeying the spirit of an order while still completing it, but even half-mad Peter’s too smart for that. 

Stiles’ body turned on autopilot. He snatched the laptop from Peter’s hands and swiftly logged in. He pulled up the browser with a keyboard shortcut and hacked into the wifi of the building next to them in a few short keystrokes. 

He had the tracking information off Scott’s phone inside two minutes.

Peter looked at him, looked at the results, and smiled.

...

“He’s going to kill me!” She shrieks. “You can’t let him hurt me, Noah, you’ve got to protect me—“

Claudia might be having one of her good days, and then she’ll get a glimpse of her son and have an episode. Stiles notices, of course he does, and tries to stay away. But he loves his mother. He wants to be there whenever he can, whenever she’s lucid. 

She’s the only one that knows about the curse. That knows him completely, and adores him whenever she can still recognize that he isn’t plotting to kill her.

On May 19th, Claudia looks at Stiles with tired eyes and says, “Kill me.”

It all makes a sudden, horrible sort of sense.

Claudia had known, had probably decided long ago, that Stiles would be the one to end her suffering.

Frontotemporal dementia doesn’t kill.

So Stiles does it for the disease. 

...

“Team Free Will,” Dean Winchester says from the laptop speakers. 

Stiles laughs so hard he cries.

...

He asks him. 

It’s something that eats at Stiles, even after the man is dead and buried.

Peter didn’t give Scott a choice, and he could’ve easily taken away Stiles’. Instead, he asked.

And Stiles--well.

Being a werewolf changed you fundamentally. Stiles was willing to bet that even your DNA was altered. 

He counted on it being enough. 

It wasn’t. 

He flashes preternatural blue eyes at himself in the mirror, a snarl curling his lips. 

Hates just that much harder.

...

“Shut up!” Isaac shouted.

Stiles mouth clicks. Isaac looks surprised, but he smells of terror at whatever Stiles’ face is doing. Stiles bares human teeth at him and the boy’s pulse jumps. Isaac sneers, all bravado.

Stiles leaves before he wets himself. 

...

Orders can counteract each other.

Sometimes, when Stiles really don’t want to do something, he’ll manipulate somebody into telling him to do the opposite.

The first time they’re alone, after, Peter looks at Stiles and says, “You don’t have to be friends with Scott McCall.”

A knot in Stiles mind relaxes, and then releases entirely. Stiles thinks of Scott, thinks of him without the shiny order that made him remember the good more than the bad. 

He doesn’t hate Scott, though by now he had more than enough reason to. 

But Stiles finds he doesn’t like him, either.

The black and white naïveté, the self righteousness, the way he ordered everyone around nowadays and Stiles was forced to comply.

Stiles stands abruptly, heart beating too-quick in his chest. 

Stalks forward, staring intently into the preternaturally-blue eyes of Peter Hale. The man looks almost wary until Stiles leans forward, sets a hand on his shoulder, and drags it down the line of his arm.

Scent marking him.

“Thank you,” he acknowledges, and it comes out a pleased rumble, octaves lower than his usual register. 

Peter blinks at him once, then quirks an eyebrow. He smells delighted and a bit astonished.

Stiles grins, eyes glowing. 

“I’m leaving,” he says lightly, half an offer. 

“Am I to presume that’s an invitation?”

Stiles flashes his fangs. “Presume away.”

He turns on his heel.

Peter follows.

...

Stiles’ life has never been simple, and that doesn’t change with Peter as a packmate.

Once, they stop mid-hike and Stiles peers over the cliff. There’s a few minutes of peaceful silence, and Stiles is enjoying the nature in a way he never had before, eyes closed, breeze fluttering through his growing hair.

He smiles. Steps that bit closer to the edge, enjoying the feeling of lightness and freedom. 

Then hears, “Never kill yourself.” 

Stiles feels the order snap into place. It is disproportionately light in comparison to the sensation of his stomach dropping out. 

It’s the first order Peter has given him since that night in the parking garage.

Stiles digs claws into his skin hard enough that he begins bleeding freely, and slowly turns to Peter.

There’s a glimmer of apology in his eyes, but something in his scent betrays him. Maybe he’s genuinely apologetic for betraying Stiles trust, but he doesn’t regret the order.

Stiles snarls. His wolf whimpers and snaps in his mind, wanting to turn tail and bite into Peter’s neck at the same time. Stiles feels his teeth elongate to fangs and pulls his eyes from blue, staring over the cliff once again.

The view doesn’t seem half as beautiful as it had moments ago.

It wasn’t like Stiles wanted to kill himself. If he did, he would have a long time ago. But having that option--

“How dare you,” he whispers to the open air. He’s too furious to look at Peter, too hurt to address him directly or acknowledge that this level of self-righteousness in the air could give Scott a run for his money. 

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Peter says. 

Truth.

It almost makes it worse. Stiles bares his teeth.

“I decided to trust you,” he says. “And you just spat on it. Pack doesn’t betray pack.”

Peter meets his gaze steadily. He looks wary, but he doesn’t say anything in his defense.

Stiles wants to rage at him, wants to use words to cut into that calm facade until he bleeds. ‘You and your niece are very alike,’ he almost says, but Stiles isn’t that hasty.

Isn’t that cruel, though he wants to be.

“What if hunters capture me? Torture me? What if I go mad from it? I don’t even get the option of biting off my own tongue now, Peter?” 

“I would come for you,” the man says quietly. 

Stiles roars.

Peter’s eyes widen, and he takes a short step back before standing his ground. He smells concerned and surprised, but not apologetic.

“Don’t follow me,” he snaps, shaking with the urge to destroy.

Stiles is a very angry individual.

Having no say will do that to you.

...

“Take it off,” Stiles snarled, pulling Peter’s hair harshly. 

The man met his gaze, blue eyes dazed and dilated. Then, after another long moment of staring, shook his head.

“Can’t lose you,” he rasped from between fangs. “I won’t.”

Stiles’ laugh edged on manic. “You already have, you fool.” 

When Peter woke in Deaton’s shop four days later, Stiles was long gone.

...

There have been moments.

Moments when Stiles was absolutely certain he was about to die.

Like when Jackson sneered, “Kill yourself,” and Stiles’ hands found the closest sharp object and aimed it unerringly at his carotid artery. Like when his dad—

Well. He tries not to think of his dad. 

But somehow this—emotion—is harder to manage. The level of betrayal that can only mean he trusted Peter in the first place. 

Stiles’ world crashed down on a pleasant autumn day during a walk with his packmate. 

And the ruins continue to burn for a while yet.

...

“As you can imagine, I don’t like people taking away my ability to choose,” he says, almost lightly. “When I was nine my mother made me kill her. When I was twelve my dad almost killed me by saying something careless when he was drunk. I was forced to be Scott’s friend for eleven years.”

“None of them set out to hurt me,” Stiles acknowledged. “But they all did. I trusted each one of them, and they came so close to tearing apart the fundamentals of who I am.” 

Stiles’ eyes blazed red when he turned to Peter. 

“You know that kid who never did anything he was told? That’s who I am inside. The only person I should have to answer to is myself, but that was taken away from me a very long time ago.” Stiles sighs warily. He suddenly looks far older than his twenty-two years. “You’re the first person I willingly offered my trust to in years, and you shattered it. And you weren’t sorry, not really, or at least not until later, when you realized what it cost you.” 

Peter swallowed heavily. He smelled tired, and very, very sad. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice little more than a rasp. “I am, Stiles. You can kill yourself. You can do anything you want. I’m sorry.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, not sounding very amused at all, and Peter felt a displacement in the air just as Stiles appeared in front of him, red eyes boring down into his blue.

“You think I would return before breaking the curse?” he said wonderingly. “I trust no one that much, Peter.”

Peter swallowed heavily, awaiting the inevitable blow. He bared his neck, just a bit, even knowing what was coming.

Peter jerked when a cold nose brushed against his neck, rubbing up the line of his carotid. He felt like his heart was in his throat, jumping wildly and very audibly. 

“You…”

“I,” Stiles agreed, more than a touch mockingly. He sighed at whatever look was on Peter’s face at that, and pulled him in closer. “You’re an idiot. I can do whatever I want now, Peter.”

Peter shifted as fingers combed through his hair. Peter made a strange sound, a mix between a purr and an engine revving. “I love you, though.”

Peter stared at him.

“Oh.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, leaning forward to brush their cheeks together. Scenting. 

“And here I thought I was choosing such an intelligent packmate,” he said, more fond than mocking this time. When he pulls back the smile in his voice is gone, his eyes back to their normal honeydew. “Don’t think my loving you will change anything, Peter. Betray me again and I will rip your throat out.” 

Peter whines, high and embarrassing. Stiles makes a low, rumbling noise in response and leans in, kissing his forehead lightly. 

“And I’ll rip out the throat of anybody who threatens you, of course.” 

The noise subsides, and Peter sighs, smelling content, confused, aroused. Stiles soaks in the scent without any intention of remedying the confusion for a while yet.

The arousal, however, he can do something about.

[wbqotd]

What could you do for time or days if people live underground with out a Sun to help with time?

Sorry this one took so long to answer. I hope it’s still relevant to you! My advice is under a cut this time since there was a lot to say.

I think there’s a lot of ways you could take this without breaking readers’ suspension of disbelief. 

When it comes down to it people still need to sleep and eat at fairly regular intervals. Whether or not you have hours or minutes to measure time with, you can still conceptualise time though patterns of sleeping and eating. A ‘day’ could simply be the period of time a person is awake for after a long period of deep sleep. A ‘morning’ can still be the period of time between waking and a midday meal. Likewise, an ‘afternoon’ can be the period of time between the midday meal and the last meal of the day. That’s not to say you have to make three meals a day and eight hours of unbroken sleep the norm. You could have people eat four meals a day and have a siesta in the middle of the day or make segmented sleep and two meals a day the norm. As long as there’s some kind of pattern, you can use it to split time into pieces.

There’s been a number of studies involving sticking people in caves/underground bunkers and seeing what it does to their circadian rhythms and perception of time. It’s been a while (nearly ten years) since I studied the subject so take this with a big pinch of salt but if I remember correctly one of the big studies (Mills, 1974) suggested that most people will adopt a sleep/wake cycle of just over just under 25 hours when left in the dark without any way of measuring time. I’m sceptical about how applicable the results of studies involving isolated individuals or small groups who’ve lived above ground for most of their lives and are used to a 24-hour day are to a whole society of people living underground for generations. And I’m sure there are criticisms to be made about the reliability and validity of these studies. But I wanted to mention it because it’s somewhere to start if you want some science to base this on. 

Of course, on its own, the sleep/eating patterns thing really only works on an individual level. It’s hard to organise a society if your only concept of time is ‘in the morning’ or ‘after lunch’ because even when everyone in a society has a siesta and three meals a day people aren’t going to be doing everything at the same time every day. Such a society could be fun to explore. I imagine people would have to live in small close-knit communities, where everyone you know lives within walking distance and it’s normal to knock on your neighbour’s door if you need something at any time. It’s hard to organise large scale societies without a standardised way of measuring time - imagine trying to run a business or plan a wedding or use public transport without it. Your culture might also  place more empathise on certain events then we do. A baby’s first steps might be more important than reaching a first birthday. Menarche might be the indicator that someone is old enough to drink or get married or enter a legal contract. Perhaps a couple can’t divorce unless they’ve lived in separate dwellings for the length of at least one pregnancy, as opposed to something arbitrary like five years?

If you did want to look into real societies that don’t/didn’t have a calendar/clock system, I’d start by researching the Amondawa people. Again, it’s not a perfect parallel and you’ve got to be very very careful about generalising the ‘findings’ that come (Eurocentric) studies of one group of people to other populations, but it’s something to look into if you’re interested. 

Now, to answer your actual question: You’ve got a couple of different ways of measuring time without the sun. 

Firstly, you could base your measurements of time on natural phenomena. A ‘new year’ could be indicated by something like plants/fungi blooming or fruiting, the mating season of a particular animal, the migration of an animal that lives underground, or an underground lake filling up. 

Here’s an example of how something like this might work: Every spring the sun melts the snow on the surface. Water starts to seep into the ground, slowly at first and then faster as the world above gets warmer. You get lakes and streams and waterfalls in the summer. Until eventually all the snow is gone and the streams begin to dry up and the lakes become more shallow. The new year is marked by the return of the first trickle of water in a particular passageway where some legendary event was rumoured to have taken place aeons ago.  Once there’s water spotted in that passage, planting season begins because it’s not long before the lake will be full and that can be used to water all those fungi your population relies on for food.

If you use a natural event to mark a new year it’s unlikely that it’ll match up exactly to one of our years or that the length of a year will be exactly equal every year. It also leaves a lot of room for something to go wrong, which can be fun from a writer’s perspective because it can create problems for your characters or inspire further world-building.  

Going back to the above example: Imagine this is your system and a volcano went off and covered the Earth with a cloud of ash. The snow doesn’t melt that year. Those underground lakes and passageways don’t fill up. Planting season never comes or perhaps it’s started too late. There’s famine. People turn on each other. Maybe they have to invade another settlement or abandon everything they know for a better life? Or perhaps they run out of safe drinking water before they run out of food? Diseases caused by drinking unsafe water run rampant and kill off most of your population before starvation is an issue…. Things like this can be a part of your plot, but they can also be a part of your backstory or world’s history. If something like that happened previously in your setting it could have changed your fictional society dramatically. Maybe a particular sort of person was blamed for the disaster and that type of person is still persecuted? Maybe your people became more warlike and had to raid other settlements to survive? Maybe efforts were concentrated on developing better irrigation methods? Maybe someone invented a new way of cleaning water? Maybe religious rituals developed in hopes of preventing it from happening again? There’s a lot of ways you take it, whether it happened in the distant past or living memory. 

For measuring smaller units of time you can still use most of the methods we use above ground: water clocks, oil/candle clocks, hourglasses, mechanical clocks, quartz clocks and atomic clocks should all still work. I won’t go into detail about these since this already a long post and it’s easy to find more information about them. But I will say that if you use one of the above types of clocks, the units don’t have to match up to our own. You can create fictional units of time if you want to. But you can also translate those units to existing compatible units of time. I’d personally make the units comparable to our own. E.G. I wouldn’t have a character take a nap, eat a meal and take their pet glow-worm for a walk and then call the time-frame they did it in ‘a minute’ or ‘a month’ (unless some magic was at work) but you could call it an hour even it’s not 3,600 atomic seconds long.

If you get creative, you might even find a way for the above to work for longer periods of time. Imagine a giant hourglass that’s turned seven times a ‘year’ or a ‘week’ to mark which god you should be praying to. Or maybe you’ve got a giant mechanical clock in the centre of the town square that’s been counting down to something and chimes every 42 million heartbeats or so. It’s been there so long that no one can remember it’s original purpose but all those small hands are sure helpful for arranging meetups. 

Lastly, you can create periods of time through artificial means. The obvious method would be through artificial lighting but sound could work too or even something like set communal eating times can help you keep everyone on a similar schedule. For example, you could dim a large outdoor light for so many hours a day Or you could cut off power completely encourage people to sleep during those hours. You could even have a large city with limited power light up half the city for 13 or so hours while the other half is in darkness and then redirect the power supply so it’s the other way around for the next 13 hours. It could be a lot of fun writing something set in place where you can walk from day to night at will. 

I hope that’s given you something to work with. Good luck with your project!