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empty-dream · 3 years ago

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So I read 86 LN vol 1

S1 anime covers the entire Vol 1 except for the latter's epilogue, so full anime spoiler here.

And as of this writing, I'm still on Vol 2 so the things I mention here are solely those that happen in Vol 1. Idk if a thing happens in the latter volume, gotta dodge spoiler so I don't browse about it.

There was an interview with a person inside the anime industry that basically said "The point of an anime adaptation is not to be an exact replica of the original material, but to shine as its own medium for a story." I forgot who it was and I can't find the interview anywhere for the life of me, but that statement opened my eyes. I agree with it, that's why I can appreciate the differences between LN/manga and anime, especially if they turn out good and/or interesting.

And that's exactly what happens in 86. I'll start with this: I watched the anime first, and after I read the Vol1 novel, I actually like the anime more. Because there are a lot of meaningful original scenes in it

And because the Vol1 novel turns out exactly what I fear when I first watched the anime: that I won't care much about the squadron aside from the main 5. (Look, the anime promotional materials mostly only have Lena and those 5 only. As shocked as I was in the anime, I did have an idea where the story would go from those alone). The rest are barely mentioned. Not even the girls are named in the novel, even though they do talk and Lecca is even prominent in anime.

For example, the second half of the first episode, the one that shows Spearhead squadron's daily life right before Lena contacts them, is anime original scenes. Kujo already dies the moment the novel starts focusing on the squadron. Simply put, a lot of the squadron members that aren't the main 5 or Kaie get a *lot* more focus in the anime, like Daiya, Haruto (For characters who appear on the introduction page, their novel screen time is less than I'd expect), Kujo and Lecca. While the other members often appear in the background and actually behave like equal members instead of glue-them-on figurines.

(Idk if those other members are named and/or designed in the light novel before the anime is a thing or when the anime becomes a thing.)

The anime also adds relevant information in the Raiden's talk with Lena in EP7, like Kaie receiving racial abuse from 86 (in fact in both versions, she is the first one to get highlighted about this) and Haruto also having prominent Giadian Empire blood like Anju and Shin. These weren't in the novel.

I might be just nitpicking here because I love Kaie and Haruto, but see, this scene is amazing on its own. This is where Raiden and the squad reveal the weight of their motivation all along, that they *each* have different backgrounds and different kinds of sufferings, yet they are all sentenced to die, and they all choose to fight because they know no side is saintly but some things are still worth fighting for.

The prominent characters' deaths (besides Kaie's) are often mentioned with only one or two dry lines. I expected at least Daiya's to be detailed more, but it's just that so matter-of-fact-ly. Well I came from the anime, so I guess it's normal if I expected something as heartbreaking.

I broke down HARD at the last half of EP10 and that is nowhere in the Vol 1 novel. (Having Hands Up to the Sky playing in the background is also an advantage for being an anime. Fuck that song, I now play it 24/7 in despair)

Having a lot of original anime scenes really complement the story's nature. That there are two different sides of life here, it's not just Lena's or 86's only. And those couldn't have intertwined if not for their willingness to listen and communicate.

I know I mentioned this some days ago but really, I can't get over how many of the merch are Lena (and Annette) being cute doing cute stuff while the story itself is actually depressing. Merch staffs know the market lol.

- Novel side -

That said, the novel does have an advantage that the anime/visual media doesn't: Internal explorations and explanations.

It's obvious from the get-go, but Asato confirms that the inspiration of Republic of San Magnolia and its racial discrimination and genocide is taken from Nazi Germany in WW2. The Republic who favors the white/silver haired-eyed Alba drives Colorata out of the 85 sectors, overtakes their properties, and forcibly sends the now-called-86 to either fight their war and die, or work on the wall and die.

The life inside the Republic is also elaborated on. Class always exists, even inside one race only. The center of the republic is for the elites, Lena and Annette's families included. The farther a sector is from the center, the lower the education and economy there is. Most of the military come from these areas, which explains why Lena herself is in difficult situation. Since no one in the military is either capable or willing to bring change.

It's *insane* how easily the Republic could create such vile lies, and how easily the majority of the citizens go along with it.

Gotta admit, Asato does a good job at foreshadowing the fate of the 86, the truth that we can only see after Ep7 of anime. It is mentioned that supposedly, 86 soldiers will be welcomed back once their 5-years term is up. Lena once wonders about it, but ultimately she buys it thinking that surely they must have come back to another sector. She only realizes it's utter bullshit after Annette points out how, 9 years later, they have never seen even one Colorata inside the Republic when they should have seen at least some. This also shows that Lena has never ventured to the other sectors to find out more, probably due to work or maybe she's still a sheltered noblewoman in the end.

And the mentality of the majority of Alba is shown differently. Whereas the anime uses the academy classroom to show how deeply rooted the racism against 86 is, the novel uses Lena's mother who a) more or less does the same as the classroom, and b) presses Lena to get married and preserve their pure noble bloodline. This, when the nobility doesn't actually mean anything anymore. This version shows not only Alba's racism but also Lena's strained family life.

There is a scene of an Alba high school valedictorian who, during his graduating speech, says “My friends died fighting the Legion.” I’m not sure this will make it to the anime, and it’s just a minor scene in the novel, but the weight of that scene is heavy.

The science of Para-Raid is explained, which has something to do with tapping the collective consciousness of humanity and connecting it to one another. A bit far-etched but I guess that works, science fiction and all. But I like the part where despite (or maybe because?) of connecting via hearing only, the other senses are faintly receptive as well. For example, one can sense that the other side is biting their lips in frustration, something like that. Of course, actual real life things like sensing the hidden bitterness or elation in a talking partner's words are present, this being a story where listening matters.

The novel elaborates on Raiden's stay with the Alba old woman. He calls her Old Hag, but it's clear he greatly respects her. The part where she screams and curses in the middle of the road at the Republic soldiers who take Raiden and the other children away stays in Raiden's mind forever, and so it does to me. Ngl it is quite a chilling scene.

Same with the story of the previous Laughing Fox, Theo's Alba commander. It turns out, the entirety of Theo's first squadron didn't like him at all and bet on how fast he'd tuck tail and run back to the Republic. When he faced his death the way Theo explained, he sent a message to Theo revealing he knew about it and knew his place to not ask for acknowledgment or forgiveness. This made Theo regret why he didn't try to talk more with his commander and he keeps thinking about it forever. Now it makes even more sense why Theo, blunt as he is, is willing to listen to Lena and when he snaps, he wonders if his late commander would do the same.

What actually happens in Kurena's backstory is also touched upon. While in the anime some viewers could think "Man, I get where you're coming from but chill out." The novel graphically shows her parents being toyed on by the Alba soldiers while her sister protected her, the two could only watch, and then the same sister got sent to the battlefield to die. Now at that, anyone would think "Man, no wonder she can't chill out. Not with all that trauma."

I also like the addition that Lena can sense Kurena is the one who dislikes her the most.

The novel describes greatly that it isn't just Alba and Non-Alba. Essentially speaking, Non-Alba is called Colorata, and they consist of different race groups as well. Just as Alba is associated with the color silver/white, the other race have their associated colors as well. Asato assigns races to the named members in Vol1 and what their distinguished color features are. This also explains why Anju is exiled despite looking like an Alba.

It's a question that I pondered on when I first saw Shin's armor plates, and that I pondered harder on when Chise died: What happens if there is no armor plate to carve its processor's name's on? So it turns out Shin would substitute it with anything; piece of wood or some random piece of metal. For Chise's case, Raiden, Chise's leader, suggested using the wing of Chise's in-progress airplane model. Which did my heart so bad because I'm strangely fond of Chise and finding out that in his spare time in his limited lifespan, he was working on an airplane model made me sob.

I'm not particularly into mecha, and could care less about how it moves. But Asato did a good job describing the fight between a glorified suicide car and a line of brand-new solid A-grade tanks. Special mention to I-IV because wow the concept arts for all the mechas are so cool, even though I don't really understand. (Asato even said to I-IV "Go draw a tank so horrible it's stupid for the Juggernaut" and I-IV came up with the current Juggernaut)

You know how the Republic greeting is "Glory to San Magnolia and the five-colored flag"? I won't disclose who says this in what situation, but there is someone of Colorata saying "If you hate colors so much, you should have just colored your flag white" AND OOOH THE BURN SO HOT HOT HOT

Tl;dr: Bottom line is, I personally enjoy Vol 1 because I already watched the anime and got attached to it. If I were to read the vol 1 first, most likely I wouldn't fall this hard for the series. Hell, maybe I wouldn't even pick it up in the first place because I knew it'd be depressing. But this is not to say that the LN is bad. It’s very good, it just does not really touch the lives of other soldiers whereas that’s the very thing that I love from the anime.

#86 #eighty six #random saying #not sure if i have put all my thoughts here so maybe ill edit sometime later

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

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Remnants, Part VIII

Hang in there, friends. It’s not over yet! If you’ve got questions, shoot me an ask and I’ll answer if it won’t spoil the plot : )

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

Thanks so much to @kitkatcronch @kpopperotp12 @seafrost-fangirl @sassystrawberryk @perfect-rami @txmel and @limabein for reading : ) If anyone else wants added to the taglist, let me know. I’ve greatly appreciated the feedback!

Warnings: Character death (sort-of, of course) but it is somewhat graphic.

Your hasty exit did not go unnoticed.

“Oh, Y/N. What happened with Ahkmenrah?” your aunt asked as she sat next to you on the stairs, her voice filled with concern.

You swiped at your cheeks and your nose in an attempt to pull yourself together before you looked at Rebecca. You felt ashamed for leaving her out of all of this and ashamed for crying on the steps of the American Natural History Museum in New York City.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you said in a hushed, miserable voice.

Rebecca’s phone lit up and she glanced down.

“Larry’s with Ahk. He figured, when he saw you run out, he should go check on him.”

“Good. That’s good,” you mumbled, trying to swallow the next wave of tears.

“I feel so horrible, Y/N. This is all my fault!”

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I knew the two of you were close, but I thought it was a good thing. Ahkmenrah isn’t just a wax figure—he’s human. He needed,” Rebecca paused, narrowing her eyes and pursuing her lips as she thought of how to articulate herself. “He needed a purpose. And when Ahk started working on deciphering his tablet, I figured that you helped give him that purpose, just by being his friend, someone he could relate to.”

“You couldn’t have known, Aunt Becca.”

“But I should have. I mean, look at him. Listen to him. He’s the embodiment of everything you’ve ever loved,” Rebecca explained. “It’s no wonder the two of you fell for each other. I essentially set the stage for a low-budget, kinda weird Rom-Com.”

You huffed, a tiny ghost of a laugh, as Rebecca ran her hand through her hair, clearly feeling guilty.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about. Ahkmenrah and I both knew what we were doing. We talked about it. We ignored logic and embraced the chaotic unknown. I’d say it works out for the characters in about 80% of those Rom-Coms, right?”

“I don’t know if I’ve seen one with this level of a twist in the plot, though.”

“Mmm, maybe a new plot for a Twilight reboot? Forbidden, half-alive boyfriend, stupid girl who makes stupid decisions and feels like death when boyfriend breaks up with her—well, hell. I guess it already is Twilight.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” Rebecca said, joking, but seriousness did hang on the edge of her tone.

“I’m not that stupid. I hold birth control as a central part of my belief system.”

“I would hope so, PhD candidate,” Rebecca said, scooting close to you and wrapping her arm around your waist.

You laid your head on her shoulder, her company helping you to feel composed enough to at least get yourself back to your apartment.

“So, what did Ahk say tonight?”

You took a deep breath and summed up what had happened during and after Ryan’s unexpected visit.

Rebecca was quiet for a while; you didn’t need to her to say it because you already knew.

“He’s right,” you said.

“He is right about one thing,” Rebecca began. “You can move forward. You can, eventually, forget about him and live the life of your choosing.”

“But I don’t want to,” you said, feeling hopeless.

“Only time can fix that, sweetheart,” Rebecca replied with a sigh as she kissed the top of your head.

“Did Larry say anything else?”

Rebecca picked up her phone, but there were no new messages.

“Ahkmenrah and I have something that we were working on and need to finish, so I’ll be back tomorrow night. I hope,” you stopped, not wanting to divulge what you considered to be Ahk’s secret about the tablet. “I hope it will bring us back to where we were; I can bury my feelings. I can be just his friend. Friends do love each other, after all . . .”

You trailed off as your eyes searched your Aunt’s, desperately hoping to see the spark of agreeance within them. Instead, all you saw was sadness, maybe even pity.

You stood up, fixing your clothes and adjusting your purse.

“Let me take you home,” Rebecca said.

You shook your head.

“I need to walk. Need to clear my mind. I’ll be fine—you know everywhere between here and the village is safe.”

Rebecca sighed, “Stay alert. Don’t get lost in your head, and text me when you get inside your apartment.”

You hugged Rebecca and she squeezed you back, reluctant to let you go.

“Thank you, Aunt Rebecca. For everything.”

Rebecca gave you a loving smile and watched as you crossed the street to enter the subway. When you glanced back up, she gave you a wave before she turned and headed back into the museum.

* * * * *

Maybe you were delusional, but you really thought when you and Ahk returned to see his death that he would change his mind—after all, this was the kind of experience that could really bring two people together, the kind of experience that could really make someone realize just how important it is to choose happiness over everything else. At least you thought so, given there really was no precedent for hopping through a doorway into a 4,000-year-old reanimated pharaoh’s memories.

Once you latched the deadbolt, you sent Rebecca a quick text. She responded immediately, stating that she was happy you were home safe. You thought about asking her how Ahk was, but as you looked around your apartment, the memory from the night you brought him here assaulted you.

You saw him, standing in your living room, dripping and shivering.

You saw the heat in his eyes as you touched him, and you reached up to touch your lips as you remembered the passion of your first, real kiss.

When you walked into your bedroom to change into an oversized t-shirt, you gazed out of the window, watching the flickering lights of the city, listening to the noise of the streets that siphoned into your room, filtered and muffled through the glass.

When you climbed into bed, you could almost feel Ahkmenrah’s body on top of yours, almost see the intensity he delivered with his eyes as he slid into your body. Everything, well, almost everything about that night had been perfect, and you thought that it was that night, there in the underground café when Ahk had kissed you because you promised to teach him to read, it was then that you fell in love with him.

The tears came slowly this time, sliding stealthily out of the corners of your eyes as you continued to watch the reflection of lights glittering in the window panes.

The only thing keeping you from sinking into an actual pit of despair was that you were going to see him again. Ahkmenrah was trusting you with his one last secret, and you were going to prove your love by being selfless, by providing him with support as a friend. He would see, afterward, how much he meant to you, that you really would do anything he asked of you.

* * * * *

Ahk is dressed in his full wardrobe, his golden breast plate that he rarely wore was glittering in the soft lights of his exhibit, and his face was nearly unreadable; the only emotion that seemed to be swirling beneath his regal expression was apprehension.

For the first time, Ahkmenrah did not greet you with a smile, and you felt a little piece of your heart break. But being in denial had its perks; you told yourself it was simply because he was about to witness his own death. Anyone would be stingy with their smiles in a circumstance like that.

“Are you ready?” Ahkmenrah asked solemnly.

“Yes. Are you?”

Ahkmenrah gave a firm nod. He removed his tablet from the wall and rearranged the hieroglyphs. Ahkmenrah spoke, the door opened, and the two of you walked in, knowing death was waiting on the other side.

* * * * *

Of course Kahmunrah chose to murder his brother during the Festival of Min, one of the Egyptians most robust celebrations to praise the god for his fertile blessings that allowed their crops to have flourished. The swath of grain that Ahkmenrah, as pharaoh, had cut to start the celebration is laid on top of a small pedestal in the center of his table. Everyone is giddy, feeling secure in the future of their great nation and in their young, virile king.

Kahmunrah sits to Ahkmenrah’s right, clearly secure in his position as not only prince, but as the vizier to his little brother.

You turn to Ahk and question why Kahmunrah held such a high position.

“Despite his shortcomings, he was my brother. I trusted him. I loved him. And at no time during my reign did I ever feel threatened by him. He made the perfect royal advisor; we disagreed, at times, about foreigners and war, but he always acquiesced to my decisions. I appreciated his passion for our land. He hid his—”

“He hid his crazy really fucking well,” you interrupted.

“Yes. He truly did. And I only know that now after revisiting so many of my memories and entering his thoughts. Something inside of him snapped the day my father made me king.”

You return your eyes to the celebration.

By this time, Ahk’s marriage to Sitmut is arranged. It is strange to watch Ahk with his future bride; when they greet one another, he cups her face and looks at her lovingly before kissing her forehead. The love that flows between them is palpable, but it feels familial. No wonder the pharaohs kept harems or elected to have a secondary wife; as important as the propagation of the family line was, incest merely served as a means to an end.

As you watch the festivities, you can see memory-Ahk, flirting with pretty girls, drinking, laughing, and it is clear he is at the very height of his power. Sitmut stays amongst her female companions, and you can’t help but notice she pays a lot of attention to one very beautiful girl. As they sit, drinking wine and eating sweets, their thighs press together on the stairs, while their glances linger just a little too long.

Your heart aches for Sitmut, trapped into a marriage and a false lifestyle, all in the name of duty.

Ahkmenrah’s memory becomes a little hazy as he consumes more and more wine, but the celebration shows no sign of ending. In fact, while Ahk’s vision blurs, his hearing amplifies, the music and carousing grow into a crescendo that blocks out almost any other sound.

And this is when you see Kahmunrah conferring with four, very large, very muscular priests behind the feasting table, their little party just hidden in the shadows of a large column.

Ahkmenrah’s parents are lying, lazily together on a set of stairs, alternating between watching the party and exchanging soft kisses. They are completely enveloped in a shroud of bliss, their sense of security evidenced by the fact that not many guards are stationed throughout the celebration.

A young man covered in enough jewels to denote his importance approaches King Ahkmenrah. He leans in, intently conveying a message.

Ahk’s brow furrows and without hesitation, he exits the room while the young man goes back to the party, quickly getting lost in the mass of people drinking, dancing, and laughing.

Ahkmenrah’s guards, six of them in total, follow the young king.

Kahmunrah’s priests slink out of the shadows and head in the same direction.

A low grown of terror escapes your throat, making the impending horror of what happens next all the more real.

You and the real Ahkmenrah rush after the priests, running to catch up with them. You can’t hear anything other than the din of the party, and Ahk’s head swivels from left to right as he strains to listen, his brows furrowed as he strains to remember.

And then you hear it. The sound of something gurgling, the sound of a body falling, followed by another thump and another and another.

“This way!” you say quickly as you take off into the hall on the right.

The hall ends in a garden similar to the one that Ahkmenrah had shown you on your first visit to his memory. Even though it is night, the courtyard is well lit, torches blazing along the interior walls and atop lamps that line the garden’s many pathways.

As you get nearer, you slip, Ahkmenrah catching you before you fall onto a stone that is covered in thick puddles of blood.

You gasp and raise your hands to your mouth in horror. All of Ahkmenrah’s guards are slain, their throats slit so wide that the blood was forming little rivers in the cracks of the stones.

The priests must have been practiced in the art of killing silently and quickly because it is clear they took out Ahk’s guards, two by two, until the final two turned to see why there were no footsteps behind them.

Kahmunrah chose his assassins well.

By the time you reach the center of the garden, the four priests, covered in blood have memory-Ahkmenrah, facedown. They hold him in place by kneeling on his wrists and ankles, and one priest reaches over to shove Ahk’s face into the sandy dirt of the garden while the other three work to strip him of all signs of royalty: his crown, his collar, his belt, and even his shoes, leaving him only in his short, thin, linen skirt.

Ahk’s teeth are bared, the veins along his neck and in his arms bulge with his efforts to escape.

Sliding between you and the real Ahkmenrah, Kahmun enters the garden. As he speaks, Ahk begins translating, causing you to jump because you had been so intently watching the scene in front of you.

“Little brother.”

Memory-Ahk freezes as he hears Kahmunrah’s voice.

“Kah! Help me!”

“Turn him over,” Kahmun commands in a cold voice.

The priests quickly flip Ahk, settling again on his wrists and his ankles. Now you can see his dirt-smeared face as it thrashes from side to side, his eyes wide and panicked, and his hands and feet purpling from the pressure of the priests holding him in place.

In that moment, it occurs to you how like Jesus Ahkmenrah looks, his feet and wrists pinned, his forehead bleeding, either from rocks in the dirt or from the ferocity with which his crown was removed. His dark skin and his curls are covered in dirt and sand, and Ahk’s skin is smeared in patches from the blood that transferred from the priests’ murderous hands.

“Kahmunrah, please,” Ahk says slowly as he sees the now unhidden crazed look in his older brother’s eyes.

Kahmunrah says nothing and only watches his baby brother struggle against the muscular priests, their muscles flexing as they increase their hold on the young king.

“Why?” Ahkmenrah whispers, as the reality of what’s to happen sinks in. “I gave you everything.”

Kah barks out a laugh, a high-pitched, terrible noise that hangs on the edges of the night, echoing in your ears.

“Gave? GAVE?! You STOLE what was mine! Our foolish parents who favored you, loved their precious baby Ahkmenrah more than Egypt itself, made a grave, grave error. But, no worries. They will pay for that error tonight, as well. But know that you die first, little brother, so I can show them your body. So I can listen to the sound of mother’s heart breaking. So I can watch the light, the joy finally go out of father’s eyes.”

Despite Ahkmenrah’s best attempt to remain composed in the face of death, his eyes fill with tears as Kahmunrah describes his planned horrors.

“Just kill me, Kah. Let Apep claim me but please do not hurt our parents.”

“Things will go according to my plans now, Ahkmen. You’ll die, here, in the dirt, like the worthless, second son you SHOULD have been.”

Kah drops down and settles across Ahk’s hips. He counts up Ahkmenrah’s ribs, looking for a particular spot.

Without another word, Kahmun sinks the knife into Ahkmenrah’s heart and twists his wrist, ensuring his brother’s death. Kahmunrah pulls the knife out, stands, and puts it back in his belt, not even bothering to wipe his brother’s blood from the blade.

Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, dies like he ruled, a good king who cared more about others than himself. Instead of begging for his own life to be spared, he pleaded for the lives of the people he loved the most.

Memory-Ahk gasps as the knife is pulled from his heart, his eyes bulging as his body dies. The priests stand, and Ahkmenrah’s limbs only twitch in the dirt as the blood escapes out of his chest. He quickly loses consciousness and his eyes lose their light as his last breath struggles out of him, the blood from his heart soaking into the dirt beneath him.

You know, that for the rest of your life, you will never forget the image of life leaving Ahkmenrah’s eyes.

At the instant the blade sinks into memory-Ahkmenrah’s chest, real Ahk’s hand flies to his heart and his knees buckle. You reach out, catching him and guiding him to his knees as he watches the blood flow out of the gaping hole in his memory’s chest.

And as the blood ebbs into the dirt, the memory itself begins to fade, greying around the edges and the commands of Kahmunrah are silent, even though you can see his lips moving. Ahkmenrah is frozen on his knees, his eyes trained on his lifeless body.

“Ahk! We have to go!”

He doesn’t respond.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you mutter under your breath as the scene continues to darken; the memory is now like a tunnel and only Ahkmenrah’s lifeless body serves as the single pinpoint of light left. The darkness is coming and coming fast.

You yank the tablet out of your backpack and hope to the gods that it will listen to you.

You scramble the tiles into the same order as the ones that are marked “Return” in Ahk’s notebook, and you speak the words you had heard Ahk speak to end your other adventures within his memory.

Sure enough, the door appears.

You grab Ahkmenrah under his arms and haul him toward the door.

He shakes you off, his movements damn near feral.

“No! My parents! I have to save them! I have to warn them! I can change it—I know I can!” Ahk says, pulling at the sides of his cape and twisting his hands, panicking.

“Ahk, it’s done and you can’t change the past because this is your memory. They’re gone, and we have to go, now!”

“No,” he says, looking wildly about at the increasing darkness. “No, no, no, no,” he chants, hysterically in ancient Egyptian.

You eye him carefully and know you only have one shot. You position yourself between him and the door, and in a swift movement, you pivot to the other side of Ahk and push him as hard as you can, jumping after him as the door begins to recede.

* * * * *

You both landed in a sprawling heap on the museum floor. Ahkmenrah’s crown skittered across the stone, his Wesekh’s clasp shattered and beads pooled under him. He’d also lost his sandals and they were nowhere to be seen. You must have tackled him right the fuck out of his shoes.

You were breathing heavily, and the remnants of tears glistened on your face. Ahk’s eyes connected with yours as he began to gasp for breath, his lungs clutching for air.

You scrambled over to him, grasping his shoulders and sitting him upright. You reached to unhook the pins that held his armor in place, pulling it off of him, letting it clang to the floor.

“Come on, Ahk, just breath, in through your nose, out through your mouth, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Concentrate on my words, come on. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You repeated the mantra until Ahk was breathing normally enough. He reached up and held his hand over his heart, and you followed, threading your fingers with his.

“He can’t touch you now, Ahkmenrah. It’s done. You’re safe.”

“You’re safe,” you repeated as you pulled him into your arms, stroking his hair as he began to cry, clutching onto your arms as his tears soaked through your shirt.

You had no idea how long you sat there with your pharaoh in your arms, clinging to you like a drowning man, but you held him and rocked him, saying nothing other than a quiet whispering of, “It’s okay, Ahk. You’re safe now.”

Ahkmenrah took a deep, shaky breath and slowly pulled away. You lifted his head and swiped at the wetness covering his face. You kissed his eyelids, tasting the salt from his tears, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I could never have done this without you, Y/N. Thank you.”

“I owed you, remember? And I would do anything for you, Ahkmenrah. Anything.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” you said with a small smile, hope quickening the beating of your heart.

Ahkmenrah stood, gathering strength before he spoke with authority.

“Go. Go now and do not return.”

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. You shot to your feet and clutched at his shoulders, holding on to him, the role of the drowning man now reversed.

“No, Ahkmenrah! I meant what I said. I’m in love with you. I can’t just leave knowing that you’re here, right here,” you said, placing your palm in the middle of his chest.

Ahkmenrah took your hand and lifted it to kiss your palm.

“Finish your dissertation. Go to Cairo—it’s where you belong.”

“I could have you transferred there! There’s a huge movement in the community to restore artifacts to their home territories and—”

Ahkmenrah looked at you with such sadness it stopped you in the middle of your plea.

“Y/N, that is what I am now. An artifact, a remnant of the past.”

“You’re real! You’re fucking real,” you said, your voice breaking as you pushed his chest hard enough to cause him to step back. “You said you fell in love with me only after I saw you as a real person, not as some historical thing,” you finished, gesticulating wildly.

“I never said I was in love with you, Y/N. I am a reanimated mummy, an artifact. This is all that I choose to be.”

Every ounce of fight that had been coursing through your body came to such an abrupt halt that you swooned backward, and Ahkmenrah reached out to steady you, his hands firmly grasping your upper arms.

He was right. Never once did Ahkmenrah say those words. It was you—you who had said them, and you who had believed he felt the same way.

You shook your head, refusing to believe that he was choosing to see himself like this, as what you had fought to reconcile with from the beginning, as what you could no longer even remotely see him as now. Ahkmenrah was choosing to become an exhibit at the museum, choosing to become nothing more than a wax figure.

And just as suddenly as the fight had gone out of you, a realization struck you. Ahkmenrah never had a chance to choose; he didn’t choose to become king; he didn’t choose to be brutally murdered by his brother; he didn’t choose to be wed to Sitmut; he didn’t choose to become the master of the tablet; he didn’t choose to come back to life.

But he could choose now—and he was choosing to let you go, to let you live a full life. He was choosing to stay safe, to be under the guardianship and protection of the museum that he now thought of as his home.

“You understand,” Ahkmenrah said, a spark of his normal self showing through his pain.

“I do,” you said, holding his gaze, your body damn near lifeless as he still held onto your upper arms.

“Goodbye, Y/N. Thank you for everything you have given me, and I hope that one day, you will accept this as the right choice.”

Your eyes filled with tears for the umpteenth time in the last 48 hours, and you kissed Ahkmenrah; you kissed him with every ounce of love that you felt for him; you poured everything you had into that kiss.

You only stopped kissing him when you couldn’t breathe anymore, and after your lips pulled slowly away, he rested his forehead against yours.

You slid further into his arms, one last time, and he squeezed you back before pushing you away.

“Please. Go,” Ahkmenrah said with a steady voice.

You couldn’t look at him again because you knew if you did, you’d climb into his sarcophagus and only the Anubis statues would be able to remove you, probably by using their spears to turn you into a large piece of Shish Kabob.

For the second night in a row, you sobbed on the front steps of the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.

But this night was the last.

* * * * *

“You did the right thing, Ahk,” Larry spoke up as he stepped out from behind the back wall of the exhibit.

“I love her, Larry. I had to let her go.”

“I know, Ahk. I know.”

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah fanfiction #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #ahk #NATM #rami malek #rami malek's character

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deepfriedtwinkie · 7 years ago

Text

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. VIII)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2,300w

It’s four of them left at the end. Harry, Hamish, and their final hurdles, Derrington and William. He thinks back to the moment they stood there, proposing agents at their shoulders, and listened to Arthur inform them they’d reached the final stage.

Everything had rung in his ears for the remainder of the night. Possibly it might’ve had a thing or two to do with being drugged, but there’s plenty reason enough to doubt it was only that. Surreality, for one thing. Utter surreality.

One sentence, and his goal was within reach. No other candidate craves this the way he does. They haven’t had the chance.

He’s finally reached the stage that’s going to change his life forever. One way or another.

Harry glances anxiously around the drawing room where he was told to wait, kneading his hands, minding Mr. Pickle at his feet. He’s trying to conjure up a focused mental review of his past twenty-four hours with Martin. There’d been plenty of advice, he was sure. Peppered with years of a seasoned field agent’s wisdom, cautionary tales, and all sorts of things like that. The problem is, the only thing he can seem to remember is the proper way to make a martini. Ice, gin, vermouth, shake, pour, garnish. It’s not very helpful at the moment.

His gaze jumps up when the door opens, expecting Arthur. Instead, it’s Hamish, Ainsley loping obediently at his heels. He shuts the door behind him and comes to sit, settling on the far end of Harry’s divan.

The two hold a shared look for a beat or two, capped off with singular nods. It’s a heavy moment, and that’s acknowledgment enough of that.

Until it isn’t, because who are they to kid themselves at this point.

“Are you nervous?” Hamish asks quietly. It’s the most pensive Harry’s ever heard him.

He can’t give that anything but honesty. He lets his head bob. “Yes. Very much.” Then he looks left, watching his friend contemplate his hands. “You?”

The silence lasts far longer than he expected it to. Hamish doesn’t look up. He hardly moves at all, in fact. It lasts until Harry is tempted to ask what the matter is.

Then, without preamble, he doesn’t have to.

“My aunt died three years ago,” Hamish says.

Immediately, Harry’s empathy is lead in his stomach. He wouldn’t dream of prodding this time.

“I was just a tyke when my parents’ car wrecked in the highlands. Didn’t even think twice before she took me in.”

He has to pause. Harry’s overwhelmingly compelled to let him off the hook.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this,” he insists softly.

Hamish’s head shakes. His hands cover his knees, and his glance finds the window. He continues. “We lived in Edinburgh. Got by all right on her pension, and she’d patch up the neighbors’ clothes for a discount whenever we needed a little extra. Worked her fingers to the bone for me, she did. Then, one day… Pneumonia. Ten days in hospital, and that was it. It was foster homes after that. Four, maybe five of them. Shit ones, mostly.”

The more of this he says out loud, the more vulnerability his stoic face betrays. Harry knows what’s coming. It doesn’t take a genius to get there.

“I turned eighteen a week ago,” Hamish reveals, and it’s the softest part of all. His eyes drift somewhere far away. “If this…”

He doesn’t say any more. They both know he doesn’t have to. Harry works out the rest on his own. There won’t be another foster home. Or any funds to follow his intern work to Berlin, either.

There’s nothing left for Hamish out there. Nowhere to go.

Maybe he’s not the one who wants this the most after all.

Harry wracks his brain for something to say. It takes several moments, but he lands on something he thinks might hit the right note. His inspiration licks her paw.

“Is Ainsley named after her?” he asks.

Hamish nods again. It’s hard to spot at first, but one side of his mouth shows signs of twisting toward amusement. “What’d you study at Oxford, anyway? Let me guess: psychology?”

“Political science major with a minor in entomology, specializing in lepidoptery.”

“Lepi-what-the-fuck?”

“It’s the study of butterflies.”

“I was right, you’re something the fuck else.” Grinning faintly now, Hamish sighs, and he retraces his mental steps, idly scratching behind his bloodhound’s ear. “Mrs. Ainsley. Her and my mother’s maiden name. That’s what she liked everyone to call her. God help the sod who didn’t. It was Aunt Ainsley to me, too, no exceptions.”

Hopefully it’s in good taste to ask questions again, because he can’t resist poking at the pattern he’s seeing. He’s a shit, after all. “Why was that?”

“Oh, her first name was Agathe. She fucking hated the thing.”

Harry’s urge to laugh slips free before he can temper it. Slowly, it catches, and by the time Arthur appears in the doorway, the two of them are confusing the hell out of the dogs, employing sleeves to rid the tears from their eyes.

“We’re ready for the both of you,” Arthur says. “If and when you’re quite finished.” He gives nothing more to their antics past a single peaked eyebrow. It’s very evidently not his first foray, but he looks like he’d love for it to be the last. Harry straightens quickly, aware of Hamish doing the same.

The adjacent doors have opened as well. One to the right, the other left. Lamorak is framed in one. Lancelot in the other.

There’s one order of business left before he takes his summons. Standing tall, Harry protrudes his hand to Hamish.

“Good luck, friend.”

Hamish clasps it, shaking heartily.

“And to you.”

Whatever awaits, may we both be Kingsman when it’s through with.

Turning apart, they go their separate ways. Harry hears the shutting of doors behind him, comforted by Mr. Pickle’s loyal trot as he meets Agent Lamorak, entering a sunlit parlor. It’s the sort of room he’d love to read a book in. Maybe he will, once he’s an agent. Because he’s going to be an agent. He’s going to be.

“Have a seat,” Martin instructs. Harry does, and so does Mr. Pickle. Just look at you. You couldn’t possibly be better behaved. I hope you know how much I appreciate you making me look good on this.

After all this time, he knows better than to expect his instructions straightforwardly. He knows to wait for them. He’s still waiting when Martin reaches into his jacket, pulling out his handgun. Extending it to him.

“Take it,” he says.

The sinking feeling in the pit of his gut knows something that he doesn’t. He wishes it would tell him sooner than later. Harry takes the weapon cautiously, eyes plastered to the agent’s face, seeking out the answer.

“That’s a full clip.”

It seems a little obvious to point out. You don’t say? I’d have expected most Kingsman to carry around empties for the fun of it. The fact that he’s deflecting even in his own head is a fairly severe warning sign.

Something is wrong. Something awful is coming. He just doesn’t know what.

Until Martin calmly finishes his sip of liquor.

“Shoot the dog,” he says.

Harry’s world narrows to a single frame, zooming nauseously to a point, and that point is Mr. Pickle’s trusting face. He wants to retch. He wants to turn the gun on Martin, just for the suggestion, and fuck all he’s done for him. All he can do is stare at him in shock.

How can this be what you want from me? How can this be what you’re asking?

He wonders if his mother would fault him if he left this room and never looked back. He wonders how long it would take him to fault himself.

He rips his appalled gape away from Lamorak, landing it where it belongs, letting it soften to something between pure love and despair. Mr. Pickle shifts his weight patiently to new paws, unaware of any of this. Unaware that he… That this could…

He can’t even think it. He can’t imagine a world in which obeying that order is okay. In which he can live with himself in the aftermath. Every suit would be blood red to him. Every one of his triumphs tainted with the sickest form of selfishness, the murder of something that had unconditionally loved and trusted him, who hadn’t done a thing to anyone. A completely–

Harry’s mind reboots itself.

A completely innocent being.

A Kingsman only condones the risking of one life to save another.

Things begin to click faster than he knows what to do with them.

The net in the gorge.

The bombs that stopped at zero.

Why specifically tell me the gun was loaded, unless…?

The danger was never real. All this time, it was never real. We were only meant to think it was.

Martin isn’t asking mindless obedience. Kingsman aren’t killing machines, and they don’t want them. He’s asking for comprehension. He’s asking if he’s understood.

Harry bolts to his feet, hands quivering. He has to do it before his nerve fails him. He has to do it now. It has to be now.

His trembling aim rises. Then steadies, by force. Mr. Pickle’s amber eyes glint up at him from over the barrel. His revelation didn’t end his insides’ churn, and neither does that.

Please, please God, let me be right. Don’t let me hurt this dog. Please, I beg of you, don’t let me have gotten this wrong. Don’t let me be wrong…

He fires.

The pellet bounces off Mr. Pickle’s fur. He staggers backward with a whimper.

Nothing more.

The gun is on the ground and Harry’s dog is in his arms before he registers, even remotely, that the sound of his gunshot was doubled by the room across the way.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, did that nasty thing hit you?” Mr. Pickle is wriggling like mad, stretching to reach his face and lick every inch of it, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Laughter bubbles out of him with tears, and it’s hard to tell which came first. “Oh, yes, I know. I know. I would never hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you, Mr. Pickle. Not for all the money in the world. Not for a thing.”

Martin rises while Harry’s still pressing soothing kisses to Mr. Pickle’s scruff. After another half-dozen or so, he finally senses he should pay attention, and looks over in time to see Martin replace his weapon, straighten his jacket, and offer his hand.

It’s then that it happens. He’s unprepared to commit it to memory, but he’s going to anyway.

“Welcome,” says Martin, “to Kingsman. Agent Galahad.”

Welcome to Kingsman.

Gently, Harry plops Mr. Pickle back to the floor. His eyes are full this time, and he makes no excuse for them. Reflex takes Martin’s hand for him. He barely feels his arm move.

Thank you, sir. His brain sends the command to his mouth. “And Derrington…?” is what incredulously comes out instead.

Please don’t let there be a chance of losing this. Don’t let there be an asterisk.

“Shot the dog, too,” Martin says, pumping his hand. Harry’s heart nearly stops, and so does the handshake. It’s Martin’s look that saves it. “Then thought the blank must be some mistake. Tried to take Geraint’s sidepiece and finish the job. I hear Molly bit him. No one stopped her, either. He’ll be on his way home once the dart wears off.”

Harry exhales so heavily his lungs might as well be raisins. Never in his life has he been so grateful a human being turned out that depraved.

“You’ve done it, Harry,” Martin confirms with a grin. “We all knew you could. Your mother will be extraordinarily proud.”

Mother… He’s got to phone her. He’s got to get to a telephone. He’s got to…

No, not yet. Not yet.

There was a second gunshot.

He grabs his mentor’s hand again, rattling away at his elbow like a lineman in a lever factory. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, I’m honored. I… May I be excused?”

There’s something knowing in Martin’s expression, and he nods. “Go on.”

Scooping up Mr. Pickle, Harry all but throws open the door. The one on the other side is already open, framing Lancelot again, only this time, smiling in the background. Hamish is already charging to the middle of the drawing room.

Grinning ear-to-ear.

“William?” Harry demands.

“Couldn’t do it; Kay sent him home.”

“Ainsley?”

“She’s all right.”

If there’s anything his memory allows him to keep about this day, anything that holds its clarity instead of fading to the blur of awe and adrenaline, Harry wants it to be this. The moment that he extends his hand again, this time brimming with the glee of a ten-year-old boy, standing tall in a Kingsman agent’s shoes.

“It’s an honor to be working with you, Merlin.”

No one else knows the relief on his friend’s face like he does. Hamish shakes, blinking back tears of his own. “And with you, Agent Galahad.”

“Agent Galahad!”

There’s no parrot in the room. It’s Martin again, emerging from the parlor holding a sheet of fax paper, radiating alarm.

“Don’t get comfortable. I’m going to need backup. Come with me. Your suit’s on the plane.”

“Merlin, to the control room, quickly. Arthur will meet you there,” Lancelot orders.

There’s only time for a sharp nod each, and Hamish claps Harry’s shoulder. Then the two of them are off down the corridors, scored by the sound of a piped-in radio broadcast.

For those of you just tuning in, the date is Wednesday, twenty-nine July, and what a beautifully clear morning for the wedding of the century…

pt. IX

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing #p.s. nobody asked but in case anyone's wondering: his mother's Peggy Carter of SHIELD and his other one is Angie Martinelli #it's @faeriviera's fault and now it's law so there #I leave it vague in this on purpose so y'all can speculate however you want but there it is so have fun

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whence-the-woody · 4 years ago

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2020

I used to do big, reflective summaries of my year and even tho I am feeling reflective today, I wasn’t able to do that last year and I actually really like the format I went with last year of just listing memz so I’m going wih that. Intention review etc will be in another post. So, my 2020 memories:

Jan

Gearing up to leave a job I hated, packing up my life to move away properly for the first time. Going flat hunting with my mum and my brother and having a literal choice of one

I did Home which I dont really remember so it was probably fine

This was the month the Gallavich wedding aired and gaslit me into believing there was still anything positive about that show/ship. Tbf at the time I was LIVING for it

Cinema kick with Mum including CATS. What a moment.

Feb

Last day at said crappy job (just weird and awks. I didnt really know how to feel) and starting a new one - everyone was so lovely from the off and even tho I was bored at times I was optimistic

Staying with my brother for a few days, him helping me move in which was all very nice.

My flat having no hot water for the first week - I only cried about it once. And me having nothing but an air bed for 3 weeks. Not ideal but grateful to have amenities and furniture by the end of the month

I think this was both kareoke night for one persons birthday and a 90s party for another - both excellent nights

People were talking about COVID by the end of the month but I was like pfft we’ve been here before with swine and bird flu, it’ll be all hyped up then go nowhere

I think I was getting my first allocations by the end of the month which I was grateful for because going from an insane workload to none at all was tricky and I wanted to get going

March

Oh March 2020. How we did not see you coming.

Before the lockdown even happened I remember people were panic buying. I stocked my freezer a bit, not because I was worried but because so many shelves were empty. All the shops starting looking apocalyptic and I was despairing over how silly everyone was being. You couldn’t get online shops anymore and there was no loo roll to be found - still think thats just so dumb. I had to go to 4 different stores to find oats and was so annoyed, weird little tidbit but I remember it.

I remember sitting down on my new furniture - eating a meal I had made, watching John Mulaney and feeling good in my new home - and seeing the Boris announcement. Other countries had already locked down so I had mentioned to my manager that I might have to go home to my Mums if it happened here - she had asked, I didn’t really believe it would. I had arranged for a friend to visit that month and when she cancelled I was like I think everyones being dramatic but okay. Then the 23rd, they announced a lockdown from midnight and I straight away messaged everyone to say I was panicking, asked my manager if I could leave and packed to drive back to Mum’s the next morning. I was in my flat about 6 weeks.

I know for a fact that March felt like the longest month to ever happen but now I cant remember anything else from it - the announcement was so late in the month, I wasn’t working from Mum’s for that long before April. I think we were told to WFH if we could mid-month but I didn’t. Cant for the life of me now think why it felt so long. I know for those last 2 weeks I was refreshing the news constantly to see what was happening. I was still skeptical and thought the numbers were too low for such drama

April

WFH for real. Excruciating daily calls “to check in”. Working my first cases from home, only on the phone, with no idea what I was doing. Taking turns wearing headphone with Mum because we were both having confidential conversations.

Walking my pup to get my alloted hour of exercise. Taking regular breaks to go outside - I think this was when there was a heatwave. Eating lunch outside. Sometimes doing weights or yoga during my lunch break - that part was actually pretty great

Discovering podcasts - especially FDRF. They were the real MVP.

Still constantly checking the news for updates. 3 weeks turned into 6 and so on and so on.

I came back to my flat for one of the long weekends. I had accepted that it was going to be longer then 3 weeks and I needed more stuff. I went for a very hot walk through a ghost town - at the time it still seemed like there were too many people about. Still picnics in the park happening.

Everyone flinching when they say each other and steering well clear. It made you feel tainted even though its what we were suppossed to do.

Clapping for carers - absolute bullshit placating, hated it.

Always being left off the list of keyworkers.

Still feeling like yeah its bad but ?? This cant go on forever

A year of build up to a move then the rug was pulled out from under me, I tried not to complain because others had it so so much worse but it was hard. Is hard.

We watched all of Location, all of Marvel, Bake off etc etc. I cried when Tony Stark died.

I went back through my ENTIRE tumblr. I realised how little had changed really, it was very existential.

May

I had to come back to my new city because I was on a duty rota for 2 weeks. I was actually very excited and had a good time. I got to see people IRL!! Including some I was working with. It was definately a heatwave at that point - we were swealtering in our cars and full PPE but I was so glad to be out and about and back in the city. Putting a face and proper clothes on again was very weird

I dont remember anything else from May specifically. I think March and April lasted 10 years but then May June July were a blink. I think I had accepted how bad everything was by that point, I had stopped looking at the News for updates. I think this is where zoom started to be a thing maybe.

June

Honestly not a clue. I was between My place and Mum’s because of the duty rota. I don’t think I came back FT until end of June. I know things were starting to open up again and it was all moving far too fast - I definately wasnt going to run out to the gym or pub but alot of people were. We were suppossed to go on holiday for a week this month, with my brother and the dogs but obvs that was cancelled - it was such a lovely place as well, shame.

Yoga was still random but I did a weight workout every day this month which was great

July

Turning 25. I was definately back in the city FT, going back into work. My Mum came to stay in my place for the first time. My brother came over too. We went for a walk, had a picnic in the rain then ate cake back at mine. My Mum got me a microwave for my birthday because Im AN ADULT

For my birthday also me and my Mum watched Hamilton for the first time. This then took over my entire life and was played at all hours of the day

Kept going with daily weight workouts, moved up another set. I think this is where I re-did Revolution

August

Ready to start socialising again. More restrictions were being lifted too quickly which I knew but also I had to GTFO

A friend came to stay with me for the weekend. Hes not very mobile so we couldnt do much - went for a short walk into town, sat by the river and got severely sunburned. We went to a restaurant for the first time in 6 months - I had pancakes. I made him watch Hamilton which he did not appreciate enough. Also watched Truman show for the first time while eating burritos - what a mindfuck that movie is I mean really

Went for a very long very hot walk with a friend all around the fields surrounding the city. We stopped for a drink and cake halfway, more drinks were then had in her garden. This was our first time hanging out alone and it was really lovely, we spent much more time together after that. Shes probably who Ive seen the most this year.

A couple of weeks after that we went for bottomless brunch, followed by I think 3 or 4 other bars. The joys of getting day drunk.

I think this was the month I started using friend/dating apps and got OBSESSED. They’re just so silly and judgey and fun, I love it.

My 6 month tenancy ran out which I chose to renew. I started negotiations with my landlord for a pet agreement.

I think this is where I re-did Dedicate. I think weight workouts fell off a little bit because I was pretty busy. Instead of running started doing 3 walks a week which was nice.

September

First time hanging out with more then one person - did a Hamilton viewing party with 4 of us. There were american themed snacks, it was great. Not a boozy night which was needed. I think I then went for coffee with 2 of the girls this month.

First time meeting up with 2 girls I met on an app - I’m still friendly with one, not the other. It was mostly a good time and I’m very proud to have done it but then drunken politics came up and it got AWKWARD.

Nagging and nagging and nagging my landlord until she signed the pet agreement and LET ME GET A CAT

My obsession with apps was replaced with a cat shelter/app obsession. It was very frustrating because I wanted to rescue and they make it very hard so I eventually found a for sale ad and contacted them - it was a rescue though as far as I’m concerned, she was in a horrible situation for an “owner” who had no clue and had only had her for a couple weeks before giving up and putting her up for sale. I rescued her okay. I think it was 3 or 4 weeks after getting agreement that I went to pick her up. So getting everything ready for her was a big part of this month

I did manage to fit in a 5 day holiday. It was suppossed to be solo travel abroad but ended up being a Mon-Fri with family. We did some NT walks it was nice.

Then it was literally that weekend my brother drove me to Wales to pick up my new fur baby. Instantly fell in love obviously and my whole life became about her from that point on. They told me she was really timid and scared, she had been hiding in her current place, but I was so impressed with how curious and confident she is. She was wary at first, a bit flinchy, didnt like being petted with 2 hands, didnt like loud noises, wouldnt come on the bed or sofa, wouldnt come into the living room really. I put child locks on alot of doors but shes not mischivous so its never really been an issue. She loved to play from the get go and did come to me for a fuss from day one. I adore her basically. The first time she jumped on the sofa, sat next me on the bed, slept on my bed, let me stroke her with 2 hands, her first vet trip, every little first and win has always been a massive victory, Im a v proud mama. She was no name for a few days but quickly somehow became my Myshka (the whole long list I had went quickly out the window somehow)

Did some more regular yoga. Tried to do 5 weight workout a week but it was a bit random. Walks fell off because of anxiety over leaving the cat.

October

Alot of WFH to be with the cat. Definately obsessed.

We had our team day on a farm, that was lovely

Saw my friend for Halloween - watched Hocus Pocus for the first time, had cocktails, watched a boring horror movie then Rocky Horror which is just exceptional. Lockdown 2.0 was announced but we were tipsy and over it.

A very stressful month work-wise, lots of deadline, threat of Ofsted, management changes, admin changes, not getting enough sleep because work stress and struggling with productivity. My health suffered a bit too because I didnt have time for lunchtime exercise anymore.

November

Technically there was a lockdown but it felt no different because everyone was still in school and work, I dont think people even tried this time.

The election, refreshing the results constantly. I fully expected a T win and was happy when he didnt but still disappointed at how close it was, as was everyone

I bought my first Christmas tree and my own decs. Christmas shopping obvs.

I downloaded Tiktok and started to question far too much about my identity. its ongoing.

Most important was SUPERNATURAL. I had alot of feelings, it was an absolute rollercoaster my god. What a time to be alive that was.

A couple of outside coffees in the park which is always nice. I went to a new friend’s house for tea and met their dog, also nice.

I did a SV for the first time in a very long time and it reminded me of everything I used to hate about my old job, so happy to have left there

Test weekend taking the cat to stay with the family dogs, she did great, shes a champ

December

Pretty standard Christmas month. Had a christmas movie night with themed snacks and hot chocolate with one friend. Had another friend come for the day to do the same - first time I had seen her in a year after 3 cancellations, that was very lovely

Constant restriction changes and crappy government pissing me off but it didnt affect my plans luckily

All the Tier 2, Face Hands Space signs feeling very dystopian

Brother’s 30th plans got cancelled coz COVID. Back up NYE plans got cancelled got COVID. Actual NYE was fine tho the normal show/song/crowd was cancelled coz of course COVID

OVERALL

Not so good shit

I mean the whole thing in general yknow

Alot of plans couldn’t go ahead - various groups I wanted to join, a new gym, more nights out with more people, more chances to meet new people ETC

My diet has been an inconsistet shit show BUT TFB there were months where you couldnt predict what was going to be on the shelves, you couldnt get orders and the whole world felt so pointless and dark like why even care about that shit yknow

My exercise also wasnt consistent though I dont feel too bad about it. I was always doing something I feel like even if it was just walking

Ive ended the year with the same amount of savings I started with which isnt exactly bad since I moved and furnished a flat and got a new pet but it isnt great

I hate WFH with a burning passion and im worried the world has accepted that as a new normal and im not okay with it

None of this shit is over yknow

Just a general hopelessness is the face of big world things yknow. Theres really nothing we can do about it, just gotta ride that wave and vote when ya can

No travel - I had such plans!!

Good shit

My new fur baby who I love and adore beyond sanity

Starting a good job in a great city with lovely people

Growing so much in confidence because Fuck it, everything is pointless anyway and theres no point in planning or caring so imma just do me

Exploring so much of who I am through new relationships, my own environment, little things like exploring my style, picking up old hobbies, trying new routines and habits

Strengthening some friendships and maintaining others despite the insane obstacles

Maintaining a positive relationship with My Mum in particular, and my whole family

Trying new things in my new city. Still managing nights out, a somewhat proper birthday and a short trip

No actual mental breakdowns which this year feels like a win. My mental health is actually in such a better place then it was this time last year. The job was killing me, thank fuck I got out when I did

I redid more then 1 30 day programs and did 2 straight months of weights

My family, friends and I are all safe and well

Music of the year:

Hamilton

An awful lot of Panic!

Anyone - DL

Partition (idk dont question me)

Basically alot of drama while trying to hold on to both my emo and club days - fuck I miss clubbing yall. I dont even like clubbing.

Media of the year:

I should acknowledge Shameless even though I came full circle on it and have now fully abandoned the whole thing and prefer my own AU where Milkoviches get what they deserve

Schitts Creek

Supernatural

Hamilton obvs

Marvel technically, it was alot of hours

Staged

Derry Girls

Pose

The Old Guard

Pride - which is not new but we watched it on Christmas eve and I cried in my mums lap okay

Ship of the year has to be Destiel I mean standing ovation for that rage inciting moment followed by a solid month of absolute chaotic good, it was glorious in its destruction.

2021 INTENTIONS TO FOLLOW

#new years #late as ever

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