#that and the sleepy is eternal 0(-(

[becauseplot]

Hi hello more thoughts about this post-osnf au. I should come up with an official name or tag for this lmfao.

A couple nights out of the hospital, settled in Liz's guest room, is when Thiago starts having dreams of being lost in the Symbol again, waking up scared and disoriented and confused. The thing is, he never calls out to anyone while in the middle of his panic because he simply doesn't think to (he knows nothing but the Symbol, where is the Symbol, where is the Symbol...), so by the time he finally thinks of reaching out to Liz---she keeps her phone on her bedside with certain contacts on ringer at night---or texting his friends, he's je's already mostly calmed down and feeling like himself again. That doesn't mean he isn't shaken by it though, and he rarely ever sleeps after waking up like that.

Telling the others that he's having these dreams (Nightmares? Visions? Oh god, he hopes not visions...) is probably the smart thing. But he also doesn't want to freak them out considering that Santo Berço should be, is, dead in the ground and he knows hoe shaken up they were by him taking that Symbol. Fuck, he was shaken too. More than shaken. Admitting that the Symbol still comes for him in his sleep is just...it's terrifying to consider what that means.

He's sure they're just dreams. He's had nightmares---still has nightmares---of his first mission, so only makes sense that the second one would show up too. It's just fresh in his mind. In a week or two, they'll start to taper off.

They do not taper off.

They don't seem to get substantially worse, no, but they certainly don't seem to get much better. Reactions upon waking range from being disoriented for a couple seconds to full blown disconnections from his body and his memory for god knows how long as he struggles to find comfort in surroundings that are entirely strange and alien to him.

He figures out a way to cope, though. He sleeps with a lamp on low light (and a towel lining the bottom of the door to keep Liz from noticing in case she wakes up before him and passes by his room) and writing the following in dark pen on his inner forearm every night before he goes to bed: "My name is Thiago Fritz. I live in São Paulo. My friends are Liz, Cesar, Joui, and Arthur. Liz sleeps in the room upstairs. The Symbol is gone. I am home and I am safe." He scrubs it off every morning. Eventually he cuts the sleeve off an old white workout shirt and writes the reminder on the elastic, skin-tight sleeve so he can simply slip it on before bed.

Does it work? A bit. Sometimes his disorientation gets so bad that the shapes of the letters are just that, shapes, but once his brain can work enough to recognize the shapes for letters and read, it gets much easier from there. He draws some spirals and swirls on the sleeve in the hopes of drawing his attention to it more whenever he's freaking out.

In any case, he's coping, he's got this. Sure, he still doesn't sleep well (or at all) after waking up from the dreams, so he's tired all the time, but a little sleepiness can be remedied with naps. He's injured and middle aged now, people can't get on his case if he wants some shut eye in the afternoon.

The others notice his perpetual exhaustion. Of course they do. He tells them "nightmares" and doesn't elaborate. Liz tells him that he's welcome to wake her if he's having a rough time, and Thiago just tells her she's welcome to do the same. Easy dodge.

[alexias-left-foot]

Benção

Ive been writting this one for a while.

!Dont know if i will keep writting on this universe

Wrote this one while listening to a portuguese song, (dont ask please), link below

!Im not english, so im sorry for any spelling mistake!

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You know, she is probably still mad at me- you said to Mapi and Ingrid while making your way to the dressing room- If i tell her she won't probably talk to me ever again.

Cmon she knows you y/n! She has to understand that there is something more important going on. You have to tell her or she is going to break up with you. You can't hide it anymore. You have been so stressed, she is going to notice even more- Ingrid answered you.

You “have a kid”. Not you, but your ex. Your ex was pregnant 1 YEAR AND A HALF AGO! Now you have a kid with 9 months . Before you both broke up, almost 2 years ago, you both were trying to have a baby but it never worked, at least you thought that. Turns out you were wrong! She was pregnant all this damn time, had a kid and didn't tell you anything till last night. 

Last week after your away easy win 6-0 against Valencia she, and your baby, were in the public. She asked you to talk with her, which was clearly strange. Then she told you that the kid that was sleeping like a little angel was yours. She also told you all of a story but you just did not pay any attention to her still in shock looking at the sleepy kid in the grey pram. She told you that didn't want the baby anymore and wanted to give the kid up for adoption and wanted to inform you about it. You were arguing with her and ended up saying that you would stay with the sleepy baby. She was a bit shocked but agreed and told you you have a couple of weeks till you have to go get the baby or the baby was going to be adopted. You just agreed and said that will keep in touch.

Ona saw you both talking and, of course didnt like it, mainly cause of the love story you and your ex had. She was really jealous and didnt talked to you until you were both at home. Where you both fought because  she was jealous of your ex. She clearly made some movies on her head but you didnt want to keep arguing with her, it was a long day and you were so tired, so you just slept on the couch so you could get your head cleared.

 Things got a bit better but you didn't tell her, not yet. Only Mapi and Ingrid know about it, they are your best friends and you needed to talk to someone so you talked to them. They were clearly in shock when you told them that but decided to help you. That's what they are trying to do now.

“Now let's go to practice so you can clear your mind a bit, vale”?- Mapi sayed while squeezing your cheek

Practice was fine but you weren't really present there, which made your teammates worried 

“You need to tell her” Mapi said in the locker room. Mapi was right. You needed to tell her.

After a ride home that looked like an eternity, you were both at home. 

You were both watching some trash tv when she breaked the weird silence.

“Hey, what's going on? You´ve been a bit strange since you talked with your ex” Ona said with a worried look. “I have something to tell you, bebé, I just don't know how to tell you” You said while the brunette looked with an even more worried look “I-I have a baby. I didn't knew it, my ex told me after the game against Valencia, that's what we were talking about. She wanted to give the baby up for adoption, but I just couldn't tell her to do it, when I looked at that little baby sleeping in such an innocent cute way. I didn't knew what to do or say to you, i'm so so sorry…” you gasped and took your eyes full of tears out of the  floor to look at Ona who looked at you in shocked “You have a-a Kid?” she repeated while you nodded “And the kid is going to live with us” you nodded again. A minute of silence was made by both of you. Both of your hearts pumping fast 

“I think I can handle that '' she smacked your arm, with a soft small smile on oour face, joking at you who were in  tears by now. 

She looked a bit unsure because of her smile being so small, but you just hugged her in a really sad but sweet hug. 

“ Hey, hey, stop crying, okay you whiny? I'm here, I'm gonna help you through this, okay mi amor?I love you!” She was still making fun of you but she was as scared as you. It was her way to defend herself, being sarcastic and funny but you loved it even if it makes never be sure if she is scared or not.

“I love you too Oni, thanks for being here…” You managed to say while tears were rolling down your face and starting to get Ona´s eyes.

[saeslove]

YOU ALWAYS HAD ME — synopsis: what would you do if your hot best friend agreed to fake date you to make your ex-boyfriend jealous? will it ruin your friendship or will it prevail into something more?

⤿ [ 04 ] help, typo; * of ⟶ off! * & timestamps do not matter.

Gojo Satoru is many things but being punctual? Is never on his agenda.

However, that seems to differ when it comes to you.

“Hey," he greeted. Satoru was there with his hands tucked inside his pockets, leaning against the digital door of your home.

Sometimes the fact that he has his digital fingerprint on your door slips off your mind. Sometimes. But he has never crossed any boundaries. That’s what normal bestfriends do right? They give each other their passwords to their home?

Well, that’s what you think. Not to your friends though…

"Hi," you smiled sheepishly.

“You’re all dressed up. Going somewhere YN? Who's your lucky date?”

“Heyyyyy look at you! But yeah, you’re the lucky one.” You grinned, walking up to him and linking your arms together.

“So where are you taking me?” You broke off the silence between the two of you while he led you to his car.

He pinched your cheek with his free hand — a habit of his. “You’ll see, baby. After you m’lady.”

With that, he drove off.

The car ride was insanely long, to say you weren’t sleepy was an understatement. You tried your best to fight your demons and keep your eyes open but to no avail. Satoru, on the other hand, noticed. You were never one to stay awake in car rides.

“Go to sleep baby. I’ll wake you up when we arrive.”

That was your cue. You fell asleep.

After what felt like an eternity, you got woken up by your fake boyfriend’s hand over your eyes.

“Hold on to my arms while I close your eyes. It has to be a surprise!!” You were tired of Satoru’s antics but he brought you out when you were feeling down so who were you to complain?

The sounds of the rowdy streets freaked you a little — you still had your eyes closed. But Satoru’s gentle touch on your skin grounded you. — You felt safe with him.

“OKAY! I’M RELEASING MY HANDS IN 3..2..1!” He finally let go of his hands that were previously resting on your eyes, but his eyes never left yours.

You had to adjust the sight before you. When you realize where he took you, you jump into his arms, thanking and kissing every part of his face.

He never expected that reaction out of you, but did he mind? Not a bit! His bestfriend No, his crush! Was kissing him! He was beyond the moon. Everyone around you could see the love he had for you in his eyes.

If only you knew.

he posted yn to the song @ 0:47 ! listen to it while reading if u want to! + thats yn’s priv ok!

lily ⟶ i’ve been gone for awhile but im here noww hope u enjoy and thank u sm for waiting! 🫶🏼 is yn falling ~ omg (i dont even know myself)

taglist: @hexrts-anatomy @k4romis @soy-garbage @avatar-of-procrastination @lees-chaotic-brain @pastatata

likes and reblogs appreciated! 💕💕 pls be kind to me

series m.list | main m.list

@ satoluv do not plagiarize, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

[o2studies]

༻`` 🦎 Sunday — 11 Aug 24

_, Academic Weapon Challenge Day 10 ˎˊ-

|| Sleep: I can't remember how much sleep I got but my pup started barking at 5:55 and wouldn't quit until I let her out... And you bet I went back to bed after that 💤

|| Routine: I let myself sleep in till 9, I stretched and had a cup of water

|| Deep focus: I worked on the Sci Journal website today (I think it will get published by the end of August!) and Google sheets & forms for it too

I've got the best people helping me and who are also really excited about this! I couldn't ask for better support <3 And you've been such amazing help today @nyxscave !

|| Body: I kept quite a good posture for most of the day and did my best to not pick my skin when I realised I was doing it

|| Mind: I made some more physics notes today and for the most part stayed off social media

I was really excited today to watch the Perseids meteor shower 🌠 (I had for the past 2 years) but it was just pouring a minute ago so I don't think that's gonna happen....

In other news:

Day 2 clean (also, I am expecting big numbers here for a few months—and hopefully I can achieve that—because it mostly tends to happen around exam time and that's not happening for a while)

Day 0

Floor time ✅️ // 🍊

Oh wait, also, I forgot this one little tiny thing.. um-

HOW ARE THERE 340 OF YOU FOLLOWING ME ON MY JOURNEY?????? 340 is mad... And I am eternally grateful 🥹💕

Sleepy puppies vv

[aonoryuhei]

Aug 9-11 2024

i meant to write this on monday but tehepero... anyway this weekend was a big moment for me!! first, it was my first trip somewhere completely alone! no friends, no parents, just me and my car for a couple of days (my parents joined me via train on the last train but all the big stuff happened before then so it still counts!). second, i got a p cool award ehe...

day 1 was mainly me leaving my house later than i expected because it was STORMING!! and then driving for a few hours... the drive was a bit meh cause i kept getting sleeping -> forced myself to sing loudly to a playlist my friends collabed on -> would relax -> GET SLEEPY AGAIN... also the last 40 minutes were eternal?!!? i kept driving and driving and driving and it's not like the estimated arrival time changed but it felt like time kept dragging on 😭 i was literally so tired when i finally arrived to the hotel (actually resort... i splurged and decided to treat myself by staying at the hotel where the conference was at LOL) i accidentally replied to a worker greeting me by saying "welcome!" PFFT... i was dying by the time i got to my room. i managed to drag myself to registration and went to the free dinner they had. which was awkward because i knew nobody there and there weren't enough tables so i ate standing up.... BUT IT WAS STILL YUMMY!! i ate some french chicken (?) with some delicious carrots and potatoes. for dessert they had these tiny carrot cakes (delish) and these... decadent... pistachio cookies.... i should've had more of those lmfaoooo

day 2 was off to a good start because i went to bed EARLYYYYY like earlier than i ever have. breakfast (featured) was so yummy and filling!! i had a couple cups of tea and also POG juice LOL i was so shocked when i saw the label for that. honestly this conference was really clinical and kinda out of my league so after looking at some exhibition posters i went back to my room and napped 😴😴😴 LMFAO. i woke up in time to pick up lunch and went to a breakout session which like. was cool but not very helpful ig to me... i just watched tv the rest of the day until it was time to get ready for the awards dinner. i was sooo nervous going to this dinner and also we unexpectedly had to walk a lot?? and it was so HOT AND HUMID i was dying... but anyway i sat with my prof's family and some very kind (and really funny??) attendees that had some hilarious chats about being parents LOL i was there eating and sipping my drinks like i was watching tv. even though i was nervous i knew it was gonna be a good time cause 1. saw a deer on the way to the dinner 2. THERE WAS A RAINBOW!!! 🌈🌈🌈 i swore it was gonna rain but instead we got a rainbow! i ended up getting a very cool engraved pen/pencil case!! it's wooden!! and the pen(cil)s have my name on them!! i felt like a really accomplished adult seeing that lol

day 3 was me fighting for my life to leave my hotel room in time to check out.. i was SO tired and had to finish packing.. my parent's train ride got delayed so i took advantage of this to finally free myself of the disney area!!! cause bro why is everything disney SO far away from the rest of the city!!!! i went to this really cool coffee/comics store! the lavender/white choco coffee i had was SOOO yummy and it was so cool to be able to have ur drink and just peruse the store... it honestly made me miss reading comics as messy as those are lmfao i got some fun stuff INCLUDING... WAIT FOR IT.. A GREEN LANTERN ZERO HOUR ISSUE LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. AND IT GETS BETTER. IT'S THE ISSUE THAT HAS ALAN SCOTT IN THAT POSE.... to think i would get to get my hands on a physical copy of theeee "why'd they draw this old man like that!" issue... unreal... there were actually a lot of kyle issues there which was nice ^0^ i missed him sm... 💚 i wanted to maybe get a superman issue too but i couldnt recognize any of them and got overwhelmed LMFAO. anyway this was super fun and i loved the vibes here- i would loveeee to go again!! and i would love it even more if i could find a nearby place like it (i gotta investigate)! afterwards i picked up my parents and we waited out a nasty storm at a japanese restaurant and i had the yummiest food dudes... we shared some karaage chicken and takoyaki, my mom had some ramen n my dad had some fried rice. i got the omurice and it was. so. yummy. im still sad i couldnt finish it all 🥲 OH and we had some incredible thai teas!! we stopped at a cute park on our way home which was really nice to stretch out our legs! and we saw BUNNIESSSSS they were so cute!!!

i think it was a weekend for the books yall! i really am proud of doing all this alone! as for the award... i still kinda cant believe i got it AND that the folks from the organization remembered me from last year's application... but instead of doubting myself, i think i'll use my energy into working hard and catching up this next academic year! it won't be easy, but maybe if i catch myself being too hard on myself i'll look at that pen case and remember there's people that believe in me and my work

btw i took that welt yang charm EVERYWHERE with me... emotional support old man also got to learn about the heart lol

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Love is Stored in The Dino Nugget

Ship: Hannibal Lecter x John Citta

Word Count: 888

Summary: Sweet sleepy fic in which Hannibal dotes on his softie boyfriend. :0) :0) CWs for food mentions.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

After a lengthy night of socializing at an art gallery for some event or another, Hannibal carried John from the car and into their shared home, arms wrapped securely around their shorter frame as he shifted them around to open the front door. He was sure they were asleep, if not close to it, considering how they kept dozing off on the drive back. He didn’t mind, after all, they had done well at the gallery and deserved the rest.

He closed the door behind him and turned on the lights in the entryway, reaching up to brush some stray strands away from John’s face when they stirred at his touch.

“I’m sorry, my love, did I wake you?”

He made a tired sound in response, unwrapping one of his arms from Hannibal’s shoulders to rub at his eye under his glasses. “No, I’mawake…” He mumbled.

“Hm. Are you hungry? I know it's late, but we can make an exception as it's been several hours since dinner and a few pieces of salami and cheese aren't going to hold you over until morning."

John nodded and Hannibal carried him into the dining room, setting him gently into one of the chairs.

“Could you heat up those gourmet, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets you made?” It asked, stifling a yawn. Hannibal smiled warmly, stroking his hair again.

“Of course. Don’t fall asleep while I’m gone,” he teased before setting off to his kitchen, a room that he kept the most particular of all the spaces in his home. It was his heart, the beating life force of his dwelling, funnelling blood to the dining room (the stomach), living area (the lungs), and bedroom (the brain). Before Hannibal had welcomed John into his life, he had never kept leftovers for himself. If he was dining alone, he need only cook portions for one, and if he was hosting the usual dinner party, what was left over was sent home with guests. After all, no one could get enough of Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s home cooking. He could not recount how many times he had been encouraged to start his own restaurant. But that would spoil the fun.

When the timer went off, Hannibal retrieved the reheated nuggets from the oven and plated them, unable to resist dressing the rather plain dish up with green garnishings and a disposable cup of ketchup before bringing it to his boyfriend.

“Here we are, fresh out of the oven.”

John perked up at the familiar scent and attempted to patiently wait for them to cool off, only to eventually pick one up, blow on it, dunk it in ketchup, and quickly take a bite. “Thanks, Hanni.”

“You’re very welcome, John. I’ll go get everything set for bed.”

“Alright, I’ll be up in a jiff.”

As Hannibal disappeared, John happily and sleepily consumed his meal. He was eternally grateful for Hannibal’s patient approach to his complicated relationship with food, never chastising him for sticking to a certain selection of meals and being nervous about trying new things. When he was finished with the nuggets, he brought his plate into the kitchen and began washing it in the sink, quickly becoming consumed by the mundaneness of the task.

“John?” Hannibal’s voice shook him out of his daze.

“I think I scrubbed this plate… twelve times…” John mumbled with a loopy chuckle. Hannibal took the plate from him and replaced it with a towel. John dried his hands before following Hannibal upstairs.

“You look exhausted, mein Shatz.” Hannibal hummed as he helped them wash their face in the master bathroom. John opened his mouth to retort, but Hannibal clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t speak. You’ve done enough of that this evening. You already have sleep issues, you need to conserve your energy.”

John nodded in agreement, content to let his boyfriend guide him through his nightly routine, his mind almost completely drifted from his body. Finally, wrapped in matching silk pyjamas, John was laid in bed with his lover, kept close by an expert arm. As he drifted off, Hannibal softly kissed the back of his neck. Despite his own eagerness to sleep, he found himself simply admiring John in the dark. Every curve of its body and texture on its skin. For most, John probably came off as rather unremarkable. Short and of average build, with dark hair and grey eyes. Quiet and comfortably dressed, only speaking when spoken to and occasionally fumbling conversations. Perhaps a little “odd” if you stood and watched him on his own for a bit. But he was a masterpiece to Hannibal, a feast for the eyes and a curious labyrinth to explore. Hannibal saw John’s potential more than John himself. He wanted to give him the world, fully providing whatever accommodations he needed along the way.

Tomorrow he would serve it it’s favourite breakfast. He would go to work and leave them some ideas for activities they could do until he returned. They would spend his lunch break together at a restaurant John mentioned he wanted to try. When Hannibal finally would return from work, they would play a round of croquet and go to the cinema… Hannibal typically preferred the theatre or the opera, but John’s passion for the art of film could occasionally convince him to step into that unfamiliar world.

[sharksa-shivers]

Trio derps and religion cuz ye

Kristy: She's agnostic as in.......She has 0 clue wtf happens whenever she dies...But uhhhh she's VERY VERY HOPEFUL that there's something afterwards and she's not gonna just poof out of existence entirely... Sharky: He's Neptunist, an undersea religion. There's various religions that are in the sea, some seafolk believe in landie religions anddddd some seafolk believe in nothing. Neptinists/Neptunism is a p big thing in series tho i will not say why lol, no spoilers for you!! What i can say is Neptunists have a few diff beliefs: -They were given life by Neptune along with their parents. Life is sacred and not to be taken for granted. -Neptunists also believe in several goddesses that help Neptune take care of the world/universe. Sharky himself is pretty to himself about his beliefs, kind of how Neptunists are in general, but it does come up sometimes lol so yeahhhhh. Max: He's that athiest...THAT KIND of atheist that's a jackass...Though Max will only be a jackass if somebody gives him a reason in that regard...Other then that, Max will be respectful of others...Tho he won't be quiet about his beliefs either lol... Max also thinks if there IS a God, that God hates him IN PARTICULAR... Fedora tipping intensifies ---------------------- BONUS: (p sure i've posted before butttttttt idc lol, it fits here...Also below bit is still p goddamn accurate so yeah lol) --- (Earlier moment during an earlier mission, idk the context, kinda just convo xd)

Kristy:(curious as they move through like an older area of some sort, idk, maybe it's like a gravelike area or some shit, asking, anxiety kinda in her voice)Hey, Sharky? Do you believe in ghosts? Cuz…I do…

Sharky:(nods, trying to be quite and respectful as they go through the area, walking carefully)I mean…I'm a Neptunist, so…Yeah? Kinda? I believe that Neptune made us all and he's made heaven, hell and purgatory…So in my thoughts, ghosts are people who just…Never find a way to any of those, they're just lost souls either by accident or by choice cuz your spirit would be your consciousness so yeah…

Kristy:(thinking, nervousy still)Dunno how that's supposed to really make me feel better about going through here…

Max:(chiming in, atheist mode activated, trying to comfort Kristy)Gonna be kind of an ass here maybe but uhhh, you can feel relived in knowing that none of that's true sooooooooooo-

Sharky:(annoyed with Max making things worse as well as shitting on his religion)Can you maybe not?

Max:(continues anyway)Nah, cuz i'm sorry, ghosts and spirits and all that shit just ain't real. We're born, we live, we die and that's it, blep. Eternal sleepy blackout whenever our lifeclocks hit 0.

Kristy:(anxiety spiking)Hahahahaha, this REALLY isn't helping me feel better, i feel like I'm just having a panic over there being no afterlife now and my existence just fucking stopping, fuck fuck, oh god…

Sharky:(irritated at Max)Max shut the hell up, you aren't helping. (looks at Kristy, kind, comforting)Look, the ghosts that would be here are probably pretty chill ok? I promise, there's nothing to worry about ok?

Kristy:(nervous)You sure? What if they are angry and pissed off and-

Sharky:(kindly)I doubt it ok? This seems like a pretty old spot so…If any are still around, i doubt they're gonna just attack random people for no reason…

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Also, sidenote, I'ma discontinue my writing

Tlou, arcane, twdg, everything. Done, nada more, I shall not write anymore lmao

Lmao, bye y'all ✌️

Update: I was sleepy when I posted this but you guys deserve better than that so here it is!

I have not been feeling good for a while, mainly with writing, it does not make me as happy as it used to.

It feels like a chore now, not something I enjoyed a while ago when I started.

So I'm gonna take a break for now, not forever, just for like a month or two.

I appreciate everyone of you and everyone who I have met because of my blog like @blair-the-juggalho who is my one and only 🤭 and the one who got me into writing @spice-bunny0-0 who I shall love for all eternity 🙏

But yeah! Basically, my mental health has been very bad for a while, which I have not talked Abt a lot with practically anyone.

Writing helped when everything was going on in my life but now it feels like one of those things that just add to stress now.

So it's best that I leave for now!

I appreciate you all and everything that has happened to this blog since I started but yeah!

Bye bye! I'll see you guys soon!

[populationthree]

Lock ᴎ̣̇ Key

Scarlet Mountain

0 - HELL IS TOLERANCE

Beyond the veil lies Scarlet Mountain, obscuring my view of the Eternal Fountain. Oh, the polished rock stubbed by rot, Was it worth for what I fought?

Blood-stained sword among the stone; An empty bazaar for a vacant throne. Dormant in the rubble of sentient past, I wonder if this place will be my last.

Blood-stained tears throughout the years as death draws near to rile my fears. The runes in my dreams brightly glow, “On it goes, on with the show.”

Blood-stained crater upon your face, A butchered start to a failed race. What leyes do I tell myself? In pursuit of fame or wealth?

Blood-stained name, dug through the dirt. Oh how Dorian loved his favorite shirt. Justice cherished his Phrygian cap, as J. Locrian came to a wrap.

Blood-stained eyes, blood-stained hair. Who's to ask if it's all fair. Beyond the veil lies Scarlet Mountain Holding The Knight and the Eternal Fountain.

I - SCARLET MOUNTAIN - PART ONE

May Ninetwentieth, 2023. I can't go a minute without sneezing. All of my friends pack in the dirtied room, taking their own space akin to sardines in a tin. The idea of laying down next to any of them defiled my mind. I don't think I can sleep in the same bed with anyone in the room. 

Hours prior, Pavi invited us all to his house to spend the night. This day was months in the making—my inclusion was a gratuity. We spent the first few hours in silence. Popcorn bowls and cans of Dr. Pepper lined the floor as we all watched Whiplash. Pavi couldn't go five minutes without stating a line of trivia.

Days before, I remember the pain in my neck from looking up towards the balcony within my house. My dad pressed his hands against the railing as he looked down towards me at the bottom. I'd bet it was easier to look down. I talked to him about the sleepover—how long I'd be gone for, who I'd be with, and every detail that was necessary. Jokingly, he asked if using the word sleepover was slang for a gay tryst.

Afterward, me and Scarlet both joked, "Does he know?"

The room was dim. Large speakers mounted upon metal rods softly filled the air with calm music. Pavi always fell asleep listening to a playlist constructed solely of easy-listening songs. It was tradition for him. Everyone has their own ritual for falling asleep, don't they?

I remember mindlessly scrolling through my phone. Being in the room was almost miserable, I couldn't sleep in the chair. My idle hand felt around in the dark and lightly tapped on a small container of truffles. I couldn't resist. My hand lowered itself down to grab a wrapped orb of chocolate.

The truffle stuck to the roof of my mouth and to the floor of my tongue. It was as if my mouth was instantaneously filled with glue. Yet, I enjoyed the texture. It was enough for me to reach once more and unwrap another.

Quietly, I stepped out from the tuna can out to the living room. I brought my blanket—I'd be okay if I slept on the floor. As I idly sat in the reclining chair, I watched Pavi's mom leave her room. Unfortunately, she knew I was awake. A pang of fear radiated from my body, but I kept myself calm through lies. Yes, I just woke up. No, I haven't been up all night.

Sometimes, people lie to themselves. There's always something that helps them sleep at night. As the sun rose up from the horizon, its radiant glow filled the living room with a violet shade. While the room basked in its warm colors, I could see straight through to its core. The worst that could happen at any given day is if the sun never rose again.

As everyone woke up for the day, I remained awake in the house. We all packed in Pavi's car to eat breakfast at a diner he once worked at. I remember how they double charged me. It took a few days to sort that out.

I could only think of two things as Pavi drove me home. Firstly, how much I yearned for sleep. I'd been up for more than twenty-four hours, and I knew how comfortable my own bed would be. There was nothing better in the world than sleeping in your own bed after so long.

While Pavi was still delirious, I took the opportunity to ask him a question that ate away at my insides. Everyone else had fallen asleep—the stars aligned. There, slumped in his own chair, told him what ailed me. I spoke of someone I developed feelings for, how I wanted to at least try and see where it would take me.

His response crumbled to join the sands of time. However, he had seen it all. He was there for the question—half-conscious. He was there to see my arm wrapped around Scarlet's shoulders. And lastly, he was there—inebriated—to entrap me in a tight hug after I had explained it all to him.

Everyone has something that helps them sleep at night.

II - THERE’S A SUMMER OUT THERE …

The red-leather chair slumps to my weight. Sometimes the noise of the instruments fills this room with enough pressure to kill me. I signed up for this. My gaze fixes to the hole in the ceiling—someone came in here to fix it once. Where my friend's standing is where the drummer of another band will sleep in a few months.

I hold the strong belief that the last summer I ever have should be cherished, utmost. Every day I drive home brings me the same present-feeling throughout. I watched my friend switch from psychedelics to vaping. How'd he do that?

I sat in a movie theater for five hours, my rotting mind finally found something new to latch on to. "I'll be back soon, why don't you play Yakuza in the meantime?"

I can't walk past the foyer without thinking of her. One day, I'll move out of this house and feel better. I sat in the back of the band room, crying to myself that it's all over. It should have been those messages I saved all those months ago.

I used to love camping. One day, while my friend was curious, he stuck his hand down my pants and said he loved touching me. Every day, we would sneak off to the bathrooms during break, and he would worm his hands around. Thank fucking god he didn't say "what's this?", am I right?

"You just have to keep moving," he said, "my drunken friends gave stronger hugs than sober handshakes."

And if that leather chair held the both of us, then it was heaven. If that leather chair held me gripping to terms with the situation, then so be it. The floor's better with me present, as the world spins faster without you on my mind.

"THE HATCHET IS BURIED," He boomed, "CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT."

Those two are talking about the impossible chess game again. It's about the mind reader and the man who can tell the future. They're on about it, again. The trip back from Cortez was miserable.

And every time I passed through Dustin, I was on my electric bike. The thrill of the road was in its construction, as every moment I sped through the cracking roads felt like a rollercoaster. There's a speaker in my backpack, blaring whatever I liked at that time. My grandma bought me a blue jacket. I cried more for him than I did at her funeral. 

... and, it's not for you.

III - HOLY GRAIL OF REALITY - PART TWO

The room is empty; I posed a question.

The streets below are vacant. I can hear the soft hums of the other-rooms through the walls, ceilings, and floors alike. I slouched around as I was left alone in my shared living space.

Through the tape recorder resting in my hand, I play out the messages as they come. The delicate film wraps around the canisters inside. It wasn't a guessing game on what I would experience, yet it felt as if I held my breath regardless.

There are people far worse than me, I've come to understand that in this world. On the experienced scale of life, I can simply be rounded to normal. Horrid beasts rest in the depths below a sophisticated, layered society. My achievements have heightened me to an elevated class. No, is that what brought me?

The only reason I'm here today is through the connections, the friends. I fill the niche because of my traits. Eleven tracks play out from the recorder as I sit against the furniture. While these tracks vary largely in release; only does the final passage lay a nail to any continuation.

A knight layered in reek; with their baritone range which weaves smooth words whole. I find myself repeating the tapes in an effort to understand—no. The expunged of the world speaks wholly of me above them. Each repeat only cements this fact; but can I truthfully live such action? A chorus of comparison with rhymes of reassurance. I write not in realization; but of clarity. Living a lie comforts far more than those of truth.

These words sear fresh in my mind. Twenty days have passed since the first retelling; now, not twenty hours have passed. Once more, I take the symbolic-pen in an effort to understand. Not of others, but of myself. The words lay in front of me, etched in waves—I must understand them. I no longer care about Cynthia. Through these eleven messages, I can't help but feel there's a twelfth waiting for me. As the leading tone resolves to the tonic, it's only implied in these contexts.

Tears have escaped past my eyes as I remain in thought. Two remnants of rivers leave a reminding trail, only giving me a glimpse of how I truly feel. Only in the dressing room would I see a dear reflection. Once I step out to the blinding lights, I better hope to Him that these reflective reminders have been cleanly washed from my face. I'm no longer in Acedia.

I am my own guide; have been, and always will be. But now, the knight's revelation highlights a strange path forward. This path is not of their making, no. The evidence I've collected—five files final—reach their true definitions. Now, it makes sense. What's left is to compose my thoughts in the only way I know how.

"Let me tell you, it is painful to be completely silent."

12/11/21

IV - THE HATCHET

My heart was racing. The sweat binds my skin to the cheapest suit found within the concert hall, bridging the gaps left as I had hastily put on the garment minutes prior. My mind focuses less on the unholy fusion of attire and animal and more on the patterns etched on the book in front of me. Latin letters capitalized in junction, with shorthand symbols right after. Everything beyond that was ignored—I only hold three extensions to my two limbs.

As I'm given a rest from my laborious work, there's a moment where I find a minute of respite. Sitting in the room lacking any definition of its color, I find myself laying back in a reclining chair. My mind moved swifter than my heart could ever dream of. In the blur of it all was only one goal—making it out alive. Even with the warped mirror reflecting its infinite wisdom back at me; I didn't care. What was once a daily slog to push the unwanted residue out from my train of thought had been washed out by the sea of the future.

Each moment I walked on stage, all important eyes were on me. Yet, I didn't play to please them. In exaggerated words; they were locked in the room to watch me perform. The minutes blur by as lengths of melodies draw on for thirds of hours. There was no room for any further sweat to worsen my skills, but there was room for error given my telegraphs. In the end, I had pushed my body far past its sickened affliction, with an end product that wholly resonated with my desire.

So then, what happened? What could possibly change in four days? In the span from concert end to the unyielding dismay that leaves me decrepit on my prideless bed.

The lawn remains an unkept mess, with the worn down fence left to keep it. The outside—to the detail you told me of—remains an extension of your own house. All which keeps the house standing is the love and care to its support. The bathroom's door is a curtain; your room's lock is a large box. The basement is a large expanse with no notable attributes beyond its empty nature. I can only picture the layout so vividly, yet the smell remains unmistakably like my own bathroom.

The moon in the sky overhangs in the same spot regardless of position. In three points, it waxes and wanes the same as it rises and sets. I've come to miss how effortlessly a full moon can illuminate my pitch-black room. As the days grow short, I can't help but find the moon on my walks home. Rarely, would I catch it past its third quarter or before its first. I've always had the ability to keep its motions in mind.

The music's loud, now. I'll pass by the world interacting with me as I hide myself deeper in lyrics which lament of my life. After the isolation I found myself in, torching the joy away, it was hard to push it all out. My drunken friends give stronger hugs than sober handshakes. Rooted in our culture amidst the eclectic academia, all in which we signify ourselves with is our handshake.

Punch after punch, there's never been a day lonelier than in my own room. As I sit in your own shadow, all that I can bring myself to do is shuffle my feet forward. I find echoes of my past in the surrounding relationships—my life’s plot points imitate a spectator. I wonder what had gone wrong, and I remember all the fourth-colored flags which tease my sight.

There's a trifecta in my mind which beckons to be complete. Suicide is the ideation of a changed life; whether alive or dead. It remains in the collective culture as a mistake which changes your life for the worse. In my darkest days, I never wish for the end of everything. I know there's a life in which I have built that continues on no matter what I do. Now, I no longer find that fun. I teeter on the thin branch which dictates whether I continue down my paved road or branch off to build my own log cabin.

I'll stand in front of my mirrors and deject my own face. Across the cramped room, sometimes I'll catch glimpses of myself which remind me of which reality I stand in. No matter if they're tinted clear or black, I still find myself in a battle reclaiming who I am from the body which strays far from who I should be.

My chest grows heavy laying the cards on the table. As much as I confront my inner desires there's a person holding me back. It's righteous, it's whole, It's a just voice just outside my body as it affirms the path of normality strays far and wide from what I plan to do. I've always asked myself if I were to reach the summit and stand face to face with the same person I dull my emotions over; if my answer satisfies me. If my answer reunites the longing I've felt if my answer lives up to its definition and answers me. An echo across the mountaintops as a string of words made to solve the riddle chaining my mind backwards which activates the way forward as a renewed self or simply a waterfall splitting to reveal a treasure chest or better yet a friend I lost long ago.

I've feared confronting them for this long. I've heard the unified chorus remind me that simply breaking the connection off with no explanation is the right thing to do. It has all been a mental game, I know it as such. It's not love that I'm after, now. I want answers. I wish to bury a hatchet left with blood rusted off its sharpest point. There's a future which eludes me, where I find the comforts of a fantasy which carries me farther than any media has so far. I want to push beyond the barrier my mind has placed upon myself as it rejects a simple "no". Not even that; it rejects silence. It realizes that the war has been one-sided; and the issues are far too vast to place into meaningful words.

Sure, what good will it do? Months ago, I confessed my love for them without a care in the world. Now, I'm scared to even explain myself. He's a person too, I've kept that all in mind. I should mix both of the worlds together. A severance of communication and a confession to send it all away. You've ruined me; fuck you. Yet, that's not true. I've ruined myself; fuck me.

You've never loved me, you've cheated on your boyfriend to deliver the news you never had. This is the hatchet; and the only person who cares is me.

I did it; I knew it. Let my kingdom fall around me. My lies. My mind's leyes.

V - WAITING ROOM

Black. A room devoid of color or detail. Wherever my hand touched was what gained itself purpose. Pre-Apotheosis. Except, none of it was real. I can't help but feel guilty for forgetting what happened here.

Broken pillars with shriveled slime. Splotches lighting the blackened ground. I used to be something. I threw my orange mask away somewhere in the empty void months ago. We locked eyes immediately after. Now, I'm trapped.

A careless flick of my wrist caused the hungering void to swallow upon a chunk of pillars, removing them from sight. Hell is empty; the number one. At the top of the mountain, you are alone with yourself. You will fight with your hands in a bloody war against your might.

I think I'm stuck here. My mind wanders and my feet move forward, but no matter how far I move, I will always remain in the void. Even as I mop the floors and sweep the debris; I leave myself with nothing.

The presence of the overhanging moon keeps me sane, I believe. It has cycled ten times since I have been trapped here. Waiting. What for?

He walks out with his suit covered in blood, heaving as his chest restricts his heart from beating out his clothes. The barrel of his gun smokes with guilt—he's never claimed a life before.

"It's for the betterment of my friend," he reminds himself, "She's a monster. She took my friends away from me."

That's not what he said; of course. I sat from afar as I conjured scenes of imaginative origins. They're still me. I can never see what he truly says. I don't want to know. It's been months. I want to go home.

I can't bring myself to imagine greater scenes. The doll houses I built from the ground up are nothing in comparison to my problems. Where's the joy in it all? It's only myself here.

A war in my name. They'll talk about me for years to come. I'm only an incident—a means to bring them back together. No, of course not. Since when has hatred meaningfully built a community?

Pillar, return to me. Fall under the might of my kick. Crumble to ash as I concentrate my foot. Of course, you leave a mess in my wake. Everything does; everything is a mess.

I hope the ax forgets. The tree will forever keep its scar, but the wood-handled ax will continue as if nothing has happened. The scar of void.

Am I fighting myself? I am.

I heard what I needed to hear.

Remember when he returned last time? It only wound up worse. It was a trap.

Who's holding the hatchet? I thought I buried it.

I don't remember where. It's somewhere in the void.

Pairs of two. Shrines of thirteen.

I'm alone again. Delusional and hopeless.

I'm alone again. Delusional and hopeless.

I'm alone again.

Delusional.

And Hopeless.

Ṿİ - DREAMCATCHER

July 2014. Approximately one thousand eight hundred forty days before the start. My gaze fixed to the symbol etched upon my bunk mate's wall. The symbol placed me within a curious trance which slipped away the misery of sleeping in the wilderness, nearly five hundred miles away from my own house.

My bunk mate had a pair of striped pajamas covering his being. Ragged blonde hair stretches down and past his shoulders. With my outstretched hand, I point to the symbol and loudly exclaim for the rest of the cabin to hear, "What's that?"

His attention shifts from the rapid conversation towards the etched symbol. A backwards N slants within the wooden frame as two dots cap the top and bottom of the diagonal slash. For a moment, he looks on to the symbol to prolong the time before he speaks.

"It's the Dreamcatcher," he spoke with a lisp, "It filters the nightmares when you fall asleep. A one way ticket granting you smooth sailing across the sea of dreams."

I was perplexed. His words—at the time—slipped away as his intelligent dialect precedes his age. Of course, I knew nothing of it then. As the years continued by, meshing together in fragmentations of both memory and fantasy, I found myself staring face to face with the symbol again. And again.

And again.

April 13th, 2024. One thousand seven hundred fifteen days after the start. A patchwork of symbolism weaves within my mind as my slumbering body plays within its tales. Stories of bygone characters dance around the vignette-tinted playground. My senses fall flat as I fail to recall the very faces staring me down. On their seraphic heads is a detail which clings upon my senseless sight.

Two men stand out among the sea of visitors. Both identities bore scraggly hair which puffed itself into a sphere. The man on the left stood with dark-brown hair, while the other bore a lighter, yet dirtier blond-haired person. It wasn't them, I've never found myself dreaming of their exact features. Yet, it was. A simulacrum of my fears amalgamated in my distant peers.

The dream swiftly plucked itself away from my vision as a searing pain overtook my stomach. Every minute felt like misery—all I wished for was my water to quench my shriveled throat. My light-blue bottle sat farther away than I can reach. I freely kicked my legs at the edge of my bed as my body laid wide awake. Each moment strung on for hours—please, let me move.

My constant pleas pushed against my desires as I silently begged for freedom. Slowly, I disturbed my keeling pose and gripped against my bottle. Intuition informed me of how I yearned for water, but only for its feeling. As the small dribble sat within my mouth, I could feel my aching stomach return back to nothing.

4:50 AM. I sat at the foot of my bed with my eyes fixed on the light illuminated from my window. Dawn barely cracked upon my room as only a glimmer of blue sat above the horizon. The driveway remained black—empty of any unusual cars. Above all, I was expecting the same black truck to present an awaited visitor. Nothing, of course. The days are blurring together.

Before I returned to the senseless sea, I found a familiar symbol dimmed upon my blackened wall. The Dreamcatcher. The same reverse N with its unusual tittles. Nearly ten long years, and I found myself face to face with the unknown. Even as I returned to select a video to sleep to, I saw him at the top of my feed. Same man, same festival, same guitar, same channel. Wretched beast. Horrid switch.

"It's a redo," I muttered to myself. 8:20 AM. "Today is a better day because I allow it to be."

I didn't sleep in, this time. Yet, my mind was racing. Amidst my morning routine, I pondered on the meaning of the Dreamcatcher. Was it there to taunt me? Remind me? It appears in fantastical coincidence; what dream does it catch? Fate? Love? War? Was the kid wearing a sleeping cap or a Phrygian cap?

  10:30 AM. A wave of noise washed within the walls of the garage as I fixated on the same symbol hung on the load-bearing beam. Maybe there was nothing to it. A litany of artifacts and plaques lined the walls of the garage, displaying the very childhood of a life I've never lived. The Dreamcatcher was part of a collective in which I held no intention of deciphering. "The Snicker Award", "The Rattlesnake Award". These weren't mine, so why should it matter?

My mind focused on the important issues ahead. My hands swung in front of me to hit the bars of an instrument too small for me. I was having fun. The drummer gave us orders while his hand snaked around the shoulders of his lover—a visitor. Both of them sat on top of the chair as I've seen before. Oh, the observer. To think, I may be the man in the midnight campground.

My friend—visiting from towns away—talked to us about his busy life. As we drove through Main Street, he told us of his rountined day. His early mornings, arduous afternoons, and meaningless evenings. In his sixteen-hour shifts, he found no time to socialize or hang out. Loneliness was what he ran from. Every hour of his life was occupied to better his life, to escape the realization of where he sat in the sea of it all.

The pianist—who I confide with my deepest secrets—listens with curiosity as he prods the visitor's life with questions that push the conversation along. Past the theater and approaching the drive-thru, he silences the air with a single inquiry, "Will your life change if you find a lover?"

"If," the visitor emphasizes, "I have no time or need for one."

There it is, graffitied on the road sign ahead. The Dreamcatcher. Sprayed in pure white is the work of a symbol which strikes meaning upon my soul. I can imagine the summer heat outside the car, where I stood amazed instead of aiding my bandmates. That was a distant time, of course. Ten minutes out there was a tenth of a second in the visitor's truck.

3:05 PM. One song in our set and I was already lost in the structure. The intricacies of the form and the style of the solos. Soon, my eyes glazed upon the digital eyes circling the gazebo like vultures. It struck me well—in that moment—my own likeness would appear outside where I could fathom its existence. Uncountable posts mentioning me by group and not by name. The feeling was alien. Before, only one set of eyes focused on my being. And even then, their eyes hid underneath a bandmate's phone.

A familiar woman bestowed upon our band a coupon and a singular $100 bill each. As I looked down at her aged face, her complexities could only spark so much. It was a long shot, however, I could only identify the woman as the same observer who handed me a rainbow-themed pin with the words "MOM HUG" in bubble letters.

Now, it was different. Handed to me was a slip of paper—a coupon—for a local restaurant. Inscribed in ink, beneath the printed words, was the same Dreamcatcher symbol etched on the slip. Of course, I left to claim the coupon whenever possible. The reappearance of this symbol continued to surprise me, it almost appeared at random.

4:50 PM. Our performance has long ended. Recent memories of familiar bonding danced in my mind as I sat in the sanctuary of the restaurant. The recurrence of the Dreamcatcher enamored me, its occupancy in my mind taunted me like a distant memory. My words quickly join the dancing thoughts, "It's a redo."

The answer overwhelms my expressions in a state of pure realization. My friends slightly eye me before I return to my neutral expression. I couldn't tell if they knew what I was thinking, but their conversation continued on to prove my hypothesis correct.

"It's best to let the reader figure out the meaning." The words of my English teacher push through my conspiring thoughts. Oh, Orphanmaker. "Let them find your meaning or let them find their own."

6:30 PM. My friends and I met at a granite table with a checkered pattern inscribed in the stone. As their conversation continued on about the future of the band, my eyes idled around the surrounding area as I scanned the crowd. In comparison to the previous three hours, the park found itself crowded with people from end to end. They were here for the main course of the festival; of course. Their set list remained identical, but their members had changed.

Soon, my focus sat on the edge of the park. A wall of graffiti—more eloquently a mural—stretched from edge to edge as it covered the barren wall of a tan building in a colorful display. Most jarring of all was the Dreamcatcher, which blended in well to the mural. Why now?

"Who would win a game of chess?" The words of the pianist recall from my parallel memory. "Someone who can see the future or a mind reader?"

I fell asleep during that conversation. I heard it come on amidst a sea of one-sided discussion. Already, exhaustion had taken hold of my body that day as I fell asleep on the floor with nothing but my clothes. Oh, how the world rhymes.

Two kids—adorned with orange tails and animal ears—danced around the dormant fountain's design as they chased each other. I couldn't help myself but to watch the two run along the open space. This place was packed, I thought, how could they find the time? The Dreamcatcher—formed in the cracks and holes of the fountain—allowed such ritual.

9:20 PM. Anger overwhelmed my senses as I placed myself in an unwilling location. Never until now have I walked within the interior of a pub, and never have I performed among the same men which paved the path I walked. My rage flung itself from fear; control. Everything I yearned for needed to be right. Why wasn't it? My friends only added fuel to the fire. They spoke with confidence on an instrument they seldom knew, "It's right because I said it's right."

After I had situated my vibraphone atop the stage, all I could feel was sorrow. My rage-induced high mellowed out to the pits of regret as I recalled the words I used against them. I apologized—profusely. As I idly drank my cup of water, I recognized the song performed was off the album Headhunters; Watermelon Man. As soon as their performance concluded, our band picked up the torch with another song off the same album; Chameleon.

Even as I played, I could feel the presence of the Dreamcatcher. The warmth of the melodies. The embrace of the solos. My mallets sailed and struck against the vibraphone with precision and delicacy. Despite the ferocity and the passion, it felt calm. In the eye of the arpeggiated storm was a hug of passion and idled entropy.

"I worked for this," I assured myself across festivals, "I earned it."

The songs blurred by, as if I was asleep for it all. Stress eluded me as my mistakes sifted away through the crucible of passion. All good things must come to an end. Of course, I knew this adage well. 11 PM flashed by and signaled an end to it all.

Where was the Dreamcatcher? Two hours came and went as the paralleled rest. While I deconstructed my vibraphone to its transportable pieces, I tuned in to the overlapping wisdom bestowed upon our band by two varied sources. I took in what I could as I packed my mallets back into the crowded bag where it belonged.

Only as I slipped the two sticks inside did the Dreamcatcher reveal itself. Claimed in marker, the wooden handles held the very symbol I searched for. I've owned these mallets for so long—I thought—why did I only notice now? It slipped by my senses for an unknown amount of time.

How long have I carried the Dreamcatcher under my unknowing hands?

"Do you still love someone after the relationship's over?" My friend questioned. He focused on the midnight road ahead as the conversation pivoted to his question. "Even if it's not the same, is the love still there?"

  April 12th, 2024. One thousand seven hundred fourteen days after the start. The question wedged itself within my thoughts as I listened on to the conversation. We were only a few minutes away from the gas station, after I'd caught up in explaining my worst affairs with my greatest friend—the pianist. It felt wrong, worded fluffing padded my mouth as each word felt meaningless yet hurtful at the same time.

Regardless, the driver continued in a seamless thought, "I mean, I still love my girlfriend. There's nothing that can replace how I feel for her. But, out in the distance, I still feel something towards everyone else I dated before me—my exes."

"Well, yeah." The pianist placed his foot in the door of conversation, "But what about familial love? Platonic? Do you still love your mother while she's alive? Do you suddenly hate her when she's dead?"

Of course, you do. What good is it when you break the bonds you crafted with others?

"I can't speak on behalf of what romantic love feels like," he continues, "But it's weird when you no longer love someone after you stop talking to them. What about the memories? The time you spent together?"

Yes, but granted, something terrible must happen in order for that event to even occur.

Out of the blue—by a leap in conversation or time—the driver continues with a new question, "When was the last time you said I love you?"

Not since July.

In reaction, I spoke my thoughts out loud. I could see the pianist look towards me with a knowing, sympathetic, expression. Similar to the revelation at the restaurant, all he could do is acknowledge my reaction and continue on.

The duo's words blur together as I preoccupied my mind with my own response. The phrase was sacred to me, it feels like I've reserved it for people who I can no longer say it to. It's a privilege to receive my love. No, it's a privilege to receive their love. How do you read the Dreamcatcher, if at all?

How many Leyes can you tell yourself before it all catches up to you?

VII - KING OPALIA - PART THREE

"It was like I was shifting through realities," he continued, "Every time I passed out, it was like I was in another universe. Something else had changed and I had to figure out what."

In the small hours of the sleepover, there were only two people awake in the house. I slumped in one of the two reclining chairs in the living room as I processed the last few hours of my life.

I remember the fort I constructed in Pavi's kitchen. Oh, I didn't like his dogs. One of them barked incessantly, why won't you stop? Is it because I won't let you in my home away from home? Why does something smaller than my backpack of tricks hold more energy than any waking person in the house?

Then came a crash. It was like a guardian angel fell from heaven to save me from the microbeast. I took what I could in the moment and laid down on the floor. I should've been concerned then and there. The final party animal had fallen into slumber. I heard his singing stop for just a few moments before he continued on. 

A second crash soon followed after. Silence cemented itself in the house as I left to check on my friend. Nested between the piano and the bed was the party animal. 

I spent the next few hours worriedly making sure my friend was fine. I cared little about how I felt in the moment. I'd willingly sacrifice anything of mine to make sure I wasn't around to witness another death in my life.

Through his brief waking moments, I led the party animal on the bed; away from the unforgiving floor. I took the piano apart in his wake to make sure I could lift his dead weight.

Every now and again, he would wake up and rush towards me; scared. The party animal would wrap his hands around my body, passing out on my chest with his acne blood staining my favorite shirt.

Of course, it was July.

I laid on the bed both motionless and confused. Part of me wanted to enjoy the moment, but most of me was as scared of him as he was of himself. 

The party animal continued to wake up time and time again. Eventually, he remained awake with a strange fixation on my face. I couldn't look him in the eyes. As he continued to sober up, his motor skills increased alongside his lucidity.

At first, he'd speak coherent sentences. From there, he'd express an urge to find his phone. This sole desire chewed up the next two hours. I wish I could've checked the floor where he passed out on.

With the help of the hung over partygoers, we were able to return the party animal back to his house. However, I spent the last few minutes talking to him.

We sat behind the rising sun; an orange reminder. I recounted the last few hours to him over and over again.

One moment that stuck out was his intimacy. For a while, he moved his hands over to my chest and groped at my nipples. I was mortified for a moment, until I silently spoke to myself, "This is karma."

As he left, I knew the end of the sleepover was fast approaching. In my final moments awake, I spent the time recalling the memories in between. I briefly chuckled. Of course, the last year has been eventful. Despite my flawed memories, I found solace in my stories.

One day, I'll confront my feelings in Scarlet Mountain's crater.

The Knight

VIII - BEHIND YOUR BACKS

We sat around the campfire telling ghost stories of living people. In mutual agreements, we knew the best people to trust were ourselves. We have all fled from the burning pits of Hell in an attempt to carve our own identities in our presences. The struggles we face now are known as struggles from our experiences. We all agreed in vitriol.

There was an importance in community; in grouping. The world is rough, but we are social. I placed my best foot forward in accepting friendship. The experiences shared gave us hope to move forward. We are changed men. From then and even now, we hold common enemies.

I watched as the group tore itself asunder. I grew bitter of one man, who entitled themselves to falsified attention. With a heavy break, I no longer associated my trust with him. Another grew nosy of my business. In my private life, he proclaimed himself as the righteous spectator due to its affairs. No longer do I talk to him. Like the previous man, he had rarely changed.

From the sidelines, I saw his ship sink beneath the ocean line. The men he tormented for his benefit, healing in consequence of removal. It was bittersweet, but it wasn't my business. It all made sense. Alongside, I had made amends with the common enemies. After all, they were disproportionate. They were all friends, and I surrounded myself in the wrong group.

I suppose we all lied that day, when we told ghost stories of living people.

IX - THE SHIRT

My shirt was stained with blood, recently. The vibrant colors I once saw in it now drowned in putrid red. I look at it and remember a harsh flashback to how the blood appeared. Yet it stuns me; why? I've grown fond of the shirt, it was my favorite. All my friends knew of it, the shirt was a staple of who I was. Its notoriety was high. Some even said I never wore anything else. Now, it's gone. How do I explain this? I sit in the car with my friend, giving high claims that he's not drunk. He rambles on about his misfortunes in life. He implored me to speak of mine. I spoke of my woes; my blood stained shirt. When we both left the car, all he gave me was a tight hug. And I couldn't help myself but cry on his shoulder.

I sat in a call with my friends, they spoke of a server. We wanted to play together, but they both had a question. What happened to my shirt? They could easily tell something was amiss, they were smart enough to put the pieces together. It was hard to explain what had happened. Never had I spoken so coherently through tears.

The blood stains my dorm. I didn't wash it properly. Like blankey, I remember when I carried that light blue cloth around. Sometimes I can't help but think of the shirt. The stains are everywhere. It's hard to wash all these stains out. Why was there so much blood?

While practicing, one of my friends checked up on me. They were considerate—I've talked to them before. This time, they asked if I was okay. I'm still not sure if they saw the stains. I stammered, my thoughts flooding with the shirt. I couldn't stand any longer. Feebly, I excused myself to the bathroom. Very few know the extent. When I explain that my once favorite shirt was stained with blood, I never say the degree of it. It soaked the fabrics, ruined the material. I can't quantify it. It's an amount so dear to my heart. Not even my roommate knows. And I, too, watched his favorite shirt stain with blood. I wash, and I wash, and I wash. No amount of help. No amount of agents. It's still there. I've ignored the shirt. It hangs in my closet. I can only choke back tears when I see its faded colors. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

X - THE KNIGHT

On the docks of the ocean, illuminated by the light of the moon, lay a knight with a visor over their eyes. Their gaze stays fixed, as if they were guarding something of value. Minutes passed, and the only twitch the guard made was of their own breathing.

Each day, like clockwork, the paper-crowned kid rushed up to the knight to show them images on a canvas. Every day, without fail, they returned at the same time under the moon's light. Each time the kid presented his colorful canvas, the knight lowered their head for only a moment. Afterward, the knight assumed their regular position. The kid gleefully ran away.

He knew; the knight was capable of speech. The knight could speak, could move, could show signs of life beyond simple breathing. The kid knew nothing of the knight's past beyond their accomplishments. The kid saw something within the knight.

"I want to make the knight proud!" The kid exclaimed, "I want to see the knight smile!"

Night by night, the kid visited the knight. Their status quo was maintained; visor over their eyes, scarf obscuring mouth. The knight was emotionless. He only took action to diffuse the chaos. It mattered not that the kid's canvas grew grander, grew more complex by the day. To the kid, it mattered most that the knight had seen the canvas. 

Months passed. Years washed and spun the world around its axis. The kid, now at the same height as the knight, rarely visited. What once was a beloved pastime waned. Now, it was only a passing thought. The kid, once more, showed the knight a canvas. He plainly brought it up to their sight. With time, the kid grew wiser. The kid knew more than he had before. And this time, something had stood out.

As the knight observed the canvas, the kid saw their cheeks rise. Despite the scarf covering their mouth, the knight shared an expression. Through every canvas, every day. Was the kid so small? Was this only a detail he could see with his mature height?

It didn't matter. The kid's goal was complete, but that never snuffed the flame of tradition.

XI - THE KNIGHT’S EFFECT

On the very docks where I find inspiration, oh, it's beyond repair. The men who swear to keep its good name allow the waves to erode its material. Salted waters akin to their needs— same as a knife to its back— It's slow. Find yourself at the crossroads of nostalgia and contempt. The speckled stars, they tell you to look up and observe their beauty. How full the moon is; how often is such? With cold metal housing microwar. Look up, they tell you. "Remember where you came from, but do not look back" I tell them. Oh how the stars seldom care to the blastcrumble's effect.

12 - FOUR TIMES THREE

Three hundred days; do you believe it's right to keep track of insignificant matters? As the parking lot's stars mimic a starlit sky among crimson red clouds, does it matter to care how they look? Do the stars feel as if they cast judgment on you? In past, present, and future; they look down on you. With their heightened position in the sky, all stars have blackened spots. 

How invasive is it to view a virtual feud? As you watch as a flippant man rages about matters beyond his concern, do you then see the assailant's "close friend" lighten up. Your eyes glance across the screen to see if they still stand. You count the days until it all returns to the status quo.

I rarely see you in my dreams. Every night, my shift starts as visages of haunting figures dot my dreams. The repressed guilts of the waking world roam free as they remind me of my insignificance. With each dream, they pass through in a blur of consciousness. A rendition of the virtual wars; the arguments about the snake pit. Studying me as if it was academic; Danilism. Muted colors weave together a story lost in a foreign language in which its effect carries beyond understanding.

I fear some reprieve of finality. Icarus; those who know me too well fall out of grace. Of course, those fears always dance in front of my face. These shadows which obstruct the bleeding light are nothing of its true form. I was given poison all my life, promised it was ambrosia.

However, I don't fear the creator of such tale. Tell me ad nauseam of the one who rests once you fully forget your cherished teddy bear. These comparisons strike fear into my heart, but there's only one resolution which keeps the fears at bay. I can continue on, explaining egotistical anecdotes, yet how fun is that? In moderation lies the key.

I don't need fourteen tales to explain my silent gratitude, Thank you.

Eternal Fountain

XV - SHIFTING REALITIES

Hail Opalia, king of the snow! Character martyr; how little they know. You've changed much, all post-mortem. Such a shame! Goodbye gem.

Hail Opalia, the tragic tale! Such a story, never stale! Meek ambassador of the few, there's no one quite like you.

Why, Opalia, the herald of justice, with your discovery of the Fountain Eternal. The men, they speak in malice! Alas, we find you dead in vernal.

J. Opalia, the innocent king. We would never plan a thing! As your coffin sits opened; empty. May they find you, bounty hefty!

XVI - THE TRUTH

Heaven is a place distant Encroached by the virtuous souls Less are they divine as Lenient is the overrule

Ichor pours golden washing its Spill of mortal ambrosia upon us.

Tasked against the sins defined Oh, is life an arduous test? Living by the rules bestowed above, “Eternal will be your reward!” Raise your voice against your masters And feel His wrath. No life worth living, Clean of question. Entertain the notion that

XVII - SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

I never noticed how empty the sky was. Seven long months since I lost the most important battle of my life. You forget about all of the little details at your lowest. I was sure this prison had some sort of nightly simulacrum.

Who cares about the stars, anyway? When you spend most of your days chopping away at a training doll, knowing how many faint dots dance around the moonlight is the least of your concerns. We're one misstep away from losing everything we own, they say.

I pray every night they're wrong.

I spy on my friends every other night. They seem to have so much fun every time I check on them, what gives? Don't they know what's at stake—what I lost? It's me or them. Eat or be eaten. I'm the one wearing the uniform. They're the sheep.

They'll make these training dummies out of anything. Every other night I'll cleave through the burlap sack and spill all of its cotton guts on the floor. My teammates constantly tell me to loosen up—what do they know? I'll keep swinging until my blisters gain blisters.

There's no such thing as fun in war. Kaigako taught me that. I've never felt a moment of peace ever since I was trapped in this prison. She put me in here. Any day wasted on these hooligans is another victory for her.

One day I met a girl at the base of the mountain. She was full of life. I've never seen someone's smile stretch so wide. There must be something wrong with her. She's got the same deep-red eyes as she does hair. Isn't pink just a lighter red?

She introduced herself as the Scorched Sultan. I saw no need to introduce myself, everyone already knew my name.

The sultan found a fascination with the Demonic War. When I recalled my days deep in the woods hunting for those demons, she paid attention with sparkles in her eyes.

I saw something in her. If she stuck around the same circles as me, maybe she wouldn't be too bad of an asset. I'm sure Kaigako wouldn't mind.

Unfortunately, she was unbearable. The sultan held a constant air of insecurity. When I offered to duel her, she took it up without question. We went through so many hoops to compromise on a set of rules. Eventually, I grew impatient. At this rate we'd see the sun rise before any of our blades.

What separated her from everyone else was her style. She was endlessly persistent and optimistic, yet that's what dragged her down. The joy she showed at the idea of bloodshed irked me. I'm sure she wouldn't flinch at the sight of civilian brutality. As long as she wasn't on the other end receiving hell.

Her technique was exemplary, as well. Out of the soldiers I trained with, I never met someone as capable as her. Her innate skill to transform magic to reality wasn't something to scoff at. From a simple flick of her blade, she was able to tear apart at the mountain's material.

Of course, I could do the same. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary. However, the sultan was far more uncontrolled; feral. There came a point within the fight to where I wasn't fighting her anymore. I was fighting her emotions.

I defended my life from her. With the blade's every clash, I pushed my weight into my weapon to fend her away from myself. Rocks hailed down from the mountains above as each strike shook the base of it all.

The sultan soon held me against the ground by the blade. Driven by her tears, she reeled her arm back to initiate another swing. The arena had since been marked with a large crater. I'm not sure if I'd be able to crawl out of it without help.

But I sure wasn't gonna die in it.

Swing after swing, I pushed all of my energy out from my body in a final attack. My blade tore through the sultan's skin swing by swing. Blood quickly escaped out from her wounds as I repeatedly tore her body apart.

By the time I drove my blade into her skull, her body was nigh unrecognizable. All of her clothes were stained under a thin layer of blood and viscera. I didn't care about my blade, I didn't need it. Even as she stopped moving, I sunk every punch and blow into her corpse. I made sure there was nothing of her left.

Once I was satisfied, I pulled my sword out from her head as my foot cracked at her cranium in tandem.

There was a lot I saw in her. A lot of qualities no one ever really saw in myself. I should've let her kill me, but I had a lot more unfinished business than her.

The sultan's murder never affected anyone except for those outsiders. We grabbed a few drinks and brought them back to the estate. Kaigako didn't say anything about the incident beyond a satiric scolding.

We're still the good guys.

XVIII - CLIMAX

SCARLET MOUNTAIN, BLOODIED CRATER. EMPTY FOUNTAIN, VIOLENT HATER. STIFFENED SHOULDERS, REPEAT DREAMER. MENTAL BOULDERS, VIOLENT TRUTHER.

XIX - ELEVEN TAPES

The road ahead had been paved for us. Someone was here long before.

There's been deliberate care in marking the trail ahead. Lanes of wildlife line the edges of the pathway. An occasional leaf deviated from these lanes, as a few scattered themselves along the path.

It didn't matter to the horses how battered the path was. They knew exactly where to walk, and I only needed to supervise from the comfort of my carriage.

Inside the wagon were a few supplies tucked away in various crates. Sat atop those crates were two of my companions. I'm not sure how long they've been here for. One of them—the poet—had her jacket wrapped around her waist. She had large, round glasses which magnified her golden eyes.

In contrast to the poet, the man sitting next to her wore garments and trinkets fit for a king. Every once in a while, he would adjust the crown nested in his dirtied hair before returning his hands in a cross. We call him King Dorian.

Not a moment on this carriage was met with silence. We'd talk about anything and everything. Occasionally, the poet would recite one of her stanzas while we gave our opinions.

Suddenly, King Dorian lifted his head up and spoke, "Do you two have any deep regrets?"

I was stunned. It took me a moment to fully process the question. Before I could think of my answer, the poet had already started in stanza.

"There's very little that I greatly regret," she answers, "Yet, I can list off the memories I want to forget."

King Dorian lifted up a hand, as if he was about to speak. Then, as subtly as he raised it, his hand fell back in his lap.

I kept my eyes focused on the road ahead. I saw no need to make any eye contact with my response. "I'd be inclined to answer the same, but I'm sure me and Dorian share a similar regret."

"Similar regret?" he questioned, "I have a million regrets. They crush me to sleep every night. I'm not sure if you'd share every last one."

"No—of course not. Do you know why they call this place Scarlet Mountain?"

"I haven't cared to learn. Why, is it your regret?"

"Not exactly. I find the story a little comforting."

For the brief moment I spent to check on him, I saw the king hunched forward in attention.

"I'm sure you were alive during this time, but this place used to be called Astrea Mountain. Home to the prettiest constellations underneath the Dreamer's blade. That all changed after a friendly spar turned bloody. Long after the dust settled—weeks after—everyone reported the bloodstains retained their colors. The corpse of the sultan never truly decomposed."

"So they named the mountain after her, Scarlet?"

"Depends on who you ask. It's either a coincidence she was named Scarlet or it was in memorandum."

Silence took hold of the cart. Moments passed, and neither of the two uttered a word.

"We all fuck up in the heat of passion, Dorian. We forget ourselves in the pursuit of happiness. I lost sight of you two the day I discovered my biggest regret. I cultivated them without a care. I treated them with two of the greenest thumbs God can grace us with. The harvest was spectacular. It was as if I was popping a zit. It was messy, but it was satisfying."

"I understand, unfortunately."

"You remember those three nights; I hear you talk about them ad nauseam. In your own words, 'it was as if nothing happened', right?"

I look back to see the king with his head hung low.

"I'm sure that's your biggest regret. It's as much yours as it is mine. It might as well be hers, too. She's too scared to admit it."

The trotting horses drowned out any of the subtle scenery. I couldn't focus on anything else other than the two's combined rhythm.

"There's a reason we're visiting the Eternal Fountain. If the Knight's map is correct, we should be there in less than half an hour."

"I've always wondered about the fountain." I heard the poet speak, but I didn't check behind to see. "Did it spell Opalia's demise, for certain?"

"He died weeks after discovering the fountain. Either it's completely unrelated, or something in the fountain caused it."

"Was that his wish? To have his life mangled on a silver dish?"

"I don't think anyone would willingly wish to become the plane's most hated king. More likely, whatever he wished for came at a price."

"Such a shame! What a way to lose your fame."

Sometimes I can't stand her rhymes. It was obviously Dorian's doing to distinctly separate us. I'm sure either of them could drop the act at any moment.

Soon, King Dorian and the poet talked amongst themselves while I steered the carriage through tricky terrain. Once the horses stepped past the rickety wooden bridge and the paste-smeared rocks, I released the reigns and kept my focus on the landmarks ahead.

It's all or nothing. Aixi vixi.

XX - KING JAMES DORIAN

Sat by the fountain at the heart of our woes. We chased Her myths and escaped our foes. All our coins head-side up. Justice Phrygian and his cap on tails. One last wish among us three, history's victors, Dorian prevails.

I sat at the lip of the fountain. Both the poet and Dorian walked around the emptied fountain with their left hands tightly shut around their coins. We've all reached the Eternal Fountain, but its crystal waters weren't present.

In its place was a viscous pool of blood. Scarlet icicles hung from the upper layers of the fountain's architecture. All of its waters were stagnant, and yet we saw it as clear as day.

Among the fountain's pool was a singular coin, bearing the face of Justice Phrygian.

"Have you heard of why the Three Kings were anointed?" Dorian continued to pace around with his hands behind his back. "I'm sure you know we're all trapped in the blade of the Dreamer, right?"

"I'm aware," I responded, "I have no clue on the inner workings. Weren't you three chosen by the Dreamer to fulfill Her wishes?"

"Not exactly. We were the three dumbest kids She could trust to keep this place in perpetuity."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Before the Crimson Blades freed the souls out of this blade, we three were given the choice to stay with the benefit of a third of Her power. Of course, she scoped us out beforehand. We were all dumb enough to agree."

I kept myself quiet. If anything, my focus was on the entombed coin.

"Phrygian won't budge from this place. I feel his presence constantly weighing down on me. I can only assume Locrian went insane. Look where his wish got him."

Only now could I distinguish what could only be Locrian's femur at the bottom of the pool.

"I'm sick of this feud, 'Nilo. We all lost when we agreed to Her deal. She knew this would happen. I just want to move on in any way I can."

An eye for an eye, blood measured in exact revenge. What's hell except for tolerance? Abyssal flames lick upon your skin at room temperature, This is all you know. No muscle to move within the chains of complacency. How's the cage from the inside? You forge your prison in disguise of love. And yet, you must bear to break your own craft.

The poet threw her coin first. With a mighty flip, the token landed cap up within the scarlet pool. Her coin, however, remained buoyant. 

Minutes passed with no change in sight. We both looked on to her in confusion. Did she even make a wish?

Dorian kept a tight fist around his coin. I waited for his stature to budge, yet he continued to nudge me onward. Hesitantly, I sat up from the lip of the fountain and rested part of the coin on the knuckle of my thumb.

With a weak flip, I quickly opened my hand and caught the coin mid-air. Instead of a flip, I threw my coin in the fountain with as much force as I could muster. The coin slammed against the surface of the pool. Phrygian's tired face looked back at me in disappointment.

It never sank. Just like the poet's attempt, my coin was met with resistance. I was confused. If anything, I wanted to break apart the fountain's architecture with my bare hands. I'm sure Dorian could see my anger steaming from my ears.

I was confused. I wanted answers. Through gritted teeth, I questioned Dorian, "How did Locrian's coin pierce through the water?"

"I'm not sure," he responded, "Do you remember on the ride up here how you mentioned Locrian's death was weeks after he discovered the fountain?"

"Vaguely, why?"

"How long do you think he waited to throw in the coin? Why did he wait? He was sitting on the holy grail of reality. Was he mad at the Dreamer?"

"Were you?"

King Dorian kept his gaze toward the scarlet fountain.

"If I had the opportunity to wish for anything I wanted, I'd take as much time as I need. We both knew how tempered he was."

Monkey's paw and genie lamps. Everyone wishes for infinite wishes. The malice of the world sits in the hearts of the humans. Normality is everything that everyone misses. Faced with the crux of the blade, Opalia kept his emotions red. After weeks of contemplations, he simply wished for Dorian dead.

"We can't say for certain," the king continued, "but I'm sure his wish was granted. We just don't know how it works, or if it's truly what we think it is."

In the background, the poet silently packed up her supplies as Dorian talked. I watched her fill her bag full of writing utensils and sigils by the edge of the fountain.

Eventually, I looked away from the fountain to fully face King Dorian. I've never noticed the complexities of his face. When'd he gain an eyepatch over his right eye? Regardless, I continued with my train of thought and reiterated my question, "are you mad at the Dreamer?"

"No," he bluntly replied, "of course not. It's not Her fault I'm in this mess. I should've known better. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I see, then. Do you truly think Phrygian ever loved you?"

“Of course he did. That was one of the hardest truths I’ve come to accept. Fantasy’s often easier to believe than reality. You should know that well.”

“So you’re fond of the memories you had with him?”

“Yes. Why waste good memories?”

Etched in the shaft of the fountain was a familiar symbol. A reversed N with two dots sat above a smaller plaque, simply reading, "TO THE DREAMCATCHER".

Amidst my observations, I watched King Dorian's coin quickly fly past my vision. The token sunk through the scarlet's pudding, cap side up.

"I can only fix my mistake one way," he concluded, "and that's to move on."

Scarlet Mountain. Eternal Fountain. Dreamer's mission. Catcher's passion.

Violent battle. Blackened kettle. It's time to move on, now. For you, yourself, and thou.

[gaoau]

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is there color in your world? warnings — none. word count — 1.4k

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summer passed him by. like a car to a civilian in a traffic accident, it rolled over suna with waves of unbearable heat and muscle-straining serve practices. july blended into august the same way blue faded into orange during those late sunsets. he had never thought he'd be willingly staring at the sun fall into the sky. he accidentally caught a glimpse one dull afternoon and unconsciously incorporated it into his routine.

was it gold? sunset orange? pale cyan? he didn't know any colors beside the ordinary red, yellow, blue, and their mixtures.

much like the sun sinking into the horizon, august disappeared when he flipped the page of his calendar. september rose above the heat as if it were the moon illuminating the night sky.

suna concluded he didn't like the moon. it never bothered him, he never paid any mind to it. but it was so bright and white and blinding and it drowned out the deep blue around it.

maybe he was starting to understand why [surname] called him black and white; why [surname] called him blinding and hard to read. he found annoyance in understanding.

[surname] [name] was annoying—not really. if she hadn't approached him, suna would've never acknowledged she existed anywhere near him. but once he did, there was no going back.

she had a strong presence he couldn't ignore. she forced herself into a routinely part of his life, dyeing his days with vibrant hues he hadn't even thought of. those weekend good mornin's and daily doses of sugar became a welcomed change.

of course he missed it. it felt odd to abruptly stop something that had been going on for months. it impressed him how [surname] simply managed to make herself click seamlessly some place she didn't belong. all until she decided to pull away and find herself a new, more interesting place.

it was so annoying how she just never stayed put.

if he slumped over his desk any longer, his spine would adopt an unhealthy curve forever. his back will be eternally thankful towards [surname] and her deafening group of friends.

the door slammed open, making suna jolt his shoulders in sleepy surprise. [surname] skipped inside and to the center of the classroom. a glistening smile stretched her lips into her cheeks.

"good mornin', everybody!"

shijiki was the first one to scramble out of her seat. the corner of a neighboring desk dug into her hip and her ankles twisted as she toppled to the floor. she caught her fall with her palms, pushing herself back onto her feet in an instant. her arms wrapped around [surname]'s waist before anyone could blink.

had suna been any more drowsy with his usual morning daze, he would've mistaken shijiki for a feral wolf. as she bawled into [surname]'s chest and offered to carry her satchel for her, she looked more like a clingy puppy. compared to her, suna didn't get to say he had missed [surname].

the squeals of her friends were too much to handle first thing in the morning after month and a half of peace. they engulfed [surname] in a group-hug. suna heard yelps and stomps as they stumbled to the floor. among the intelligible screeches, he started making out coherent sentences.

"we missed ya so much!"

"'twas worse than last year!"

"summer's long without ya, [name]-chan!"

yeah, suna could agree, but he wasn't hollering it to the wind.

"hey, [surname]-chan," called a deep voice, keeping a safe distance from the dog-pile of tears and cackles, "take us with ya next year, will ya?"

[surname] laughed her trademark ahahaha! giggles. "don't hold me to it, nabu-kun."

"up ya go," nabu-kun grunted. suna craned his neck backwards to see a fellow classmate—nabuhiko something—pulling the rumbustious girls to their feet.

they chirped a friendly thanks! in return as they collectively smoothed out the wrinkles on their skirts. someone squeaked when her friend started swiping at her back to dust off her blazer. nabuhiko laughed with them, patted [surname]'s head, and returned to his seat with a grin on his face.

suna felt his skin crawl. he wondered for half a second if he had a colony of ants trailing up and down his arms. it didn't take too long to realize he was feeling [surname]'s eyes pricking him like needles.

he had nearly forgotten that sensation. so intense and uncomfortable and annoying.

shijiki's brows dipped into a scowl. she flung a poisonous, uncalled-for glare at him while looming behind [surname]. her limbs locked onto [surname] as she hugged her like a koala to a tree.

suna cocked a brow at shijiki's unnecessary hostility. he couldn't decide if he preferred that venomous glower or [surname]'s razor-sharp, unnerving staring. when he faced front again, he decided that—despite not being an option—anything was better than osamu's smug smirks.

definitely the worse twin. osamu's shoulder bounced when he laughed. "sure didn't miss her, didja?" his brows motioned towards [surname] prying shijiki's arms off her.

suna massaged his temples, grumbling, "how was i so blind? you're much worse than atsumu."

"who's atsumu?"

he almost choked on his spit at the sound of [surname]'s voice. his eyes flew wide open in surprise. osamu snickered as suna turned to meet her gaze.

[surname] grinned at him. she really did like carving herself a place to belong. it was probably uncomfortable to stay for too long. "good mornin', suna-kun, miya-kun. hope yer summer break went well."

"same to ya, [surname]-san, how was it?" well, maybe osamu wasn't that bad. he was either trying to spite him or give him time to recover.

"spent my time stuffin' math info in my brain."

osamu chuckled, "flunkin' math?"

[surname] shrugged. she seemed to be laughing at her own bad grades with that smile of her. "i just don't get asymptotes, y'know?"

yeah, suna didn't get her either, but he wasn't whining.

"how's studyin' at a farm like?" maybe osamu was trying to spite him.

he felt her knife dig into his arm. "ah, never woulda thought suna-kun talked 'bout me, 'm flattered." her palm tore the blade away when it fell on his shoulder. it was warm.

her fingers used him as an instrument, drumming at a steady beat that invited him to join the conversation.  "i mean, atsumu was practically willing to kill just to know about you."

"oh." her fingers halted. her grip was weak but very noticeable. "i'm topic of gossip in yer locker room?"

"something like that." he shrugged his shoulders on instinct. maybe if he hadn't, [surname] wouldn't have pulled away.

she instead placed her hand on her chest. her nail polish was colorless but shiny. "'m honored," she giggled.

"ya should drop by and watch practice."

osamu was, without a shadow of doubt, trying to spite him. and boy, was he succeeding. suna could physically feel the color drain from his face—not that he had any, so nobody noticed.

[surname] hummed. "i was plannin' to, actually. now that i've an invitation, can't say no, can i?"

"lookin' forward to seein' ya there, right, suna?" osamu nudged him with his elbow. suna's glare swore no mercy.

"i make no promises. don't miss me too much, you two." she patted suna's head twice, narrowing her eyes and smiling. she used that same hand to wave her fingers. "see ya guys 'round."

suna followed her with his gaze. he nodded, muttering, "see you," almost as if it were second nature.

he regretted sitting behind osamu when he met his smug expression a second time in less than an hour. osamu snickered. "she patted yer head."

"i'm aware."

"must be nice."

"i'm not a dog."

"ya seein' colors now?"

"ow, fuck!" suna hissed. he cradled his head in hands, grimacing in fake-pain. "i feel it! it's a—my braincells! they're killing themselves!"

osamu cackled and threw his head back. "yer so whipped."

"i'm not." any energy he could've had vanished with that sarcastic show of his. he buried his face in his arms. the background chatter lulled him to sleep.

[surname] had said she made no promises. [surname] had said to not hold her to it. she didn't show up to practice that afternoon.

osamu's question tapped at his brain.

he could see colors. he didn't know their names.

[livealittleoc-cb]

"What's the point of being awake if nothing good ever happens..."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.: The Avatar of Sloth

⋆｡°✩ Biblical name: Belphegor

⋆｡°✩ Human Name: Jakub Nowak

⋆｡°✩ All sins are contained into the Underworld unless with their guardian, given special permission from a deity of the underworld or have someone outside of hell to take care of them

⋆｡°✩ Just like other supernaturals/gods/etc. the sins have a human form if allowed to walk on Earth/Human Realm

⋆｡°✩ In "human" form is from Poznan, Poland, in Astria he's from Uswus

⋆｡°✩ He/Him | Unlabled, Mono [Poly Questioning] | 21 [Human Years], is actually about 1,000+ years | 05/20 [Taurus] | 5'0"

⋆｡°✩He is:

uncaring

shuts anything down

tired 24/7

sleepy

just wants to be alone sometimes

silent && quiet

secretly likes people to be around

Demon, Hybrid, Animal && Human Forms/Sin Info

⋆｡°✩ was prince of the 7th Circle [Violence]

⋆｡°✩ was also the ambassador between rings

⋆｡°✩ contained into the form of a koala

⋆｡°✩ their guardian allows him to have a tree of some kind to sleep in

⋆｡°✩ he can take the form of a Queensland Koala

⋆｡°✩ in his demon form he is 6'0", has a dark blue leathery wings [12 ft/ 367 cm wingspan], two set of curled black horns on the sides of their head, his ears are pointed && has dangly earrings, black long claws, he has a long leathery tail with a dark blue fluff at the end [6 ft/ 183 cm], his legs are similar in shape to goats legs, his tongue is long && pointed [1 ft/ 30 cm long], has 2 sets of fangs [one at the top && one at the bottom], his whites are all black && his pupils glow dark blue, his crown would sit on his head when he was prince [dark blue && black jewels with a silver crown], they typically wears highwasited pants with a corset [no shirt under]

⋆｡°✩ his back is very sensetive! DO NOT TOUCH IT IF YOU ARE NOT CLOSE HE WILL BITE YOU!

⋆｡°✩ in hybrid form [koala] he has grey koala ears && a small koala tail along with baby blunt fangs

⋆｡°✩ in human form his skin is pale, has tattooes on his arms, chest, hips && legs, has dangly earrings, wears a lot of rings, is allowed his special star blanket [it smells like vanilla && lavender, NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH IT UNLESS HE SAYS ITS OKAY!!], has shimmery dark blue && black eyes, nails are kept blunt by his guardian

⋆｡°✩ when angered his eyes will turn into their demon eyes in any form, his claws may come out, dark blue flames will spread around him, his body is normally really cold so his flames might be cold at the touch or turn to ice

⋆｡°✩ he can't stay awake for long if he stays up longer then 30 minutes to an hour he may be sick or something might be bothering him

⋆｡°✩ his non bio "twin" brother is Beelzebub

⋆｡°✩ Resides: District 7 [former], District 1 [current]

⋆｡°✩ Languages: As a demon speaks all languages, focuses on Polish && English, can speak in tongues

⋆｡°✩ Representative Colors: Blues && Purples

⋆｡°✩ Guardian: Shadow [Fourth in Command for the Reaper Council]

⋆｡°✩ Guardian Mark: Bubbles on his thigh

⋆｡°✩ Curse: N/A

⋆｡°✩ likes: sleeping, herbal tea, teacups, blues && purples, silence, eucalyptus, mint

⋆｡°✩ dislikes: loud noises, waking up, groggyness, eating

Powers

dream invasion

indused sleep

eternal sleep

can cause a person to be extremely lazy, reject their responsibilites, etc.

NSFW

⋆｡°✩ he does not know what he likes since he has not had the chance to explore, he will be a switch and experiment with what his partner likes [this will be updated as his kinks && prefrences start to develop]

⋆｡°✩ hard nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

⋆｡°✩ his eyes glow blue if he is arroused

⋆｡°✩ safe word: eucalyptus

⋆｡°✩ uses 🐨 or 💙 on dash

Relationship Statuses

⋆｡°✩ in the underworld && sleeping

⋆｡°✩ single [0/1]; uninterested

⋆｡°✩ friends: Greed/Mammon [tall, quiet && emotionaless 🙄]

⋆｡°✩ family: Gluttony/Beelzebub [baby twin 🧡]

Tags

⋆｡°✩ relationship tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ friend tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ music tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ inspo tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ other tag(s):

faceclaim: birlap_ on ig

[websaved-a]

only thing i’m gonna say is that if you’re all aboard the “it’s just fiction! don’t tell people what to do on /their/ blog!” train when you see someone doing something nasty or problematic ( and you know it’s fuckin nasty and/or problematic ) then the door is wide open for you to leave

[botmum-a]

i know i just set up my mary marvel but apparently ya girl’s a dean’s lister again this term so i…. am gonna reward myself by making a camilla macaulay

[ceilingfan5]

for the writing prompts: ansare w/ taakitz? :0

(to hardly breathe, to be out of breath)

Taako gasps for air, but it won’t come. What little he can manage is thin and seems to be actively resisting him, and he curls into a ball, trying to recover enough to figure things out. It’s dark, even when he manages to open his eyes, and it takes an eternity to orient himself enough to realize it’s still the middle of the night, and the danger probably isn’t real.

That doesn’t help the air find its way to his lungs, though, and Taako grasps at the covers, wheezing. The panic is still sitting in his throat like an elephant in a bike path and he can’t manage to make it budge an inch. Panic bran determines he’s going to die like this, and this disorientation from waking up makes that seem legitimate.

Help.

It’s not loud enough. He grabs at anything he can, at the lump in his bed that’s stirring far too slowly, and a sleepy Kravitz opens his eyes and pushes himself to a sitting position.

“Taako?”

That’s what they call me, he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the breath to be a smart ass. He feels like he’s going to pass out. But Kravitz knows him on a molecular level, and he pulls Taako into a tight embrace, there for him, there for him, there for him.

“Hey,” Kravitz says softly. “It’s alright. You’re safe. It’s over and you’re safe. Right?”

Taako doesn’t bother to nod. He just smushes his face against Kravitz’s chest.

“Breathe with me.” Taako wants to hit him, but he knows it’ll help. “In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” Taako can’t manage four whole counts, but the gasping slows a little with the steady support from his love. “In, two, three, four…” Kravitz rubs Taako’s back slowly, easing the tremors on out through his extremities. It feels like ice and lightning in his veins, and it leaves him hollow and cold and tingling. Kravitz keeps repeating himself, over and over and calm and soft and reliable and there, and soon, Taako can manage at least three counts. It’s helping. Damn it.

He squeezes his eyes shut and just breathes in the familiar scent of his person, and tries to let it slide off of him like dish soap off a penguin. It was just a dumb fucking dream. It’s not real. Or- or it’s a memory of a real thing, but it’s over, it’s done, it’s not happening again. He’s safe. He’s safe in Kravitz’s arms, and nothing can steal his breath away but him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hoarse, and Kravitz stops counting for him in a way that tells Taako he’s smiling softly, far too fondly at him.

“Hey,” Kravitz says, flocked with affection. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to go back to sleep. I can stay up with you.”

Taako aches.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Doesn’t that make it feel even better? Yeah, sure. I’d love to catch a few more Zs. But I’m here for you. So there.”

Taako snorts, and it hurts his throat, but it helps him feel more grounded.

“Yeah, alright, fine, be sleepy. See if I care. I’m gonna, fucking make cookies or something, I dunno.”

“In that case,” Kravitz says, running a gentle hand through Taako’s mussed hair, “I believe it is my matrimonial duty to eat at least three of them.”

“Yeah, okay.” Taako smiles a little, still feeling uneven. “In…in a minute.”

“Take all the minutes you need.” Kravitz brushes hair out of Taako’s face, so much care in his sweet brown eyes, and Taako thinks it might just be okay, this time. He’s not alone.

[goblinbugthing]

if ya wanna know my setup:

2x Power Exchange on Kabbu

2x Poison Attacker on Kabbu

2x Poison Defender on Kabbu

Weak Stomach on Kabbu

Reverse Toxin on Kabbu

Eternal Venom on Kabbu

Leaf Cloak on Kabbu

HP Core on Kabbu

2x TP Core

First Plating on Kabbu

Empower+

Spy Specs

Stats:

44 mp, 43 tp

Vi — 15 HP, 2 attack, 0 defence

Kabbu — 17 hp, 6 attack (with medals, 4 attack without them), 0 defence (with medals, 2 defence without them)

Leif — 15 HP, 2 attack, 0 defense

and thats how i beat team slacker without sleep bombs, sleepy needles, sleepy anything. i just got kabbu sick and made him beat the fuck out of them

(i didnt think id win, btw. i was just testing to see how close to winning i could get without sleep gimmicks. i won completely unintentionally)

OMG I DID IT I BEAT TEAM SLACKER

[osc-aus]

IF ITS PENNY YOU WANT, THEN PENNY YOU WILL RECIEVE

hi its robomoji (🤖) the folder enjoyer here to bring you info on the burnt-out depressed mouse lady.

Penny Barnt is 5'9 and was born 2000.

She tends to isolate herself from others and prefers to stay inside.

The idea to engineer their own digital assistant was her own.

Penny enjoys listening to lectures and rambles, playing puzzle games, and prank calling people who randomly got her number

Gave away her old computer to a pair of youtubers who specialize in destroying objects when she was unable to recover the original Folder.OS program

Learned about the existance of ONE accidently after searching for unknown websites and immediately thought it was an ARG and studied the heck out of it

-> was shook after seeing her little digital assistant in the cast list and contemplated suing (yes. sue airy. he totally has the money)

Axel was her only friend in school

and speaking of Axel, here's a fact about him!

Ghosts exist in this universe. His soul still lives on in Folder, but he can't speak for himself. He'll have to watch an AI use his voice to answer questions for the rest of eternity.

ty for reading to the end! have an grape 🍇s

i am so sleepy

ooooo :0

yay grapes!