#the elusive uncomfortable second person…

[goldensunset]

‘x the canon player character of a game’ and ‘x reader’ are different. DIFFERENT!!!

[chocochozi]

Second Chance.

Pairing : Sanemi Shinazugawa x Hashira!Reader

Warning : Slight angst, Sanemi maybe a little bit out of character, angst with a happy ending.

Part 2 of The Other Woman.

A/N : AHHHH i didn't expect people to like the first part😭😭 for the people who are asking for part 2, here it isss

Taglist : @yomama2089 @elibelly @delusional-mushroom @bright-sunshines

@senecarosemary-blog

Its been two weeks since the argument with Sanemi. It hasn't been clear to me if the relationship has really ended. Though, its more likely that it has. I've been doing a great job avoiding him those past 2 weeks. Over the course of those days i've been spending my time with everyone but him basically.

But then again, it didn't go unnoticed for the others. Not seeing us together hip to hip did made them suspicious. Cause even if we were in a room together, i avoided him even if it means staying quiet.

If i was to choose between talking to him or Tomioka i'd rather choose the second option and distract myself with having the most boring conversation in the world with Tomioka than talk to him. (no hate to him sorry, Giyuu.)

But as one would expect, the avoiding will eventually came to a stop or be forced to stop.

And here i am, in the Ubuyashiki Estate where both me and Sanemi were requested the presence of by Master himself. Being summoned like this can only mean one thing, to be situated to being partners for a mission. Of couse both of us couldn't say no.

The mission was a simple one, kill the demons that has been lurking in the village that we had been sent to. Only that it needed two pillars since the demons are reportedly strong.

We set out under the dim light of the moon. You can feel the tension that had been building for the past few days in the air, plus the uncomfortable silence that each of us didn't even dare break.

Sanemi's steps were heavy and his brow was furrowed as he led the way. I followed behind, my breath coming in short gasps as we made our way towards the village.

As we walked, we encountered a few demons along the way. But, Sanemi was quick and efficient as he struck them down, while i did the same.

Once in the village, the plan was to split up and so we did split up to search for the reported demons. Sanemi's search was quick, and i could hear the sound of his sword striking against a demon's flesh. On the other hand, my hunt was slower, i found myself wandering through the winding empty streets, trying to find the elusive demon.

Wandering around more, i finally found the demon, but it wasn't alone. There were multiple demons in the area, and they were clearly ready for a fight. I drew my sword and prepared to face them off, my heart pounding in my chest.

[ 3rd person view. ]

As the fight began, both Hashiras found themselves separated, each fighting off multiple demons alone.

[ (name)'s POV. ]

I've been fighting these demons for what felt like a few hours now, after i slayed one of them another appears and i struggled against the demon's fiery attacks.

The reports were right, these demons are strong, almost as strong as a Lower Moon, my breath coming in gasps as my strength and stamina started to weaken.

Wiping the blood off of the side of my forehead, My appearance was disheveled, my hair messed up, blood streaming down my face, my uniform has rips on it including one of the claw attack on my legs creating a masive slash on my pants. a hiss escapes my lips as i touch my bleeding forehead. 'Hurry, Sanemi. My stamina's not gonna last longer..' i bit my bottom lip. I didn't wanna die with out making up with him.

As i stumbled, i was caught off guard with a stabbed on the lower back by one of the demons i was fighting. I let out a blood curdling scream. Its a good thing that it wasn't a vital point, now, i hadn't been attacking, only defending. My moves are a bit sluggish now that the tiredness was getting to me.

An hour into the fight, It was no use, my stamina was long gone and i couldn't even gather up the strength to get up. 'Ah..im passing out..i think?' I layed there on the ground, vision starting to spin and blur, everything around sounded so muffled like i was underwater.

Through my blurry and spinning vision, i saw his familiar figure. I took one last breath and finally closed my eyes, it was enough for me to know he was alive, but there we're two demons left. I heard them whispering to each other before I saw Sanemi arrive, it was along the lines of hiding and wanting to ambush him while his defenses were down.

[ 3rd person POV. ]

Sanemi was in the middle of battle when he heard a scream– their scream.

"[Name].." Sanemi breathe out, turning his head to the direction where he heard you scream. He turned his head again to focus on what's infront of him, Sanemi stood against three demons, his sword gleaming in the moonlight. as three demons approached him. The creatures were covered in scales and had razor-sharp claws, their eyes glowing with demonic energy. The Hashira didn't hesitate, charging forward to engage them.

The first demon was the largest, and Sanemi knew that it was the most dangerous. It raised its claws, ready to strike, but Sanemi was faster. His sword flashed in the moonlight as he struck, cutting through the demon's scales severing its arm. The demon let out a roar of pain, but Sanemi didn't let up and went of the demons neck.

Sanemi was known for his speed and precision, but even he struggled against the demons' raw power. He lunged at the first demon, his sword slashing through the air, but the demon blocked the attack easily with its massive arm. The second demon lunged at Sanemi from the side, its claws striking at his chest, but he dodged out of the way, his sword striking at the demon's neck.

The third demon was the most formidable of the group. It stood tall and powerful, towering over Sanemi. The demon let out a chilling roar, clearly preparing to attack. Sanemi stood his ground, his sword raised in a defensive position.

The demon charged at him, its huge claws bared and ready for battle. Sanemi waited for the right moment and dove out of the way, just in time to avoid the attack. The demon crashed into the ground, leaving itself vulnerable.

Sanemi was quick to seize the opportunity. He leaped onto the demon's back, his sword held high. With a single, decisive blow, he severed the demon's head from its body, effectively killing it.

Sanemi stood there, breathing heavily, his sword still clutched in his hand. surrounded by the lifeless bodies of three powerful demons. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but he knew that his work was not yet complete. He had heard the blood-curdling scream of his partner, who had been his only ally in this fight, and knew that he had to find them. As the adrenaline started to wear off, he started to feel the strain on his body, the toll of the intense battle suddenly catching up with him.

He quickly searched the area, his heart racing with anxiety and dread. Finally, he found them, lying on their own blood, passed out. Sanemi's heart sank as he looked down at their helpless form. He knew that the demons had done this to them, and he felt a burning anger rising within him.

But he knew that he couldn't dwell on anger now. He had to focus, to channel his emotions into the fight ahead. He had to save them, no matter what the cost. He stood infront of them to protect their unconscious body. ready to face the next challenge.

As he waited, he could hear the distant sounds of two demons growling and snarling. They were coming, and they were hungry. Sanemi was ready. He drew his sword, his eyes set on the enemy. He knew that he couldn't let his emotions get the best of him, that he had to be calm and collected. But he also knew that he had to fight with all his might, to protect the them and to avenge their wounds.

As the demons finally appeared before him, Sanemi let out a primal roar and charged at them with all his strength and speed. He was a blur of motion, and his swrod flashed in the air as he sliced through the demons like butter.

In moments, the two demons lay defeated at his feet, their heads severed from their bodies. But Sanemi's fight was not yet over. He quickly ran to their side, checking their pulse and breathing.

They were alive, but barely. Sanemi knew that he had to get them help as soon as possible.

A few minutes later, Multiple Kakushi arrived at the village taking them from Sanemi's arms. "I tried to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on it," he gently passed you to the Kakushi, "you better take good care of them." His voice was demanding but quiet. The Kakushi nodded.

After receiving news from Aoi that they had woken up from being unconscious for three days, Sanemi quickly made his way to the Butterfly Mansion, his heart racing with anxiety. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been hanging over him since the battle, and he desperately needed to see the them.

Finally, he arrived at the Butterfly Mansion, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he ran up to the doorstep. He burst through the door panting.

Shinobu's eyes widen as she heard the door burst open revealing a panting Sanemi on the door way, he clearly rushed here as soon as he received the news.

"Their awake," Shinobu said, her voice soft and filled with emotion. "I was just filling them in about everything that's happened, and they were asking about you."

Sanemi's heart leapt in his chest, his eyes widening as the weight that had been pressing on him lifted. "Where are they?"

"I'll take you to them," Shinobu led the way to their room gently knocking then opening the door softly. " [name], Sanemi's here." They were spacing out looking at the window to their left, until they heard his name, they turned to look at the opened door, their eyes landing on the face on the man they love.

Sanemi couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. They were sitting there, looking just as beautiful as ever, albeit a bit pale and tired.

"I'll leave you two alone." Shinobu says, earning a hum from the both of you.

Sanemi walked over to their bed, they were leaning on a pillow while they were sitting.

"I'm glad you're okay, i shouldn't have made the plan to split up, im sorry." he murmured,

"The plan worked out fine, and if it wasn't for you i would've been devoured by those demons so, thank you."

Sanemi took a deep breath, knowing that this was a conversation that he couldn't delay any longer. He had to apologize to them about the argument both of them had a few weeks ago, to let them know that he understood ther concerns and that he was sorry for hurting them.

"I want to apologize again about the argument we had," he began, looking down at his hands. "When we first started dating, and even now, I compared you to Kanae, and I realize now that that was wrong. I didn't realize how much it hurt you, and for that, I'm sorry."

[Name] looked up at him, surprise written all over their face. He had rarely spoken to them like this before, had rarely been this vulnerable and open with them.

"Thank you," they said, taking his hand. "Thank you for understanding. And I'm sorry too, for not being completely honest with you about my worries. It's just that, i wanted for you and your brother to be okay."

Sanemi smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He knew that their relationship wasn't perfect, that they still had much to learn about each other. But this moment, this honest conversation, made him certain that they were headed in the right direction. And he was willing to do whatever it took to keep them happy, to be the best partner that he could be.

"I promise you that I'll be more thoughtful in the future," he said, looking into their eyes. "And I'll do my best to see things from your perspective. Because in the end, I don't want to lose you, and I want to make this work. So, I hope you'll give me a second chance."

They smiled, feeling a warm tingle in their chest. They never expected him to open up to them like this, to really listen to their concerns and apologize for his actions. And they knew that this was a turning point for their relationship, something that they could build on moving forward.

"Of course," they said, leaning in to kiss him. "I love you, Sanemi."

The two of them pulled away from the kiss, "I love you more."

"So, i guess we're okay?" He looked at them in the eyes. He was suprise to see them burst to laughter.

When your laughter dies down, there was a comforting silence that lingered in the air. "Yes," You smiled at him and lean into his face again to peck him on the tip of his nose.

[nana-luvy]

. 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩.𝟐 .

part 1

warnings: fluff, intended claimed!fem!reader,

In which the rain couldn't stop it all from unfolding.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It was the end of the afternoon when Luke stepped back into his cabin, towel over his shoulder to keep his hair from soaking his shirt after his well deserved shower.

“Nice job man!” one of his half brothers praised, high-fiving him with a smile. They’d won the game today, and more than just the glory and pride that came from winning, the real prize had been the look on the Ares’ cabin campers, loosing, faces falling as their flag crossed the river in his hands, the blue team roaring in victory in the forest.

So let’s say, now, he felt like he deserved to lay in bed and rest before the meal came, his head emptying with each step closer to his inviting bunk —something he only finds inviting in this setting, when awfully worn out. He slightly jumped to sit on the bed, immediately stretching his limbs and laying back for a little nap, hands behind his head, shifting a little to get his feet under the covers pushed at the far end of the bed.

But right before he closed his eyes, something light contrasting with the dark wood of the bed caught his eye, pink shape on the inside of his bunk. Pink shape that wasn’t there when he’d left a little after lunch. Luke lazily turned to lay on his side, propping himself on his elbow to get a better view of… sticky notes ? It was a few pink sticky notes, stacked messily on top of each other, the writing on them a little messy, like the person who’d written then had rushed it. The boy peeled them off his bed, unsticking them from each other to see what was on it. The first one read… Forget it ? And the last one read Hey. ‘Guess the person must’ve written them real time, better read them the other way’ he thought, arranging them in the right order.

“Oh.”

“What ?” someone chimed from another side of the room.

“Uh.. no-nothing, don’t worry…”

But was it really nothing when he second he realized who those were from, a light blush instantly dusted his cheeks ? His eyes had widened, frantically reading the words over and over again, even the scratched out ones, to try and make a sense of it. But evidently, you’d had no time to finish writing: the ending note was elusive, words crossed out rather than a fresh paper like the others, and his eyes caught sight of an uncapped pen lying on the floor right next to the head of the bed, one you had probably dropped in your rush. And that gave him little to work with, because if there was definitely a reason behind the notes, what was it ? Did you know what he was going to say, were glad that he didn’t get to finish and ruin whatever sort of an occasional friendship you two had ? Or did it make you uncomfortable, perhaps ? Or… oh, how Luke hoped it’d be the last option he allowed himself to think of.

And now, his mind, that he’d worked hours on end to empty of the thought of his failed declaration, was filled again with the thought of you he couldn’t help but always come back to. He wondered, should he leave you alone ? Or take the risk to try again, knowing that failing miserably a second time would probably have his resolve crumble forever.

But again, he’d already tried to leave you alone, and it had only sent his conscience screaming at him. He’d purposefully avoided you the last two days, trying to rid his mind of the thought of you, one that obsessed him, turning his head when you passed him by, forcefully tearing his eyes from your form when you were near, skillfully getting out of any situation that would coincidentally bring you both together. His heart burnt each time. So why continue, when it clearly wasn’t doing any good ?

It had been a couple days since you’d written the notes, and you had started to think this might’ve been the worst idea of you life, given it had change nothing. Not a single thing. It was as though he hadn’t even seen it in the first place. You started thinking about all the things that could’ve happened, unable to wrap your head around a single reason. Maybe someone had else had seen them and removed them ? Maybe he thought it was a prank ? Or had it fell under his bed by some magic ? Did he not realize i was from you ? Or worse, did he not care ?

Th weather outside was reflecting your mood that day, heavy rain pouring outside the window next to your bed, a calming sound that unfortunately did nothing to help your nerves. It obviously was totally out of the ordinary at camp for the weather to throw a tantrum, the Gods’ protection ensuring a constant of sunny hours all year-round; but with Mr. D out for what he’d called ‘God stuff, none of you kids’ business’, the weather outside was going haywire.

All activities had been cancelled, the open roof of the dining pavilion covered with plastic sheets so campers could use the place instead of staying coped up in their cabins. And you found yourself thinking you’d have preferred to be a strawberry, right this instant, protected by satyr magic, free from trouble, enjoying the fresh rain in the hot summer day…

But you were cut off from your strawberry-life reverie, looking out the window at the back of the cabin, when someone shouted your name from the other side of the room.

“You got, uh… mail ?”

“What do you mean ‘mail ?’, how is it a question ?” you replied, your eyes not straying from the grey rainy view.

“I mean it’s half soaked by rain and it was just slid under the door a second ago, y/n.”

“What ?” Your head snapped to your half-brother, immediately intrigued. “Give me the letter.”

You thanked him as he handed you the fragile damp paper, an envelope with just your name scribbled on the front in a messy writing smudged by the rain, without having to get out of the warm comfortable spot on your bed, and someone else chimed in.

“Are you gonna open it ?”

“I mean… If I can without breaking it, I guess ?” you answered, studying the mail carefully, trying your best not to break it.

“Girl, I swear, open it before I do it myself. I’m too curious!”

“Okay, okay, don’t rush…”

But you couldn’t hide your curiosity yourself, slowly opening the envelope, tearing it on the side in the process, and catching sight of a few green square papers inside: sticky notes.

“So, what does it say ? Who is it from ?” one of your sister pressed, not too far from you.

“I… I don’t know, it don’t see any name…”

But it was a blatant lie and you knew it, because who else would slide sticky notes in an envelope under the door of your cabin ? Your cheeks heated up, because that indeed meant he’d read the notes you had left a few days earlier, obviously knew it was from you.. and didn’t just choose to ignore it, somehow. And that meant the sparkle of hope flamed up inside of you, as much as your logical self tried to tame it.

You started to try and read what the person, most definitely Luke, had written. But, even looking past the messy handwriting of someone who didn’t often have to write, the rain had almost soaked it all up by now, black ink smudging in spots on the thin papers, bleeding on your fingertips as you tried to make sense of puddles rather than actual letters.

Your head shot back up, looking for your half-brother among the faces of curiosity that watched your every move. “You said it had just appeared when you gave it to me ?”

“Uh… yeah ? I mean, I just heard the footsteps outside and the thing sliding under the door, and-”

“Ok, thanks, see you later !” you exclaimed, rushing to put shoes back on, not even bothering to take a hoodie or an umbrella, not that you’d usually need to have one around this time of the year. You heard your confused siblings behind, but you didn’t care, you needed to know. And if there was even the slightest chance you could still catch him alone, rain be damned, you were going to seize it.

It wasn’t a long walk at all to the Hermes cabin, one where you didn’t cross Luke. So you decided upon knocking, a camper opening the door for you, and you didn’t miss a beat.

“Is Luke in here ?”

The camper looked at you in disbelief, sizing you up, and you had to admit you probably looked as soaked as the letter you’d received mere minutes ago. “Uh, no, he left like… 10 minutes ago ? Said he had business outside or something.”

Your eyes started moving left and right, looking down, visual representation of your brain frantically searching for where he was most likely to be. You didn’t try to hide the disappointment in your voice. “Oh, ok, thanks…”

The young camper turned to catch a towel hanging next to the door, ready to offer it to you so you could dry yourself a little but by the time he looked back up you’d left for the dining pavilion, hoping he’d be there.

It had been a dozen minutes since you started searching for him already, the lukewarm rain soaking your rather short clothes, cold seeping in your skin, but you didn’t care in the slightest, going from one place to another, running into puddles and splashing water over your legs, asking away if anyone had seen Luke. But after a final unsuccessful trip to the arena, you were almost going to give up, having absolutely no idea of where else he could’ve gone after you’d even searched for him at the forge. You pushed your hair back in frustration, looking up at the grey sky and letting the cold drops fall on your face with your eyes closed, and suddenly another hit you like the rain thrumming at your temples..

You quickly made your way past the Cabins area, past the Big house and the climbing wall, reaching the quieter space of the beach. And just as you finally thought of, there he was, Luke sat on a high rock with his legs stretched in front of him looking up at the blocked out view of the sky. At least he had the idea to put on a rain jacket before going outside and staying under the pouring rain.

The boy didn’t seem to notice you, the noise of your steps probably inaudible through the heavy rain falling next to him, but this time you wanted a full, finished sentence, without a week of silence that would send your head reeling into a 4th dimension with thoughts of what might've been.

So you spoke first.

“Hey, Luke!” You spoke loud and clear, hoping he’d hear you through the sound of water hitting the ocean not too far. And his eyes instantly met yours. “Your notes were soaking wet, couldn’t read them.”

He looked down at you, incredulous, taking in your form through the curtain of rain, and you almost felt self-conscious for a second, in shorts and tank top, socks turned brown from the mud that’d splashed on them, your hair glued in messy patterns to your face through your best effort or giving it some sort of shape… But you weren’t gonna back down. “Are you gonna tell me what you wrote or…”

“Why did you leave like- Aren’t you freezing ?” he asked, concerned, after a few seconds, sliding off the rock to stand a few feet only from you.

“I-” You felt taken aback for a second, as he took a tentative step closer, his first concern not exactly what you’d expected. “Well, no, I’m fine, after a while it’s just rain on rain. It’s fine. I’m fine.” You loudly gulped, his eyes boring in yours. “And also, I thought I might catch you if I went outside, like… I couldn’t read the notes, hoped you’d tell me what you wrote.

Luke slid his hand over his face in frustration, fingers ending up running in his soaked curls, brushing his hair back. “Ah yeah, I kinda feared that, thought they might’ve be dryer than it looked. Whatever I- I just…” He let out a matching frustrated, his face visibly scrunching, eyes shying from yours. “What did you mean in your notes ?”

“What do you mean ?” You tilted your head to the side, looking confused, but of course you knew what he meant, because as rushed of a writing session as it was, you remembered every single word you wrote. And it’s true they were… ambiguous, when lacking a proper ending, but you wanted to be at least a little sure about what he meant, before letting him know what you meant.

“I mean that- nevermind…”

If he had to be honest about it, Luke would have to say that, more than the obvious frustration, what he really felt was deep rooted nervousness. He’d written the notes over and over again, crafting them with the perfect phrasing for all the time he needed to get it all just right, thinking he might have a better chance if he made sure everything was perfect. Smudged, indecipherable words wasn’t perfect. And now that you searched for his gaze with those eyes, those eyes that made his breath catch in his throat and his stomach spin whenever he crossed them, he couldn’t even remember enough to recite it all.

“I wrote asking if you wanted to meet up, mostly. I just… I wanted to apologize, for not trying to see you after... you know… I get that the sentence as it is was a pretty awful cliffhanger, and I didn’t exactly plan anything about it. It was more like a… a spur of the moment thing..” Luke tried to explain, forcing on his voice so it’d be heard, hoping it wouldn’t pathetically crack as he felt so helpless about the situation, emotions starting to bubble up inside him. His fists were clenched at his side, head tipped down to look at you, seeing the droplets of water cascading down your face, pearling on your lashes, following the soft curves of your cheeks… Until he saw a flash of hurt on your expression.

“Oh, spur of the moment… Yeah, that checks out,” you answered, trying to sound detached, but you knew he could hear the sob caught in your throat.

“No! No, not- Not spur of the moment as in ‘spur of the moment’, more like… like…” Luke moved his hands frantically in the space between you two, searching for words that didn’t come to him, his cheeks flushing and he could only hope the rain concealed it. “Like I didn’t plan on saying it but- But now I definitely owe you the complete sentence.”

You simply nodded, wincing and scrunching your face as a raindrop fell right in your eye, a concerned Luke rushing forward, putting both his hands over your head, aiming to at least protect your face from the rain. Your lips were glued as he stood so close, not able to let out a single word that wouldn’t sound like a weak squeaking sound, your cheeks reddening by the second, and impossibly more as he pulled the considerate gesture.

“Ok um…. I’m gonna.. gonna say it, yeah…” The boy shook his head, sending droplets in his hair flying on your face, a clearly nervous gesture, like trying to brace himself, hype himself up, and it only make the spark of hope burn harder in your chest, laughing lightly at his antics. “I know we’re not exactly friends, in the most common sense of the term ? We don’t really know each other, at least not upfront, i guess ? And yet… I just can’t get you out of my head- No, let me finish,” he stopped you as you parted your lips.

Your face was most likely beet red by now, eyes slightly widened under the cover of his hands. The butterflies in the pit of your stomach felt like they were flying freely through your whole body now, shivers running through your spine, your hands awkwardly fidgeting at your sides as your soul screamed to speak up. But if he wanted to spill his heart first, maybe you could wait a little.

Luke eyes scanned you for a second, before sighing heavily, taking one of your hands to replace his over your head, and his touch made your skin tingle deliciously. “Argh, you told me you were alright…” he groaned, and the next moment he draped his jacket over your shoulders, gently pulling the hood up to cover your face, before smiling down at you.

“I said I was fine… but continue, I’m not gonna stop you,” you mumbled, head lowering as he took one of your hand in both of his, absentmindedly playing with one of your rings.

He let out a little laugh before continuing, his tone feeling somewhat lighter. “It’s like when you’re not here I can’t help but notice it, and when you are I ache to talk to you, and just looking at you makes me lose all sense of the rest of the world. I- My mind just goes blank, and I never want it to stop, if I’m being honest.”

There was an instant of silence as he searched for your eyes as you looked straight in front of you, trying to weave through the current chaos of your own mind, before you finally bore your gaze in his. “Can I talk now ?”

“I, um, yeah, yeah, of course, sor-”

But his words were cut short as you pulled your hands from his, bringing them at his nape to pull him down on you, crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss he immediately matched, lips moving avidly against each-others, the rain falling around you like a mere setting you both chose to properly ignore. And finally your mind calmed down, for the first time in a week you felt at peace.

Luke softly put his hands around your jaw before pulling away, forcefully gulping down as he caught a breath he didn’t know he held, tilting your head up to look into your eyes, angling himself to shield you from the rain. “It’s horrible how I could never seem to get to know you first hand, to think I always settled on watching from the sidelines, on being a background character, on learning everything you liked from other people. And yet I feel like I know you so much…” he dragged, droplets of water falling from his hair to your face before he brushed them away with his thumb.

“Why didn’t you come talk to me ? I don’t bite,” you joked, rolling your eyes playfully with a small laugh. One Luke couldn’t get enough of.

“Well, see, I’m not sure about that. I’m fully convinced you would’ve just eaten me whole and spat me out like it’s nothing.”

“Wow, you really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you ?”

“Tell me you’re not even a little bit pleased by my nervousness and I wouldn’t believe you. You’re a maneater in sheep’s disguise.”

“You give me too much credit…” you whispered pulling him closer by the nape again, your free hand gently twisting one of his curls around your finger mindlessly.

“Nah, you ate my heart, you’re just completely unaware of how much I’d give it to you on a silver platter anyway.”

Well, I hope it wasn't too rushed, I just felt like it was right ~ Also, it's sliiiightly short, like barely 5.5k, but i feel like it's good anyway

Bubye loves <3

Nana -

[insidekatmind]

THE RULE OF BEST FRIENDS PART 1-JOBE BELLINGHAM

Part.2, Part.3, Part.4, Part.5, Part.6, Part.7, Part.8,Part.9,Part.10, Final Part.

It was a quiet evening in Birmingham, and as usual, you had convinced your sister Elena to drop by the party downtown, hoping she’d have some fun. Elena wasn’t exactly the type to socialize easily, unlike you, but you managed to drag her with you. It was always a challenge for you: to make the evenings more lively for her and to let her know that sometimes letting go of control could be fun. Despite Elena’s introverted nature, she had invited her best friend, Jobe, to join you that night.

As soon as you arrive, you notice that Jobe seems a little uncomfortable, as if the party atmosphere is making him feel uncomfortable. You are used to seeing him like this: silent and with the elusive look, especially when it comes to you. But you never felt sorry for it, in fact, finding someone who doesn’t immediately engage in exuberant conversations is almost intriguing.

You decide to approach. "Hey, Jobe, always in 'shadow' mode?" You provoke him with a sneer smile.

He blushes a little, the eyes wander towards you before lowering. "" I’m not... really used to... to such lively parties."

"Moving? Does this look like moving? You have no idea what a real party means, man," you mock him, giving a slight push to his arm. He smiles, but remains silent, as always.

Then, without even realizing it, he starts looking at you differently, with a lost and admired look. You realize that he has the same attitude every time you are together, as if every word you say had a special weight for him. And somehow this little show of yours makes him more and more embarrassed.

Elena comes in and sighs, giving you a funny look. " Stop tormenting him, Y/N, it’s hard enough to have him here," he says, hinting at Jobe with a complicit smile.

"Torment him? But what, I’m just teaching him to have some fun," you reply, winking at Jobe.

Elena shakes her head, resigned. "You always have this mania of wanting to be the center of attention, Y/N."

"Someone has to be, right?" Reply with an ironic grin, before returning to look at Jobe. "But tell me, Jobe... what do you really think about these parties?"

Jobe seems to be taken by surprise by your direct question and swallows, then finally looks up at you. " It’s... not really my scene, but... well, I’m here to... be with you," she confesses, with a slight hesitation in her voice.

"Hmm, and can you?" you ask with an ironic tone, approaching slightly, almost to challenge him. "To be with us, I say."

Jobe can’t answer right away, he seems almost caught in your gaze, and at the end he just lowers his eyes, his shyness evident. " I try to..."

You’re about to press again, amused by his clumsiness, when Elena interrupts you. "Y/N, enough. You can’t always provoke him like that."

"What? I’m just chatting," she replies in an innocent tone, raising her hands in surrender. But then you turn back to Jobe, lowering your voice. "So, Jobe, is it so terrible to talk to me?"

He shakes his head frantically. "N-no, actually... it’s just... you... are a little intimidating."

Laugh fun. "Intimidating? Oh, this is new. Why, what’s scary?"

Jobe hesitates, biting his lip slightly, while Elena seems busy with her phone and leaves you alone for a moment. Jobe clears his voice, visibly nervous. "It’s not fear... It’s just that... well, you’re... different."

"Ah yes?" you tilt your head, staring at him with a curious air. "And how different, Jobe?"

Jobe seems stuck, unable to formulate a response. Finally, after a few seconds, she murmurs: "I can’t explain... but you’re the kind of person who... who... leaves a mark, here."

Your smile widens, and without turning away, you say to him: "Who knows, maybe it’s not so terrible to leave a mark, right?"

Jobe nodded weakly, the redness on his cheeks now evident. He can’t hide the attraction to you, even though he probably thinks you haven’t noticed. But deep down, every time you see that lost look in his eyes, it’s like I have a little confirmation. And you like to play with this awareness, enjoying the fact that, despite the rule between him and Elena, Jobe can not stop looking at you with those eyes full of admiration.

"And anyway, if you want to take a walk later, we could get out of the 'busy' environment for a moment. I think some air would be good for you," you suggest.

Jobe nods, and this time his smile seems more confident. "I would like to, yes... really."

So, with a last little smile of complicity, you cast a glance that seems to say: *We’ll see how far your courage goes, Jobe.*

The party continued, and Elena and Jobe had a chat with two of their old school friends. Jobe smiled and nodded, trying to follow the conversation, but his mind was elsewhere.

As soon as he saw you in the crowd, his attention turned completely to you. You were dancing, as always in the center of attention, with that charisma that came naturally to you. You laughed and moved lightly, and your gaze for a moment crossed that of Jobe. He held his breath, hearing that familiar fast heartbeat he felt whenever you were around.

One of his rules with Elena - not to see relatives - came back to him, a rule born just to avoid situations like the one he was in. A year earlier, during a small school party, someone had flipped a bottle during a game and eventually fate decided that Jobe should kiss you. He still remembered the blush that had invaded his face when your lips had touched hers, and how his heart literally jumped in his throat.

Since then, you had started to look at him with a little smile accomplice, almost challenging him to be less shy. Since that kiss, the rule had been established to avoid his friendship with Elena becoming complicated, but your temptation to challenge the limits was always evident.

Unable to restrain himself, Jobe watched you dancing, mesmerized by your movements. Noticing his gaze, you didn’t let the opportunity slip away. With a mischievous smirk, you approached slowly, maintaining eye contact. You danced with a ease that you knew would make him whiten, the way you moved your hips and laughed at each joke made his blush visibly increase.

Finally, you pass by him with a sneer smile. "Are you having fun, Jobe?"

He flushed even more, swallowing visibly. "S-yes... sure," she replied, trying to keep her voice still.

"Really? Then why do you keep looking at me as if I’m some kind of... vision?" you joke, tilting your head and watching her reaction.

He looks down, uncertain of how to answer. "I wasn’t... I wasn’t looking."

Laugh, enjoy his clumsiness. "Oh, of course not. Besides, why would you? I’m just your best friend’s sister, right?"

Jobe scratched his neck, embarrassed. "Yeah... just... just this."

But he can’t help looking at you again, and this time his eyes are shone with something beyond mere shyness. You notice it and you come a little closer, lowering your voice so that only he can hear you.

"You know, Jobe, you could relax a little. This famous rule is not carved in stone..." murmurs, hint at an intriguing smile.

Jobe remained silent, staring at the floor to hide his embarrassed smile that he could not hold back. "I don’t think... well, Elena not... you know..."

"Still with Elena?" you shake your head. "You’re ruining all fun for that crazy rule."

You go forward a split second, but then it stops, perhaps for fear of taking too big a step. "It’s not just the rule... It’s... It’s complicated."

"Complicated?" raise an eyebrow, enjoy. "You don’t seem like the complication type, Jobe."

He sighs, shaking his head. "It’s just... you’re different, Y/N. Every time you’re around... you make me feel..."

"Hear what?" Pressure, not letting him escape.

But just as he is about to answer you, Elena reappears, interrupting the moment of tension. "Y/N, all right?" asks, looking at you with a curious glance, as if he has an intuition.

Smile innocent. "I was just chatting with your friend here. But rest assured, I’m not going to break any rules," he replies with an ironic smile, giving a last look at Jobe, who looks down again, embarrassed.

As you walk away, you cannot help but feel his eyes upon you, knowing that you have planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

[dckweed]

Sooo glad you posted a second part of the Jakex best friend baby story. A huuuge hug for you =) so in a matter of fact I squealed a bit as I read that you're accepting requests for this story. So I would have an idea, maybe you like it, if not I'm still going to read EVERYTHING you write =)

I'm thinking of reader is feeling off for days, like feeling dizzy and stressed out. The nausea is also taking a toll on her. One evening at the Hard Deck with the whole squad a woman is approaching Jake... Unfortunately it's his ex girlfriend. She immediately flirts with him and making the reader really uncomfortable. Jake tries to get rid of his bitchy ex by showing off reader and introducing her to his ex. She's already sporting a small bump, which his ex notices. Later reader goes to the bathroom, not feeling so hot, but Jake's ex follows her and corners her at the bathroom insulting reader for being a slut, being pregnant and stealing Jake, absolutely stressing the pregnant woman out. After her harassment she leaves the bathroom leaving reader alone. The whole situation worsens her feeling sick and she collapses in one of the stalls.

Just need some huuuge whump and Jake and the Daggers being protective. Maybe you can use some of my ideas.

P.S.: it's so brave that you share your personal story here with us. You're a strong young woman. I belive in you!

hiii thank you for sending this in! absolutely love the idea! and thank you so much, i feel like eating disorders and the struggles that come with them aren't something thats spoken of enough and i really would like to bring awareness by sharing my own story :) so, if anyone has any questions about that, feel free to send them in ! I'm here to advocate and be a voice..if you think you have one or know someone who does and dont know how or where to get help, i got you, if you're wondering how to cope with symptoms, i got you!

in the meantime however, i give you my comfort loves, jake and babygirl! please feel free to send in any requests, comments or thoughts that you may have for this particular series ! and in lieu of halloween, this is officially halloween themed.

p.s. how are we doing today? are we hydrated? have we had a snack or two? this is your reminder to go do both if you haven't already! also does someone want to possibly make a boodboard for jake and babygirl?? full credit would go to you in every post if i use it !

warnings: elusions to sex and actual soft sex mentioned and described as well as cockwarming briefly mentioned, pregnancy, fainting, hospitals, grown adults bullying essentially

the babygirl series part three, part two here

BABYGIRL, the playlist

INSECURITIES. jake 'hangman' seresin

Your breathing was even as you layed on your back, one of your legs caught between his. The NAVY tshirt you were wearing (his navy tshirt) rode up to rest just beneath your glorious breasts with your arms raised up, one tucked under the pillow next to your head, the other laid across his chest, your tummy on full display. You had been with him for just over a month now, having extended your two week vacation indefinitely. He knew you two would have to fly home sometime soon, to pack up the things in your apartment and eventually make your way over to your families ranch's to let them know what was going on, but he didn't want to think about that, not now when had what felt like all the time in the world to admire you.

Your stomach rose and fell with every breath and almost instinctively he finds his hand resting there, thumb rubbing gently back and forth over the small but slowly growing more prominent baby bump you were beginning to sport. You had been shy about him doing that, and he knew that it was because in the back of your mind, that little baby growing in you hadn't come from him, but if you asked him, that little girl in there was his, even without the Seresin blood. He hadn't ran away or called you names when you had told him, infact, it had only drawn him to you more. You were his, and so was the little miracle you were growing and he wasn't afraid to admit it either. Hell, he had gone that night to the Hard Deck, a dopey grin on his face as he walked in with your hand in his and had announced it to the entire bar, happily telling his friends and Penny about the bun in your proverbial oven. He couldn't help but smile at the memory.

You shift after another moment, a small groan coming from your throat as you turn towards him, head pressed against his chest now. He presses a content kiss to the top of your messy hair adjusting you so that his arm was under you now, holding you against him. The bedroom was still dark but sunlight was slowly starting to seep through the small slit in the curtains, lighting up a small patch of the floor and the bed. He wondered if he should get up and open the window for you, maybe brew a pot of the decaf coffee he'd immediately switched you to when he found out about the baby.

He's about to decide against the thoughts, not wanting to wake you, not when you were sleeping so soundly after having a rough week of being sick and uncomfortable, you beat him to it though, your soft whine reaching his ears. "Mornin' babygirl.." He says, southern accent more prominent in his gruff morning voice. A smile spreads across his lips, as easy as butter glides across toasts as you lift your head up slowly, sleepy eyes meeting his before planting a long and slow good morning kiss on him. "You were sleeping so good, i didn't want to wake you up.."

You hum, trying to gather your sleepy wits about you, even though it had only been a month, jake was usually the only thing you noticed in the mornings, his warmth and love completely enveloping you, the only thing your mind could register besides the nausea usually rolling in your tummy, so it took you a moment to fully wake up.

After a few minutes of snuggling into your boyfriend, his hand rubbing your belly almost soothingly, you decide that you don't feel queasy enough to run to the bathroom right away (a godsend, really) and you shift yourself so that you're sitting atop of him, legs on either side of his hips, comforter slouched around your legs.

He looks up at you with an amused smile, large hands gliding up your thighs to land on your hips, just underneath of the baggy tshirt you'd stolen from him. "Somethin' i can help you with?" He asks, sleepy southern drawl sending shockwaves through your body as the hands on your hips grind you down against him, you were still bare from the night before, the two of you having stayed up late together just making love to each other.

You were insatiable when it came to him, maybe it was years of pent up sexual tension, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was just that you guys were so perfect for each other that you literally could not get enough of one another, whatever it was though, neither of you was complaining. You had never been more satisfied from just one single touch before, had never been left craving more of the person you were with until you had been with Jake.

"Have time for a proper good morning, fly boy?" You ask teasingly, already lifting the hem of your shirt to toss it onto the floor, which was where most of your clothes had been finding their home these days when it came to the bedroom.

"Keep it on for me, babygirl, want you to wear it while i watch you ride me," You hadn't even noticed that one of his hands had already been between your bodies, but he was sliding his cock out of his boxers and gliding you down onto it as he spoke, a sigh of pleasure already leaving your lips before you're even sunk down fully onto him. "Feel so good babygirl," He groans, already pussy drunk off of you.

His fingers grip tighter onto your hips as you ride him lazily, hips moving back and forth in a languid but pleasurable pace, his hips bucking up into yours softly. "Jake," You whine, hands planted on his hard chest, fingers curled into the coarse hairs that scattered there, he grunts in response as he thrusts up into you, his massive hands pulling you down to meet his cock with each one. "so full baby, feels so good jakey.." Your words only fueled his ego, his eyebrows furrowing as he pumps up into you, you were both still overly sensitive from the night before and he knew that he wasn't going to last long, and neither were you judging by the way your nails dug into the skin of his chest.

Jake furrows his brows deeper, watching your face contort with pleasure as he continues to slowly fuck up into your overly sensitive body, his own toes curling into the mattress as he tries to stave off his own orgasm, a feat proving much harder than he had originally thought with the noises that escaped you and the way your pussy felt clamping around him right then.. "..so pretty, babygirl, always so fucking pretty for me.." He grunts out, feeling the way you clench down on him, hearing the whine come from your throat as you cum, your thighs shaking on either side of him. "..that's it baby, thats it.." He says, not too far behind you. He cums as your body sags against his, his hands on your ass the only thing holding you steady as you bury your head in his neck, leaving small kisses along the top of his collar bone.

"..Do you have to go to work, baby?" You ask, lifting your head up to look at him, the pout that he had never been able to say no to adorning your lips.

You can't help but smirk a little as your boyfriend throws his head back with a groan, one of his hands snaking its way up your back. "Babygirl, i would give anything to stay home with you attached to me like this all day long," his voice is thick, that accent ever so present as he tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "but i gotta go to work, we're running flight trainings today.." Though they were a permanent mission squad within the TOP GUN training academy, they weren't always training for missions and today was one of those days where they got to run flights with the newer admissions who all thought they were the shit. Otherwise known as, Jake Seresin Gets To Show Off day.

You groan and drop your head to his chest, listening to him chuckle at you before he kisses the top of your head. "Fine, shower with me?" You lift your head up, a playful waggle to your eyebrows that he just can't say no to.

"I think that can be arranged." He says with a smile, his arms wrapping around your ass to hold you as he swiftly stands up with you, making you squeal in surprise as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him in fear of falling. Your ass meets the cold counter of the bathroom sink as he sets you down on it, peppering your face with kisses as he flips the light switch, making you giggle and smile that beautiful smile he loved so much. "Don't move."

"Yes Sir!" You chuckle, watching as he opens the shower door and steps in, turning it on. "Make sure its hot baby!" You instruct, practically feeling his eyes roll into the back of his head despite doing as you said.

"I will never understand you and the volcanic level of hot water you bathe in, how do you even have skin left?" He asks, voice serious as he walks over to you, stepping between your legs as he reaches behind you to turn the faucet on with one hand while the other reaches above your head, grabbing the bottle he'd seen you use every morning since you'd been with him.

"It's relaxing!" You argue, voice raising an octave as you try not to laugh at him when he suddenly splashes your face with cold water. "Excuse me for not liking to take an ice plunge every time i step into the shower," You cackle, causing him to start laughing as he brings his hands to your cheeks, gently rubbing them with your favorite facial cleanser. You hadn't even noticed him put it on his fingers, but it felt like he was massaging your face and it felt damn good. "You spoil me, you know?" You hum, relaxing into his touch, eyes closing. He could have lulled you back to sleep like that if he wanted to.

Jake grunts in disagreement. "I don't spoil you nearly enough, babygirl." He states, completely believing it. He wouldn't tell you but he was already planning how to ask you to marry him, he didn't need to wait a year, or even until the baby was born, he knew you were the one for him and he just couldn't wait to spoil you even more once you were his wife, and spoil the hell out of the little hellions you guys would have together.

After a minute he grabs a soft wash cloth from the drawer by the sink and wets it only a little, gently wiping the cleanser off of your face for you. The action of the thing was just so freaking sweet, and so fucking Jake that you didn't have the heart to tell him that you weren't supposed to wipe away the cleanser like that. It doesn't take long before the shower has steamed up the whole bathroom and he's helping you off of the counter before leading you into the shower, letting you step under the water first after he helps you slip his navy tshirt over your head.

You hum as the water hits you, your body relaxing as you feel his thumbs kneading the skin at the base of your neck, the spot where you tend to hold all of your tension. You lean back into him and just let the water wash over you, enjoying the closeness with him.

The pleasantness of the morning only lasts for a couple of hours, not too long after Jake leaves for work (with a kiss to your cheek and a smack to your ass) the intense feeling of nausea and a pounding headache that had been plaguing you with it for the past two weeks came crawling back, you thought you had been rid of it finally when you woke up feeling perfect this morning, but of course it was too good to be true. You're hunched over the toilet for hours, the breakfast Jake had been kind enough to make you crawling its way out of your stomach.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" You ask your stomach after a nasty bout of vomiting, and as if in answer, your stomach lurches unpleasantly, though you manage not to spew everywhere this time.

You seem to be fine for the rest of the day, though your head pounds and you sit in darkness until about the time that Jake gets off work, knowing he was going to be home and excited to head straight to the hard deck with the crew for Penny's Halloween party. You had been excited too, had even planned out your costume with him but god you hadn't felt this bad before, this was the most intense day of morning sickness that you'd had the entire time you'd been pregnant. You were tempted to call it off, send him on his own, but you knew he wouldn't go. He would stay by your side and take care of you, and you didn't want that, not when he had been so excited to show you off tonight.

Despite your better judgement you start getting yourself ready around the time you know he's getting ready to leave base, you know your timing is right because you get a 'be home soon babygirl' text from him a few minutes into your endeavor. You smile at your phone for a second, wondering how you got so damn lucky to be able to be in love with your best fucking friend in the whole world..

You're in the middle of painting your small but ever present swollen baby belly with safe, brown paint, standing in the full body mirror as you do it. You're trying to make it look as much like a bun as possible, which isn't as easy as it seems when you can't physically detach your stomach and lay it flat on a table to look at and paint like you could literally anything else. You hear the front door open, and his voice carry's through it's usual greeting. "In the bedroom!" You holler back. You hear something thump onto the floor (his duffle, probably filled with his sweaty khaki uniform and underclothes) and his boots thud down the hallway.

"Hey, Babyg-" You turn to face him as soon as you peek him and his dark green flight suit in the doorway, showing off the bun you were working so hard on. Thankfully, focusing so hard on something else had pushed your nausea and headache to the back of your mind, the least of your worries as you locked eyes with your grinning boyfriend. "That looks so good Babygirl! Look at you and our little girl all dressed up for Halloween.." He steps into the room, his smile lighting his face as he brings his lips to yours, before he can even kiss you though your nose scrunches up at the smell of him, sweaty and smelling like airplane fuel and oil.

You know it's coming before your stomach even lurches and you shove him away from you so hard he lands on the bed, a shocked noise escaping him as you rush into the bathroom, sliding in front of the toilet just in the nick of time. Somewhere in the back of your mind you hear Jake rush into the bathroom behind you, crouching down with you to rub your back. You manage to wave him away as you heave and he seems to get the hint, taking a step back.

"You smell." You groan when you're sure you've finished, trying to find the strength to stand up and rinse your mouth out. Jake makes an offended noise in the back of his throat, but you shoot him a glare that tells him you're serious and it seems to shut him up.

"Right," He says, clapping his hands together as you finally stand up. "i'll shower, you finish getting ready if you feel like you're able to go..if not, we'll stay home and watch 90 day Fiancé or something.." He wouldn't admit it to you, but your reality show addiction had become one of his new favorite hobbies and he would be more than happy to spend the night in bed with you binging. Who needed a Halloween party anyway? "How many times have you done that today?"

"I'll be fine to go, that's the first time that's happened all day." You lie, sidling up next to him to rinse out your mouth, trying desperately not to breathe through your nose so you don't repeat the emptying of your already empty stomach for the tenth time today. You meet his eyes in the mirror, he's looking at you like he doesn't believe you. "Really baby," You smile, turning around to face him. You look up at the handsome man before you, trying your hardest not to breathe in his scent. "I'll be okay, just take a shower and wash all the airplane gunk off of you before it happens again."

He gives you a long look, green eyes searching your face for any sign that he shouldn't let you go tonight and just make you stay home instead, he really couldn't have cared either way about the damn halloween party, now that he had you, you were the only thing that he ever cared to spend his time with. "Okay," He concedes, ruffling your hair with his ginormous hand. You roll your eyes at the action, but your body relaxes despite feeling horrible about the lie. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

You pushed through the next hour or so, finishing your costume while Jake showered and got himself ready, eagerly talking about how the two of you were going to kick Phoenix and Bob's asses in the costume contest that Penny was hosting tonight, and how he was so excited to show you and the belly off and as you checked yourself out in the mirror, you were once again reminded of just how lucky you were to have Jake to love you and the little miracle growing inside of you.

You pushed through Jake cooking himself a quick snack, you even made it through the drive to the bar like a champ, driving his big ass truck all the way there while he lay in the back seat because he refused to take his costume off until after the contest.

You had been at the bar for a couple of hours, mingling with Bob and Phoenix for the most part, who looked adorable in their Buzz and Woody costumes, when you took a turn for the worse. You and the rest of the squad had gotten to the bar quite early to help Penny finish setting up and as it started filling up with other people from base and some of the new TOP GUN students you and Jake had somehow gotten separated and after a while of talking with Phoenix about doing a shopping trip and lunch date on her next day off you started to look around for him.

Jake was at the pool table, high fiving Bradley as he sunk a ball into one of the pockets, very obviously wining the game of pool he had been roped into with the new recruits. You cant help the smile that lights your face when he catches your eye, sending you a signature Jake Seresin smirk and a wink of his eye. You giggle to yourself, your heart feeling full of nothing but love and happiness when it came to him.

"God, you guys are so in love its honestly sickening.." Natasha mutters, rolling her eyes with a playful smile on her face as she sips her whiskey on the rocks. You cackle in laughter, pushing her shoulder gently as you leave her side and make your way over to Jake, you'd had enough of being away from his side for one night.

A couple of people move in front of you as you're walking, and you have to stop and say hello to Maverick, who had arrived stylishly late to the party. "You're glowing!" He had said, giving you a kiss on your cheek. He was honestly in complete awe of you and the affect that you had on Hangman, he had done a complete 360 since you'd gotten together and he couldn't thank you enough for it because he wasn't sure how to handle it some days.

You chat with him for a few moments before making your way to Jake, except when he comes back into your view this time there's someone else with him. A tall bottle blonde in a risqué nurses costume that was honestly probably lingerie, she had fishnet stockings on and mile high platform stripper heels.

She was the kind of girl that had always caught his attention before you.

She was the kind of girl you had always been underlyingly jealous of.

And that jealously came rearing its ugly head. Fists clenched to your sides you walked over to your boyfriend with a purpose, not even catching their conversation before you wrapped your arms around his always so toned and tight bicep that was sticking out of the arm hole of the costume he had spent time making himself.

"Hey Babygirl," He says immediately, turning his head to plant a big fat kiss on your lips, you could practically feel his body relaxing at your touch and that seemed to cause you jealousy to ease, knowing that he was being held hostage in the conversation. "Jessa, this is my Babygirl.." The woman in front of you looked at you with narrowed eyes and then looked down at your costumes, her eyes roaming from your painted pregnant belly to his oven costume and and then back again, it seemed like it took a moment for all of the wheels to turn but they finally clicked into place.

"We dated for a while, not that long ago..just wanted to come over and say hello." She says. "I had heard you were settled down but i didn't think it could possibly be true.." Her eyes never leave his as she speaks, batting her eyelashes at him as if trying to entice him.

Jake raises his beer bottle to his lips, glancing down to you as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "Well, I hate to break it to you but..its true.." You grind out, your queasy stomach returning as you catch a whiff of her strong perfume. "I'll be right back baby.."

You barely make it to the ladies room all the way across the bar before it spews out of you. You're hunched over the toilet for a good few minutes heaving and queasing and so focused on yourself that you don't hear bathroom door squeak open again, or the stripper heels smacking against the tiled floor that Penny thankfully kept in pristine cleanliness.

You don't notice the other presence in the bathroom until you've stood up and turned around, headed to wash your hands and try to wash the small bit of vomit off of your black shirt. You stop in your tracks immediately when you spot her, arms crossed over her outrageously exposed breasts as she stands with her hip popped, as if she were looking for a fight.

"I always knew he liked easier girls, but i never thought he liked actual whores." She states, eyeing your pregnant belly with clear disdain. "I'm not stupid, i can do basic math. He stopped calling me almost two months ago, way too soon for you to be thus far pregnant with his baby."

"..excuse me?" You utter, mouth watery again as you fought of what you hoped was just nerves and not another round of throwing up..you didn't think you could go 12 rounds today and still make it through the party.

The woman cackles damn near evilly. "The way Jake always spoke about his babygirl I thought she was this pure angel. Turns out she's a fucking whore." She shakes her head, eyeing once more. "You're not his type either, he really must fucking pity you if he's fucking you like this, the poor thing.."

You can't think of anything to say, you could barely hold your head up with how suddenly dizzy you were. As she turns to leave the bathroom, the door swinging open, the vomit spews out of you like lava spewed out of Pompeii and as you sink to the floor, trying to keep your own head up, too dizzy to see straight or use your voice or even think, you couldn't help but to remember the words that she had said..that he must have pittied you..that wasn't true..right?

Natasha noticed Jessa come out of the bathroom that she had seen you go into earlier, and maybe it was just because she was slightly paranoid but she felt like she needed to poke her head in and check on you, especially after she sauntered right back up to Jake and ran her hand down his bicep after you had very clearly made it known that she needed to back off.

"Keep an eye on Jessa," She says to Bob, catching her Wizzo's attention as she slipped off of her bar stool. "I'm gonna go check on Babygirl.." Everyone had taken to calling you by Jake's nickname for you, it was practically your God given name by this point.

"On it." Bob says, taking his Shirley Temple with him as he strides from the bar top to the pool table.

Natasha pushes people out of her way, the wings of her Buzz costume doing all of the work for her as she makes her way to the restrooms, pushing the door opening and entering sideways. She hears your moan before she sees you slumped in a pool of your own throw up, your skin paler than the flourescent lighting in the small bathroom and a small sheen of sweat on your forehead. "Holy sit.." She says, crumbling down next to you, taking your head in her hands. "Babygirl? You awake?" A slight moan is the only response. "Fuck...fuck.."

She doesn't leave your side, but she thanks God for having long legs because she's able to catch the door stopper just right with her foot and open it far enough for her voice to carry. "JAKE! BOB! SOMEBODY HELP!" You moan again, your head thumping to her chest. Her voice must be loud enough because there's a drawn out silence before a scattering of feet pounding against the hardwood flooring of the Hard Deck. "Call 911!"

Jake's heart drops into his stomach as soon as he sees you, his eyes widening. "What happened?" He doesn't bother to care about the emotional crack in his voice as he drops to his knees, Bob and Rooster right behind him in the door way. "Nat, what the fuck happened?"

"I don't know, she was like this when I came in - Jessa had just come out!" She says panicking because she had never once seen Jacob Seresin look so scared and vulnerable before. "She keeps moaning and she's sweaty..Jake what if it's the baby?"

He squeezed his eyes closed, he couldn't bare to think of it, he couldn't bare to think of how sad and broken you would be..he couldn't even begin to think of how to pick up those broken pieces if that were the case, so he didn't think about it. He focused on Bob's voice behind him, on the phone with the 911 operator.

"...17 weeks pregnant, semi conscious.." Bob spoke to the person on the other end, Jake had told them all this morning how far along you were, forcefully showing everyone the pregnancy tracking app on his phone screen. Bob had remembered because of how excited Jake had been.

Jake looked at you, your head in Natasha's lap and then glanced back at Bradley who's eyes were wide with fear, an exact mimic of his own facial expression he was sure. He remembered suddenly that Natasha had said that someone had been in here before she found you..Jessa.

He was on his feet before he had even finished having the thought, shoving past Bradley who had the wherewithal to dutifully follow him as he stalked down the hallway and into the main area of the bar.

"Jessa!" He thundered, the bar going silent. She wasn't hard to find, she was one of the few girls dressed like a hooker. "What the fuck did you do? Huh?" He asks, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

"Jake, back off man-" Bradley's hand is on his shoulder pulling him back. Jessa scoffs at both of them and rolls her eyes turning around.

"Not my fault the skanky trash can't handle the thing growing inside of her." She says to her group of friends, causing them to start cackling.

She was lucky that Nat hadn't heard her, and that he didn't go crawling back to the bathroom to send her out here to do what he knew she would have because just then flashing lights shined through the front windows of the bar. Paramedics had arrived.

"Oh now that's just fucking dramatic!" She groans to her friends as Jake walks away, causing him to turn back around to start yelling at her once more. Bradley spins him back towards the door though and he runs outside to rush them in.

When you come to you're scared out of your mind, the last thing you remember were the words Jessa had said echoing in your mouth. Your heart starts to race and you hear a monitor start to go off, there were things attached to your stomach and your arms and all of a sudden his hands were on your shoulder, weary eyes looking into yours.

"..jake? what happened?" You ask, your heart already starting to calm down and you realize that the monitor that was going off was attached to you.

"You were dehydrated, you passed out.." Jake says, pressing a kiss to your temple as one hand goes to rest on your stomach, right next to the fetal monitors. "Your OB says that it's from throwing up so much, says that you weren't getting in as much as you were getting out.." You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the pillow, kicking yourself for letting it get that bad. "Why didn't you tell me it was that bad babygirl? You scared me shitless..you scared all of us..Nat found you laying in your own vomit..she came with me, wouldn't even go home to change..she's off hounding your doctor for more information.."

You process his words, hating yourself for putting your friend in that situation, for ruining the halloween party. You open your eyes and turn to look at him. "Is the baby okay?" Your lip quivers and tears begin to stream down your face. "Jake im so sorry baby, I thought I could tough it out, I didn't want you to worry.."

Jake sighs, kissing your forehead as he wipes the tears from your eyes, letting you know that the baby was okay, and that you would be okay too. That he was going to take care of you always, and his words washed over you completely, emptying your head of whatever doubt Jessa had temporarily placed in it.

taglist:

@bellaireland1981 @sky0401 @memoriesat30 @bat-luna-cat @memeorydotcom @mamachasesmayhem @kmc1989 @justherebecausesafarisucks @mrowphine @djs8891

[casinoquartet]

https://www.tumblr.com/casinoquartet/761371689616621568/disclaimer-everytime-i-say-dating-i-mean

This is interesting to me..because I feel like Swagdoons never explicitly stating they are in a romantic relationship has been a staple of the ship for a while now. Swagdoons, at its core, is two business partners being homoerotic with each other, and therefore…they’re not really in a relationship, but saying they are ‘partners’ sounds like it, and that is generally a theme in older fics. He is my bestfriend but he is my partner. Business or relationship, I don’t know.

I think one of the main factors is probably because Swagdoons is particularly elusive with their relationship because for one second they can be lovey-dovey and then the other second they’re clawing at each other’s throats. Like, all of their flirting crumbles with one of them going ‘what the fuck’ or just killing the other. They are not a type of ship that will talk out what they are, because it’s Swagdoons, and it’s easier to say, well, we’re not together..but we’re never not together.

The thing about them not defining a relationship because it is not a sustainable one…well, yes, Swagdoons’ relationship is explosive and vaguely or wholly toxic depending on how you read them, but also no — they can hold their relationship. Despite them Hating each other, they are tremendously good at being obsessed with each other forever and ever. It might not be healthy, but it’s..holding on. They are there through and through! Even in fics where Swagdoons breaks up or apocalypse fics they still claw their way back to each other. They are obsessed! I don’t think it’s because it’s not sustainable, really.

I don’t think it’s because of the wacky situations people put them in either, really. It’s just that Swagdoons is that, at its core. An undefined relationship. Whether it be because they’re in denial, they don’t like the idea of being together, or they are too busy beating each other up to talk that out. I think the reason just varies throughout how a person perceives Swagdoons, (e.g: people might think Swagdoons is toxic and therefore write them as not defining their relationship because they never talk anything out, people might think Swagdoons is arospec so therefore they might write them as not defining their relationship because it makes them uncomfortable, etc.) but like, it is a defining trait of Swagdoons, canonically. They don’t talk their relationship out, and I think it’s up to the viewer to decide why they don’t. [SHRUG]

i don't have much to add to this but...Yeah

unlike clownzy where hey literally smooch on screen any time they get swagdoons are literally like, fuck it we ball i feel like and as a result the fandom Also goes fuck it we ball while writing them

[nan-03c]

GRAVITY FALLS AU-

(Gravity falls x dead plate)

Place :

Country :

—USA. , Centered in Oregon

—Gravity falls

Period :

—1980 / 80s

Restaurant :

—The twisted hour

Characters :

Names and who they are replacing in this story.

Bill Cipher :

—replacing Vincent Charbonneau ; role, chef

Stanford Filbrick Pines / “Ford” :

—replacing Rody Lamoree ; role, waiter

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket :

—replacing Manon ; role, supporting character

┉┅━━━━━△━━━━━┅┉

Personalities :

Motives, why they do what they do, how they behave, etc.

Bill Cipher :

Bill is a self-centered person who doesn't care much about others' feelings. He's often able to manipulate the rest to do his bidding; he is someone smart, manipulative, focused and charming. He is a psychotic individual, blunt in his speech, yet adept at wrapping his words in just enough sweetness to make others willingly follow him.

Furthermore, he is a successful chef, someone popular and charismatic before the public eye. With his employees, he acts intimidating and harsh, not scared to insult them and downplay them, going as far as to threaten their well-being. However, around his employee Ford, he seems slightly more agreeable. Yet, there’s still an unsettling aura about him that makes his presence eerie and uncomfortable.

Goal : Find for that elusive ingredient that would lift his dishes from tasting “bitter” and “hollow”—the essence of love.

Motive : Become a better cook.

Actions : Driven by the desire to craft the perfect dish infused with love, he provoked Fiddleford's death and fed it to Ford.

Reasoning : Bill met Fiddleford, a man who had just asked for some time from his partner; Stanford. He missed him, and still loved him deeply. However, he had to leave him behind, frustrated that the other person placed more importance on their work and personal interests than on their relationship. Seeing how much Fiddle loved Ford, he thought he was that missing ingredient his plates needed!

┉┅━━━━━△━━━━━┅┉

Stanford Filbrick Pines / “Ford” :

Ford is an intellectual, and he is considered an introverted and nerdy person. He has taken a liking with puzzles that require a lot of thinking, board games like Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons, and more. Not only that, but he is someone who grew up as a prodigy in the kitchen. However, he was hit with the harsh reality once he met his “muse”, Bill Cipher. The successful chef, many aspiring ones wished to meet. He started to focus too much on this chef, admiring him, making him the center of his universe. He was his inspiration for his dishes.

Ford began to neglect Fiddleford and their relationship

He started working at Bill's restaurant, The Twisted Hour, as a waiter with the promise of being able to move up the ladder and become a chef. However, he started to work there too due to wanting to save up extra money to buy an apology gift for Fiddleford, even though he has not answered a single call since last week. He tries to remain hopeful.

Goal : Reconcile with Fiddleford and maintain a friendly relationship at the very least with him. While at the same time pursuing a strange relationship with his muse to become a better cook.

Motive : To please his muse and apologize to Fiddleford.

Actions : He ends up with his heart on his sleeve, he ate the “still” beating heart of Fiddle.

Reasoning : He admires Bill Cipher, he is his muse, his god, his inspiration and what gives flavor to his life. He ate what was given to him without a second thought, it tasted a bit shallow in a way, like it missed that “love” all food is cooked, this one felt too logical, too rational. But he wanted to see those eyes staring at him, glaring at him, looking at him and only him. Even if it hurts.

┉┅━━━━━△━━━━━┅┉

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket :

Fiddleford is a warm, friendly, kind, and expressive person. However, he has trouble channeling his emotions in a healthy manner, he often acts spontaneously and on a whim, without real thought into the future consequences of his actions.

Adding to that, he is someone sweet, sensitive, charming, and naïve, but he is socially awkward, and has self-contained morals. He frequently acts happy and wears a smile despite admitting to being miserable. It is clear that much of his behavior shows no regard for social conventions. He is a person guided by emotion.

When he started to be neglected by Ford, he started to feel more paranoid and self-conscious, often times entering on a high-level stress situation.

He ended up being killed and turned into a dish that was later given to Ford.

Goal : Either move on from Ford or give him a 2nd chance where he proves he has changed.

Motive : He felt lonely when he was with Ford, and couldn’t bear to stay with him any longer.

Actions : Fiddleford ended his relationship with Stanford because Stanford prioritized his work over their relationship, leaving Fidds feeling neglected. He then found himself in Bill’s Cipher restaurant. He recognized it, he has gone there a few times with Ford for dates and such. What he didn’t expect was to meet Bill—the chef his (ex)boyfriend went as far as to worship. He ended up being tangled up with him in a strange manner.

Reasoning : He wanted to feel loved by who was his partner, yet he was destroying himself in the process. He had to leave under the lie of “needing a break”. In the end, he just settled for the wrong attention.

[skypoff]

Pomni: An Intro to Coping

Pomni is the first character out of the TADC cast I am doing a deep dive on; for two main reasons. The first, being that she is the main lead character we as viewers vicariously live through in the show. And second, because her character is - as I see it - a lead-in to how the other characters behave. (Added note: I won't be touching on everything regarding the character. Only the details I feel are coherent for the rant I want to write.)

I would like to put emphasis on the note that all of this is drawn together from my own interpretations and speculations. At the end of the day, if you disagree with any of my thoughts, that is perfectly fine. This post is written out of sole enjoyment and passion for the character, with a twinge (read; a lot) of spite.

With that being said, here is a multi-faceted rant focusing on Pomni.

CHAPTER I: A NEW HOME

➣ Pomni is the newest human who has transmigrated into the digital circus world. As such, her first-hand experience in the cartoonish, limitless, yet restrictive space is also the viewers' vicarious shared experience through her eyes.

➣ Obviously, being dragged to the VR space and told there's no escape isn't great to hear. As such, Pomni's first reaction is denial. {"Ohhh, okay, now I get it! This, is a dream! And I should just play along until I wake up! Right??"} It's a standard reaction most people will default to in order to soothe themselves. A way to say "I can exit this situation, I am still in control" while providing a safety-net explanation for any illogical events.

➣ So, why is this important? The 5 stages of grief aren't a new concept nor is it a hard one to grasp, so how does it connect to Pomni? It's important because Pomni's character as a whole is a set-up template for how an individual can cope with unfamiliar, uncomfortable, or traumatizing events.

➣ I don't mean this to flatten Pomni's character down to a base statement of "she's a caricature". Quite the opposite actually; approaching Pomni's behaviors and her motivations with the perspective of "how a person will cope" gives a more layered view of her as a character.

➣ Being trapped in a new space with seemingly no escape can only lead to two outcomes in human behavior. Adaptation, or deterioration.

CHAPTER II: DEALING WITH IT

➣ Almost like how a child navigates their new life, Pomni is experimenting with how to adapt to the circumstances, whether she is consciously aware of that or not.

➣ In the pilot episode, Pomni protects herself under the fragile lie of denial (as previously mentioned) up to the point when Ragatha breaks down a bit in the dorm hallway after Pomni asks why they don't try to leave. Hearing the process of going insane in the digital circus makes the whole situation much more real.

➣ When facing the abstracted Kaufmo, Pomni displays guilt in initially abandoning Ragatha to fend for herself, then promises Ragatha that she'll go find Caine to fix both of them up.

➣ I find it noteworthy to touch on this interaction. As Pomni goes to leave, Ragatha comments "I'm sorry your first day here had to be so... terrible?" to which Pomni awkwardly replies with "Uh... yeah, well don't- worry about it. I'm just gonna go find Caine now". It's meant to be a comforting statement of compensation from Ragatha, but it doesn't land that way for Pomni because- although friendly and empathetic, highlighting that it is her "first day" of who knows how many only cements her fate more.

➣ Despite promising to help Ragatha, Pomni almost immediately goes through the elusive exit door once it appears before her, only sparing a couple glances back at the circus before going inside. This action is inherently selfish, but also accurately aligns with the drive for escape. If there is any hope to leave an unpleasant situation, people will generally take it, especially if they don't have any personal attachments to their surroundings.

➣ In regards to the 5 stages of grief, the whole sequence of Pomni running through the labyrinth office space undoubtedly represents bargaining. The mounting desperation of "Just one more door. This door will be the one. I'm sure the next one will let me leave." keeps piling onto the jester, until she mentally snaps and eventually ends up in the digital void.

➣ For the rest of the pilot after that, Pomni is left to finally come to terms with the fact that there really is no real exit. The others around her act nonchalant and unbothered by everything, leaving her feeling isolated and lost. Despite other trapped humans sitting beside her at a dining table, none of them seem to share her drive to leave.

➣ As far as she knows, she is completely alone, and she must fend for herself to either adapt, or abstract in this bizarre world.

CHAPTER III: ADJUSTMENTS

➣ In episode 2 of TADC, these anxieties of losing her own mind and being completely alone are pushed to the forefront. Alongside those concerns, Pomni goes through the remaining 3 of the 5 stages of grief.

➣ She shows clear anger towards Jax and his recklessness when he puts her safety at risk without any visible remorse (subconsciously solidifying Pomni's then assumption that she is not valued or considered as a part of the group, would not be missed, etc.). She also has a bout of mild frustration towards Ragatha in the beginning of the adventure {"I'm not a child. You don't have to hype me up."}.

➣ This morphs into a state of apathy/depression, as she questions the structure of the adventures {"So... our entire existence here is just... LARPing?"}{"What time period is this supposed to be again?"}. During the drive up to the chase scene with the gummy gator bandits, she can also be seen looking mildly upset in the back of the truck, eyeing the others with subtle discomfort or blankly staring off ahead.

➣ Finally, this all comes to a head with acceptance (albeit a tentative one) after Pomni befriends Gummigoo, one of the AI gummy gator bandits. She finally finds someone she can connect to, someone who has had their reality shattered and is forced to come to terms with it all. So, while she does her best to provide some comfort and reassurance for the gator, she also extends a metaphorical hand out to invite Gummigoo back to the circus, in the hopes that she won't have to continue alone.

➣ Although Caine deleting Gummigoo moments after his arrival nearly brings Pomni into a spiral then and there, Ragatha and Kinger step in to explain to Pomni about Kaufmo's funeral. A service they hold to honor the abstracted people for their shared time in the circus. That catches Pomni's attention. (I have a strong belief that if Pomni was left alone after Caine deleted Gummigoo, she would have completely broken down/abstracted shortly after. Not immediately, but she would inevitably.)

➣ Listening to the others (minus Jax) tell their stories of who Kaufmo was as a person and the good memories they had with him, the acceptance settles back in Pomni. Only, more assured now. She now has proof that they are all in this situation together, one way or another. She knows at the very least that she isn't considered as nothing by the others (minus Jax, we'll get there).

CHAPTER IV: CLOSING NOTES

➣ Pomni is an anxious, introverted, 25-year-old. Judging by her age (as provided by Gooseworx), Pomni very much fits with the idea of a young adult office worker. She's logical in her thinking, yet also unsure and wary of those around her.

➣ Gooseworx has also mentioned that Pomni is "good at accounting" (in a tumblr post on December 18th, 2023), which makes me think Pomni either was an accounting major or was an accountant in the real world.

➣ As of this post, there are only 2 of the 9 planned episodes that have been uploaded. In the episodes to come, I feel like we'll probably see Pomni grow more sure of herself in the circus. She'll still be wary about whatever new adventures Caine has planned, but from what has already been hinted at, I think Pomni may grow to be more bold and much more confident in testing the limits of the digital world. (Staging a coup against Caine sounds wild but would be hilarious)

➣ Overall, Pomni is a character who demonstrates the process of how someone tends to react to unpredictable circumstances. She is someone who people can generally empathize with and say "yeah, I can understand why she would react like that". A base foundation of human behavior who demonstrates how a person can either settle or crumble under stress.

TLDR; What a well-written isekai protagonist.

[shydroid3000]

For the ask game, thoughts on Misa? (Also I see you have star trek listed, which serieses are fair game?)

OMG how did I miss this ask??? 😭 If I remember the Ask Game correctly, I think it was about first impressions vs what you think now about the character (?), so I will answer based on that haha. First impression:

I remember being really intrigued and excited when Misa was first introduced! In the lead-up before she meets Light and is doing the Kira-2 stuff by herself, I thought that she was very smart and I was interested to see how she was going to enter into the mix with Light and L. And then I was sort of baffled at first by how Light and the text seemed to treat her as ditzy and dumb haha. Because to me, when she was acting on her own as the second Kira, she had obviously demonstrated her intelligence and resourcefulness. Especially at first watch of the anime, I was annoyed that the narrative seemed to undercut this as it went on, and annoyed by the misogyny that is part of her portrayal. But after that initial impression of how she is portrayed, my thoughts have developed a fair bit, so I'll leave that for the "impression now" section lol. Aside from her intelligence and aptitude, I have also always found her dynamic with Light interesting in very uncomfortable ways. I have a long post somewhere about how I can't help but read Light as somewhat traumatized by the way Misa just pushes herself into his life and into being his girlfriend. I find her unwanted and unwavering obsession so disturbing and compelling. And I probably project a bit onto Light in this respect, but as much of a misogynistic asshole as he is to Misa (and he definitely IS), I also feel a lot of pity/sympathy for him when it comes to dealing with this person he doesn't want back but who won't accept 'no' for an answer. Their whole relationship is just so sad and painful and haunting on both sides, and I think that's something that stood out to me from the beginning.

What I think now:

I kind of alluded to it above, but while I still do have some annoyances with the misogyny that shows up in the source material, I also find it very compelling to think about the misogynistic framing of Misa as something that exists in part because we're seeing her through Light's eyes/thoughts much of the time. (I mean, even the fact that pre-Light Misa comes across to me as very intelligent and capable and then after meeting Light it often seems like the text is portraying her as 'dumb annoying girl', to oversimplify... seems to lend itself well to this reading). Anyway, the 'unreliable narrator' of it all is really interesting.

(And when it comes to Light or others viewing her as unintelligent, I think what they miss is that she simply has different motivations and goals than they do. Light reads her as stupid (at least comparatively) because misogyny lol, and also because he seems to not recognize that she's pursuing different things than he is so of course she does things differently than he would -- and she is adept at getting what she wants). And of course it's not just Light who writes Misa's intelligence off; L and the others do this to a degree too. I have also loved reading people's analysis of the performance Misa puts on -- how the 'ditzy girl' persona is something that she utilizes, as well as being a perception that is thrust on her. The way she and Light both 'perform' these really masked, artificial versions of themselves makes them such an interesting pair of foils.

Also, the sort of... emptiness she gives off is really intriguing. If I had to choose only one word to describe Misa, it might be "haunting." And the fact that she's a magnet for gods of death seems to fit well with that haha. I often find her to be quite elusive as a character, when I try to really dig into analysis of her. Part of that is just an effect of her perspective not being highlighted by the text (not in the way Light or L's is, for ex). But I also think that elusiveness is partly because she does have this sort of abyss inside her. The way she latches onto Kira/Light in this attempt to create some kind of meaning... how it doesn't even matter to her that Light doesn't want her back, and in fact has contempt for her. At least -- it doesn't matter to her on the surface, and I think you'd have to dive very far down that internal abyss of hers to find the place where it does matter. She just seems so disconnected from herself, and yet so completely sure of what she wants and determined in her pursuit of it at the same time haha. Anyway, that is kind of rambling, but with Misa I've realllllly appreciated reading other people's analyses and insights on her, because she's a slippery character for me haha.

Oh re: Trek: any series, really, but the ones I'd have the most to say on are the 90s shows (TNG, DS9, VOY... less so Enterprise but could still do it haha).

[kyouka-supremacy]

hii a few days ago (i think) you mentioned in the tags of one of the asks that you have some thoughts regarding the themes of bsd characters being pretty 👀👀 could you elaborate on that?

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING. I have very strong opinions on where skk and sskk place on the thematical prettiness scale so here you go. The fun part is that I am a radical beauty relativist which makes any judgement on appearance ultimately meaningless– because there's not such thing as universal beauty to me, only time and space susceptible beauty standards. Additionally, I don't think there's any significant distinction in their depictions, because Harukawa's art style is very beautiful and elegant and such applies to virtually every character with no notable difference. But like that's the whole point isn't it!! Because it's not about Chuuya being handsome or Dazai being prettier than Akutagawa per sé, as much as what those things represent in terms of symbolism in a story. Here's my personal headcanons (with the very much needed disclaimer that I feel attracted to men once every three months at best, so it really is all about the narrative and plot value their physical appearances hold more than like. actual valuations of their beauty):

Dazai is distinctively, remarkably beautiful. I mean, that part is pretty much canon, isn't it? He really is that kind of charming, charismatic presence that would make people turn back to look at him when crossing the street. But his beauty has some sort of distance and elusiveness to it– his features are classical and very conventionally beautiful in a way that makes him vaguely impersonal. Most importantly, his beauty is vastly intimidating. He is beautiful in a way that feels distant, out of reach, that makes people subconsciously uncomfortable. That only adds to his charisma (and having an easy game to manipulate people), as people will be immediately bewitched when someone as ethereal looking as Dazai shows the slightest sign of interest in them. He definitely looks older than he is.

Chuuya is a completely different deal! He's just as beautiful as Dazai, yet in a substantially different way. He's handsome due to a certain feeling of naturalness and unconstraint he has to him. He has that real and specific beauty of someone who's comfortable in their own skin, which is something genuinely pleasant to witness. His appearance is handsome and cool, but in such an effortless way that vastly adds to his appeal; he exudes confidence and freshness, he's passionate and lively and just someone to bask in the presence of. He can come off as intimidating, too, but to a slightly lesser extent than Dazai and in a way he's way more in control of, able to make people feel at ease if he wants to. Ultimately, to make a silly example, I fear Chuuya would have quite a bit of suitors (that he's only half aware of), while Dazai regretfully comes off too scary for most people.

(And I feel like someone's going to think “it shows that Op hasn't read Stormbringer 🙄🙄” and like. That much is true and irrefutable ahah. But I also like to think Chuuya's story was a gradual journey into accepting himself and feel comfortable in his body. I am a strong happy ending Chuuya supporter ///// )

Atsushi is beautiful in a very peculiar and unique way. He's the kind who, at first sight, one wouldn't find remarkably attractive at all, all his beauty being covered up by raggedness and a neglected appearance, and he wouldn't be spared a second look. And yet when that second look is spared, one would suddenly realize he's got bewitching, glistening eyes, a certain masculine pronunciation to his face that results very attractive, a toned figure, a stunning smile. And his beauty is the furthest that can be from Dazai's classical lineaments: it's unusual, and wild, but still strikingly gorgeus. The truest diamond in the rough. Atsushi's completely oblivious to it, btw– how could it be any differently with him! Moreover, it would be quite fitting if Atsushi's beauty was, too, one of the many contributing factors that trigger Akutagawa's feeling of minority.

Akutagawa isn't beautiful. This is the only take actively sustained by canon elements (besides from maybe Dazai being beautiful, but to a way lesser extent), and the canon judgement of his apparence is definitely not a flattering one: “a faint smile curled Akutagawa’s lips, slightly exposing the inside of his mouth, which was as red as blood” “Akutagawa’s smirk was colder than a snake’s, his breath more repulsive than a demon’s”. His skin is grey, and his eyes are bloodshot, and he coughs blood, and he definitely stinks– he's messy and rabid and unkept. Before everything else stands the fact that he has this sickly impression to him which makes him vaguely repulsive to whoever stumbles across him. But that's exactly everything Akutagawa is, isn't it!! His whole thing is being fundamentally unable to be loved– both because of things he controls and things he can't control, his unpleasant physical appearance falling in the second category. That's what I mean when I say characters' physical appearance is a fun tool to convey their core themes! The tragedy of Akutagawa's character being someone who constantly strives for being loved and yet is doomed by destiny to result repulsive to everyone nicely translates in him having unpleasant looks that make him ugly and unlovable.

And as little extra, pretending for a moment that I don't have Beast bias:

Beast Akutagawa being quite handsome. Not at Dazai or Chuuya's level, but people would casually consider him a beautiful man. Compared to his canon counterpart, he's got the same fire in his eyes, yet it's paired with a slightly healthier, less repulsive built, greater confidence in his stance, and a more - although far from being tidy - clean appearance, all contributing to make him fairly attractive. Besides, bonus prettiness points for the coolest outfit in the entirety of bsd only second to the Dark Era Dazai one in my very humble opinion...

Beast Atsushi is gorgeus in a way that makes him look almost noble, yet feels unsettlingly plastic-like: artificial, stiff, imposed. I've talked before about how his being kept and tidy is actually just another expression of the grip that Dazai has on his persona and psyche, who wraps, controls and manipulates every aspect of his being including his very appearance. He's got the same stunning strong lineaments, yet they're schooled to look far more distant and intimidating. I wonder if the kind eyes would stay the same... They probably don't shine as brightly as the canon Atsushi's ones.

[orange-cheetah]

The Thief and the Phantom's First Meeting

Undead Girl Murder Farce: Volume 2, Chapter 0

[Disclaimer: Translated from Chinese text. Some lines taken from the subtitles of the anime.]

"Good morning, Erik."

Upon waking up, he hears a friendly voice calling him.

The man groans, getting up awkwardly. Both of his hands are tied behind him.

He is in an unfamiliar, strange room. The walls and ceiling are bare stone, though a lavish dining table laden with desserts or fruit trays sits in the middle of the room. He can hear faint sounds of water.

On the chair before him sits a young man with his legs crossed.

"Your face without the mask is unexpectedly quite handsome, you know."

The man realizes that the mask he likes using has been taken away, to be put on the table. Hurriedly lowering his head, he tries to cover his face with his white hair. The young man smiles and says: "Don't be so shy."

The young man is about twenty-five or -six years of age. Beautiful golden hair and a fierce[1] gaze leave a deep impression; a tuxedo hugs his slender body, draped in a black cloak. The buttons on his jacket are probably real emeralds. His expression, dress and attitude overflow with considerable confidence; instead of a king, he gives one the sense that his style is more of a prince's. And a capricious, playboy prince at that. The man instinctively feels that this person is of the sort completely opposite to himself.

"Right, how do you feel, Erik? Because you've been unconscious for about half the day. Want to drink anything?"

"How do you know my real name?"

"Investigating in advance is the basics of the work. Oh, I know lots of things. You're from Persia. You were born with your white hair and disfigured face. Your singing voice is an unparalleled tenor. You live 23 floors beneath the Paris Opera. You've evaded capture for the past 20 years, elusive as though a specter; the nickname you were given was 'the Phantom of the Opera.' Am I right, our shy gentleman."

While listing out all sorts of information unceasingly, the young man plays with a large ruby with one gloved hand.

Right, he's beginning to recallーーit was a splendid night like any other. As it was the closing night of Don Carlos[2], the opera house had been very lively; the man was watching the opera from Box 5 of the second floor. But something strange had happened while Act 3 was in progress: this phantom thief had descended from the skies, stealing the ruby worn by the female vocalist. As it was the singer he adores, he had gone after the thief. After pursuing him to the top level of seats he had been hit by a counterattack from the enemy, and thenーーwhen he woke up he was already here.

"What is this place?"

"L'Aiguille Creuse[3]," the young man replies with a phrase he's never heard before. "Though I'm still working on it. It's a tad uncomfortable to stay in for the moment."

"Why did you kidnap me?"

"I stole you." Immediately corrected. "Along with this ruby. Things should be organized and collected to one place. I can't bear to see this passionate jewel never be more than some stage prop, and it's no fun to have a true phantom living in obscurity beneath an opera house. They should both belong to me; it feels more coordinated this way."

"Enough chatter. What are you after?"

The young man shrugs. "There's a job I'd like to do in London, but my subordinates have all ran off, so I'm a little short-staffed at the moment."

So he wants to find someone to help with this job? What an unorthodox way of recruitment. The man carefully asks: "What are you planning on stealing?"

"'The Penultimate Night.'"

"...Phileas Fogg's?"

"That's right."

"Are you mad?" No wonder all his subordinates ran. "I have heard of the jewel of the Fogg mansion, but it's impossible to obtain. That mansion's security is impregnable. And in London, there's Sherlock Holmes."

"Here, there's Arsène Lupin."

The young man touches the ruby to his chest.

If heard only from the sidelines, it would feel nothing more than a very arrogant statement. But behind the tone, one can feel an inexplicable majesty that is different from the common bluffing or exaggerated fantasies of fools. As though certain of the future.

The man senses the abnormality.

What His Royal Highness exudes is not confidence.

It's conviction.

Breaking through the mansion security that others would quail before, prevailing over the famous detective coined 'the best in the world'; these are all established matters in his mind and are to be expected. The plan is already perfect and flawless, all hypotheticals accounted for, leaving no rate of failure to speak of ー where would one even spare the time to be arrogant. It may well be madness talking, yetーー

Meeting Lupin's gaze once more. Golden eyes as though the sun.

"Any chance of winning?"

"I wouldn't have invited you here if there weren't."

Stepping into the Phantom's heart as though heat waves of summer. The life spent hiding under the opera house until now, the self-isolation imprisoned by the ugly right face; all of this is easily melted by the sun. Guided by that light, a foolish feeling surges up. As though wanting to cause a scene on the stage of a farce, a young and energetic impulse.

After a while, he stands up. At the same moment, the ropes that had been tying his hands together fall to the ground.

"You have other special skills besides singing?" Lupin says. "When did you undo them?"

"Around the time you said 'unexpectedly quite handsome'. I've always been good at handling ropes."

"I admire you even more now. So, what are you going to do? Go home?"

"I was stolen, wasn't I? I'll follow my owner's orders."

Strictly speaking, it's his loss this time. Even if he's unwilling to, he could only agree to a contract.

The Phantom approaches the table to pick up his mask, putting it on the right side of his face, experiencing the sense of coordination that had been mentioned in their conversation just now.

Bowing respectfully to his owner, he recites a line from an opera: "La Juive[4], Act 2. 'But come! Be it heaven or earth, the self-same fate and destiny awaits the two of us.'" [5]

"Though you've done well to quote these lines." Lupin surveys the surroundings of the hideout with an expression as though suppressing laughter. "I'm afraid, Erik, we are at sea."

Footnotes:

强悍 (qiáng hàn): strong, powerful

Based on conflicts in the life of Carlos, Prince of Asturias (1545–1568). Though he was betrothed to Elisabeth of Valois, part of the peace treaty ending the Italian War of 1551–59 between the Houses of Habsburg and Valois demanded that she be married instead to his father Philip II of Spain. It was commissioned and produced by the Théâtre Impérial de l'Opéra (Paris Opera) and given its premiere at the Salle Le Peletier on 11 March 1867. (wikipedia)

The Hollow Needle.

The Jewess. Tells of an impossible love between a Christian man and a Jewish woman. (wikipedia)

Act 2, Scene IV. Presumably taken from two separate sections, and I couldn't find any mention of 'heaven or earth'. You can read it here (pp. 19)

LEOPOLD. I know! But come! Let thine heart be mine, Let love enchain us, and Jew or Christian, Thy lot is mine. Let heaven's wrath o'erwhelm me. Thy love wants mine, The rest is nothing, I regret not.

RACHEL AND LEOPOLD. Let thine heart be mine, Let love enchain us and, Jew or Gentile, Thy love is mine. For us the self-same fate and destiny

[sinvulkt]

Batman’s Downfall (To Stand Alone) by Sinvulkt (Wakare)

Chapter 1 - Jason

@whumptober-archive

There was a new killer in town. He called himself 'Red Hood'. Had he been clownier, Batman would have bet on a new scheme from the Joker part. This new Red Hood was nothing like the mafia boss who fell into acid, however. He was sneaky, precise, skilled, and he never missed. Even odder were his targets. Corrupt politicians, hardened criminals, violent policemen: none of his victims could have been called ’innocents’.

They were victims all the same. Murdered without conviction, their killer acting as judge, jury and executioner without right. For all his crimes however, the ’Red Hood’ remained an elusive presence, taunting yet out of reach. It infuriated the Bat to no end. Gotham was his city.

Soon enough, their paths crossed. Red Hood was crouched on top of a building, assault rifle armed. The gun muzzle was pointed towards a mafia boss responsible for a new kind of drug in Gotham’s streets. Red Hood’s index finger twitched. Batman landed in front of him before he could do more.

They fought.

Red Hood’s moves were familiar in an uncanny way. It brought Batman years back, to the idealistic version of him that hoped the outside world would fill the missing piece of his heart. It brought a bitter taste of ashes and blood to his mouth, as an assassin blade threatened his jaw. “You lost,” a female voice taunted.

The flash of a gun muzzle forced him to focus on the present. Red Hood used guns, not blades. A shot fired, and the pain blooming in his side was all Batman could do to not spiral even deeper into the past. He turned towards the culprit, a growl in his throat. One of the mafia goons stood there, half-stunned from having fired at the Bat. A second shot fired, much closer from Batman's ear, and the goon fell dead.

Batman spun, body faster than thought as he jumped on the threat. The copycat name, the familiar move, the strange non-lethality Red Hood faced him with stopped mattering as a single reality overcame all of his focus. Red Hood used guns. Red Hood killed. Red Hood was a threat to be put into submission, under tight control. 

His batarang flew, breaking through the outer shell of the red helmet. The man behind cursed, attempting to cover the hole with a hand, but Batman didn’t let him. He kicked, punched, and grappled into the threat’s personal space, ready to take the Red Hood down. It took a while before he actually glanced at the broken mask, and the eye it protected. Batman froze. Beyond the helmet was a domino mask encircling a familiar eye.  It hid a face Bruce thought he would never see again.

A malnourished child stood in the batmobile’s shadow, a tire in his hand. He kept his ground against Batman, afraid yet unrelenting to his fear. Batman had taken him back home.

The Red Hood turned tail. By the time Batman remembered to use his grapple and follow, he was gone.

|  • • • 𓋭 𓌹.𓌺 ☤ 𓅨 𓅚 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 ☗ • • • 𓋭『S』• 🃟 ○

Batman was never late. 

Batman couldn’t afford to be late.

Bruce repeated that thought as he raced towards the source of the explosion. It echoed with each of his steps against Gotham’s dirty concrete, the batmobile long abandoned at a nearby road.

Batman was never late.

He was an ever present shadow, haunting Gotham’s night without any respite. Unkillable, unescapable. Criminals screamed in terror at his sight, filling the air with a charged smell of urine. He was never wrong, never mistaken. He was an infallible God, one for crime to bend forward. 

Batman was a God, but Bruce was just a man. An arrogant man that dared to wear divinity like a cape. A father who recklessly let his son into the front line. 

“Another kid, really?” Gordon had scowled as he was introduced to a fourteen year old Jason in his bright new robin uniform. Barbara’s injury hung heavy between them, an open secret never discussed. 

The Justice League members had uncomfortably shifted at the introduction. Flash cracked a joke about Batman being more chicken than bat, that fell empty into the loaded atmosphere until Jason scoffed and signaled to go home. Bruce could hear their whispers still. Murmurs about child soldiers, long glances at robin’s bruises, comments about Nightwing’s feud with him.

Batman was never late.

Bruce was.

When he finally reached the warehouse, it was to find a cold body among ashes. 

○ 🃟 •『S』𓋭 • • • ☗ 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 𓅚 𓅨 ☤ 𓌹.𓌺 𓋭 • • • |

Jason was alive.

The thought spun in Bruce’s head, taunting, hopeful, irreal. It danced like the chimney fire Alfred lit during winter, so they could settle together on the couch, silent but for the sound of papers being turned, sometimes interrupted by light snickers escaping Jason’s throat as he read. It shone like a feverish dream, the kind of high fever Robin had gotten after a rainy autumn night, making Batman ache to punch away the sickness. It twisted his heart and tensed his muscles like a Damocles sword ready to fall. Gotham had a knack to kill the good and spare the guilty.

Jason was alive.

Or Batman was under Scarecrow’s fear gas, under Joker’s toxin or under Ivy’s pheromones, or maybe even a mix of all three. It felt like none of them though. The tingle of his fingertip, the pressure of his boots on concrete, the pulse of his blood racing too fast in his veins— it all felt real.

Jason was alive.

The proof was there, undeniable. The eye that had glared at him had been painful in its familiarity. It had narrowed hatefully but bravely, like when the second Robin met Batman's villain gallery for the first time. Because for Jason, Batman was the hero that had never saved him. He was the villain of Robin's story. 

In the light of Red Hood's identity, many incoherences suddenly made sense. His base in the Narrows, his vendetta against the Joker, his personal hate for Batman… So many clues had been spread in front of him the whole time, and yet Batman had been too blind to see them.

Jason was alive.

Who should he tell? Who already knew?

Alfred would guess something was wrong from Bruce's behavior alone. Tim as well, if he wasn’t distracted by another mission and lack of coffee. He might have to come clean to them both, or find an excuse to win time.

Dick was quite occupied in Bludhaven, and didn’t need the distraction. There was no way how the Justice League might react to a known killer before Batman found Red Hood again, so they would have to stay in the dark. It was a shame as many had already come across resurrections before, and their insight might have been useful.

Jason was alive.

Bruce had buried Jason’s body behind the manor. He had thrown the first shovelful himself, barely aware of anything beyond the bleeding gap exploding in his chest. It begged the question of how exactly Jason’s body had disappeared from its grave.

Taken by a sudden desire to check the proof of this new reality, Bruce rushed towards the batmobile and went home. He didn’t answer Alfred's confused inquiries, rather ordering him to bring a shovel and join him at the Wayne cemetery. He didn’t answer Alfred there either. His vision had been reduced to a thin tunnel whose only goal was to dig, dig, dig, until truth’s skeleton laid bare before him, tangible and constant beneath his inquisitive fingers.

Bruce made fast work of the grave. A few dozen minutes in, his shovel hit hard wood. It was several dozens of minutes too much for Bruce’s frenzied mind. As long as the box stayed closed, Red Hood could have been a hallucination. As long as the box stayed closed, Jason was both alive and dead, a Shroedinger’s problem Bruce’s mind chafed to resolve. His whole being tensed in anticipation of the solution. His hands should have shaken too much to open the coffin, but years of training had made them steady, and the wood box opened without complaint. 

It was empty.

A wild breath escaped Bruce’s lungs. Alfred stared at him, brows furrowed in a way that demanded answers, but also respected the time Bruce might need to give them. 

There was little probability his son’s body had walked away by itself. There had been someone digging the coffin, someone doing something to it, until Jason had grown, left behind Robin’s cheerful feathers and embraced the crimson color of death. The pinch of betrayal at someone being in the know before he was however, couldn’t survive long in front of the bittersweet wonder that raced through his veins.

Jason was alive. 

Jason was Red Hood. Red Hood was a killer. 

|  • • • 𓋭 𓌹.𓌺 ☤ 𓅨 𓅚 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 ☗ • • • 𓋭『S』• 🃟 ○

Batman’s fingers danced over the body, searching frantically for a pulse. The impression of it danced in his mind, fragile yet present like the brush of butterfly wings. It felt warm, regular and powerful. It had been getting stronger every day spent in the manor, as the teen finally got the proper nutrients to grow. Batman’s fingers danced, searching for its memory. They only found death.

He couldn’t stop.

There was a part of Batman that was still running, that was still racing towards the explosion. A part of Batman that was still hoping that despite all odds, he would save the day. He just needed to go faster, he just needed to search further, and the mystery would unravel before him. There could be no break, otherwise something horrible no it can’t be not again no would catch up to him.

He couldn’t stop.

Batman made everything alright. Batman saved everyone. Batman always won.

So he had to be Batman.

He couldn’t stop.

If he was Batman, then surely his son was alive?

He couldn’t-

There must be a pulse-

He-

The floor was spinning. There was blood in his mouth and there was blood on his hands and the floor was spinning. He paid no mind to it, or to the pain beginning to ache in his knees as he frantically probed the delicate body facing him. His cape had settled around them, isolating them from the world and hiding most of the explosion damage from sight. It felt right.

He was Batman. He could fix this.

Jason-

A warm hand stopped his wrist, while another rested on his shoulder, steadying.

○ 🃟 •『S』𓋭 • • • ☗ 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 𓅚 𓅨 ☤ 𓌹.𓌺 𓋭 • • • |

There was a clap on his shoulder. "Brooding again, B?" Bruce spun to face Dick, a rare smile pulling up his lips. 

"Not today."

It had taken a while for the family to be whole again. Bruce had no idea what trick Alfred had pulled to get Jason to come here, of all people. Things were still tense between them because of the ‘no killing’ Code, and the Red Hood had all but retracted to the Narrows. He didn’t care what trick Alfred had used however. Jason was here, and so was Tim, and Dick, and Steph, and Cass. That was enough. 

It was Christmas after all. A sufficiently grand occasion for Alfred to pull string until the whole family was there, except for Barbara who chose to spend it at the station with her father.

Bruce let Dick guide him into the living room. They were greeted by the usual bat bickering. A predictable consequence to having equally stubborn people gathered in one place. Bruce entered to the sight of Damian trying to stab Tim while shouting about his rat collection, while Jason silently read on the couch. Tim didn’t seem as much bothered by Damian’s attack as he was to Steph perched on a shelf, holding his coffee bowl out of reach. "You already had ten today. I’m not giving it to you." She promptly drank it, provoking a high pitched wail from Tim’s throat. 

It threatened to evolve into full blown chaos as Damian successfully managed to trap Tim in a chokehold, just as the latter lunged at Stephanie, crashing the shelf she was on over Jason. A single cough from the family butler stopped it, instantly bringing the mayhem back to order. Dick gathered the pieces of the fallen coffee bowl while Tim, Damian and Steph silently cooperated to bring the shelf back on straight. Jason settled back on the couch after a glance at the newcomers, pointedly ignoring them (ignoring Bruce).

Dinner was homemade. Alfred had outdone himself tonight. Soon enough, there was not a single crumb of guinea fowl left. The plates shone, dedicatedly cleaned of any juice that had filled them. The meal was far from calm, but it would have been unusual for the family to be silent. It was warm in its chaos, the room filled with jokes, laughs and half-hearted complaints. Bruce barely dared say a word in fear of breaking the peace.

By dessert, he couldn’t swallow a bite more. He glared at the chocolate cake, stomach full but tongue wanting. It disappeared from his sight before he could come to a decision as Jason spirited it away. Bruce turned to glare at the strawberry pie instead, accepting his loss as a fair price to pay for having let his guard down. An instant later a piece of chocolate cake landed on his plate. Bruce startled, looking up. He couldn’t see the culprit, but his identity was obvious. A smile stirred Bruce’s lips as warmth bloomed in his chest. Perhaps Alfred was right, and he should just give Jason some time.

After dinner, they settled on the couch for a movie. There was a short fight as Stephanie stole Damian's usual place, but it was soon resolved as Dick coaxed the latest Robin on his lap. Then, there was a second fight for the movie choice, but Tim argued that it should be Alfred’s turn to choose, since it was Christmas. Alfred obviously did not want to choose, but cornered by what was now revealed to be a whole family plot, settled for a classic Christmas movie. The story was silly, the characters stupid, and the music far too dramatic. It was hard to hear any dialogue over Jason and Stephanie’s criticism, Tim’s and Diaman’s snores, or Dick’s snickers.

Bruce’s eyelids grew heavier and he dozed off, surrounded by his children's warmth.

|  • • • 𓋭 𓌹.𓌺 ☤ 𓅨 𓅚 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 ☗ • • • 𓋭『S』• 🃟 ○

Batman felt cold. A bone-deep freeze, that spurred even electrons into stopping. It slithered through his veins, paralyzed his nerves, numbed his brain into shocking emptiness. The hand on his shoulder felt burning in comparison.

"Batman," Clark whispered amidst the icy fog. "He is gone."

The fingers gripping Batman’s wrist disappeared and the limb fell limp. The disappearing pillar pushed the frost to reach further. It needled him beneath the nail, battling the words that had been whispered. It tingled him beneath the hairs, hiding the cruel truth from his sight.

Batman had stopped. He had frozen in time. His body felt as far away as Krypton's lost star. His mind had curled into itself in a last desperate attempt to ignore reality. Body moved around him, people spoke both his names, but they failed to reach him.

Mister Freeze spoke of the cold that inhabited him sometimes. He shared insight about his frozen heart, about his icy skin. He talked about the void in his heart, as his loved one remained cold and unresponsive. He preached long monologues about life at 0°C. 

A few months ago, it had seemed freezing to Batman. He had felt compassion for this lost soul, and offered him a second chance; one the villain had abused too many times. Now the water-freezing temperature seemed cool at most. Mister Freeze's loved one was frozen, but there was still a heartbeat beyond her slumber. She could be woken up, brought back to life. There was still hope for Mister Freeze’s void to be filled one day, when he freed her from Morphe’s glacial arms.

Bruce’s void would never be filled.

"Bruce." The burning touch was back on his shoulder. “Bruce, do you hear me?” It slightly pushed him. “You can’t stay here.”

Batman very much wanted to stay here. More people came back, their chatter lost to the deafening rush of a world shattering. It sounded like a mighty tree falling, taking half of the forest with it. Was that how Gepetto felt, when his son left to never return? Jason hated that story. He called Pinocchio an undeserving brat who didn’t know his luck, and Jiminy naive.

“We need to go back,” the annoying voice insisted, this time hauling him upward.

Superman’s nagging slowly mended the thread that connected Batman to reality. He blinked at the fresh night, wondering when the sun had fallen. Would it ever raise again? Of course it would. The world had always been cruel in its perpetual course, never bothering to stop for humans’ petty griefs.

“Bruce?” Now that Batman was awake, Superman was all over him, so close the kryptonian worried face almost touched his skin. The pity disgusted him. It woke the nausea in his body, made roar the fire of his chest. It widened the unnatural gap eating away at his inside. 

Batman pushed Superman away. “I’m fine.”’

He marched towards Jason’s body, barely able to look at it. It felt irreal still; an impossibility in probability’s gears. Carefully, he enveloped his son in his cape, masking away the too pale crimson tainted skin.

Jason was light, too light. Batman’s knees still threatened to buckle under his weight. Traitors. Failure. His staggering was stopped by all-too-familiar fingers.

"I’ve got you."

No you don’t, Bruce wanted to say. You’ll leave, too. 

Superman’s arms wrapped around him, careful to support Batman’s precious cargo. An instant later, they were airborne. Intellectually, Bruce knew Superman was flying. They were going closer to the sun, not away from it. 

In the night’s darkness however, there was no ray to shine on them. As ice ran freely in Bruce’s veins, as time came to a stop and death’s shadow spread over them, it was near impossible to differentiate his inner void from the sky emptiness. By all means, Superman was holding him. And yet…

Bruce was falling.

○ 🃟 •『S』𓋭 • • • ☗ 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 𓅚 𓅨 ☤ 𓌹.𓌺 𓋭 • • • |

He was content.

|  • • • 𓋭 𓌹.𓌺 ☤ 𓅨 𓅚 𓁿 𓅓 🦇 𓐟 🦇 𓅓 𓁿 ☗ • • • 𓋭『S』• 🃟 ○

He was alone.

[dutcher02]

How to achieve personal clarity through mindfulness

In today’s fast-paced world, achieving personal clarity can feel like an elusive goal. We are constantly bombarded by distractions, obligations, and stressors that cloud our judgment and scatter our thoughts. However, mindfulness—the practice of being present in the moment—offers a powerful tool to clear mental fog and cultivate a sense of purpose and direction.

Understanding Personal Clarity

Personal clarity is the ability to understand your thoughts, emotions, and goals with a sense of calm and confidence. It involves distinguishing what truly matters from the noise around you and aligning your actions with your core values. Clarity fosters better decision-making, enhanced productivity, and inner peace.

The Role of Mindfulness in Gaining Clarity

Mindfulness is a mental state achieved by focusing your awareness on the present moment while calmly acknowledging and accepting your feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations. Here’s how mindfulness contributes to personal clarity:

Reducing Mental Clutter: Mindfulness helps you declutter your mind by redirecting focus from incessant worrying about the past or future to the here and now.

Enhancing Self-Awareness: Regular mindfulness practices improve your understanding of your internal thought patterns and emotional triggers, making it easier to identify what truly matters to you.

Strengthening Focus: By training your brain to concentrate on the present, mindfulness minimizes distractions, allowing you to focus on priorities.

Encouraging Emotional Regulation: Mindfulness creates space between stimulus and response, enabling you to react to challenges with composure rather than impulsivity.

Practical Steps to Cultivate Mindfulness

Incorporating mindfulness into your daily routine doesn’t require significant time or effort. Here are actionable steps:

Start with Breathing Exercises

Spend 5-10 minutes each day focusing on your breath. Inhale deeply through your nose, hold for a few seconds, and exhale slowly. This simple exercise anchors you in the present moment.

Engage in Mindful Meditation

Set aside time to sit quietly and observe your thoughts without judgment. Apps like Headspace or Calm can guide you through beginner-friendly meditations.

Practice Gratitude

At the end of each day, reflect on three things you’re grateful for. This practice shifts your focus from negativity to positivity, fostering mental clarity.

Be Present in Daily Activities

Whether it’s eating, walking, or conversing, do so mindfully. Pay attention to textures, sounds, and sensations without letting your mind wander.

Journaling for Reflection

Writing down your thoughts and feelings helps you process emotions and identify patterns that may be obstructing clarity.

Overcoming Common Barriers to Mindfulness

Despite its benefits, many people struggle to adopt mindfulness due to these challenges:

Lack of Time: Start small with just 1-2 minutes of mindfulness and gradually increase the duration.

Restlessness: If sitting still feels uncomfortable, try mindful movement practices like yoga or tai chi.

Skepticism: Approach mindfulness with an open mind, focusing on personal experience rather than preconceived notions.

How to achieve personal clarity through mindfulness

Over time, consistent mindfulness practice rewires your brain for greater clarity and resilience. Studies show that mindfulness enhances cognitive function, reduces stress, and improves emotional well-being—all critical components of personal clarity.

By embracing mindfulness, you’ll not only achieve clarity but also develop a deeper connection with yourself and the world around you. Clarity through mindfulness is not a one-time achievement but an ongoing journey that evolves with you.

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ ix.

CHERRY (CHROMATICS)

"And I can't keep running, All of the time. " wc: 8.5k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

“Gyro Zeppeli! Gyro Zeppeli ! The end of the first stage has given birth to a new king! To the victor goes $10,000 and an hour time bonus – as well as a hundred points.”

Your breathing came heavy and ragged as you slowed Group Four to an exhausted walk. She swayed slightly with each step, but a quick check with Personal Jesus had you confirming it was just tiredness from the race and not something sinister. 

Zeppeli, in his victory, had his seat precariously canted to the left as he raised his arms to wave at the deafening crowd. You, on the other hand, quietly walked Group Four past him and into the ruins of the courtyard of the Santa Maria Novella church. Past the enclosure, you could see a small, quaint town that would probably house the riders tonight. But that was a worry for another hour. Your stomach felt painfully hollow, and you could feel an abject queasiness taking over your gut. 

“– in second , the one and only Sandman – while third is taken by careless comet Pocoloco, then the elusive Brisk-and-Irate takes fourth – third, actually ! Diego Brando, Prince of Jockeys, has only managed to get fourth – is that Pocoloco in fifth ? A point system is being used to determine–”

Rather than wave at the clamour of the crowd, you dismounted in a dazed silence and groggily followed the fresh new signposts that led to the stables. Group Four first, then food . A tiny groom rushed over to take the mare, but the rapid snap of her agitated neck had him scurrying away in fear. 

“ It’s alright, Group Four ,” you murmured, stroking her withers with your free hand. But, unlike usually, her breathing refused to slow as she entered the stone enclosure that marked the perimeter of the stables. You turned, only to see Zeppeli with his own horse – immediately, your own hackles raised at the sight. He’d noticed you only a moment after you noticed him, but your eyes were already averted and honed in on a stall box far away from the man. Who knew if his hostility towards riders extended to their horses too? 

“These stables are guarded, right?” you called out loudly to the scuttling groom, who gave a brief, fearful nod in your direction. What a bug . It was practically a yell: echoing around the stone and bouncing back to where Zeppeli still tended to the horse. Indirectly , it was a challenge – I saw you do all that . However, a lot of your reasoning was also just trepidation in general; there were jockeys here who were likely capable of some pretty horrifying things. “Cheers.”

The menial task of taking her tack off – once such a burdensome task – didn’t bore you today as it had then. You moved with a practiced neutrality as you wiped both mare and equipment. 

“You did really well today, girl,” you crooned softly as you mixed her feed in the bucket. As a response, she huffed on your arm – warm and uncomfortably damp – as if she were in staunch agreement with your observation. In your exhaustion, your nose was dull to the horse-sweat smell; no doubt it rolled off you in pungent waves, after the blistering heat practically macerated you in it. 

“ God , I need a shower,” you muttered sourly, pocketing your gloves with a tired irritation. Food , then hotel , you decided firmly; now that Group Four was settled into the stall box, you were free to meander around and observe the wonders in this tiny village. 

And with a final look back, all was well – the stubborn Appaloosa had made a friend with the short, stocky Palomino in the opposite stall. Beneath your mask, you chewed your lip thoughtfully; she was never one to be friendly, but maybe that only extended to humans. Well , as long as she was happy, you were happy. 

With an unusual cheerfulness, you shouldered your pack and stepped into the light once more. 

It was a rather modest courtyard. There weren’t many you could compare it to, but you supposed that the roughly hewn stone looked like the battered terrace in front of the Institute. Thick, heavy tobacco smoke permeated the air and curled around the chalky odour – just like the familiar cigarette reek of the Institute. You were never one to light one up after each day, but the bitter scent followed and clung to Dr Ferdinand each afternoon as she took a short break. And now, the thick cigars held in the gloved fingers of rich folk milling about with the jockeys reminded you painfully of her. 

You could barely count the number of calling cards you saw being whipped out and handed to the oh-so-fortunate jockeys. You did consider – albeit very briefly – getting one of these patrons to finance this race for you (in return for being the face of their brand), but that leering look in a majority of their eyes made you uneasy to the point that you lingered back in the crowd. 

No , you concluded – it was safer to hang back in the buffet area. There was free water and a free variety of foods to sate the endless protests of your stomach. But when you looked at your tattoo, it only read just past midday. Can’t be . Had the first stage really lasted for that brief moment? You almost felt cheated , but the insistent growling of your stomach had you ignoring that instead. 

You drained both cups of water, slaking your thirst with the metallic-tasting water. Then, you grabbed a plate from the unassuming official and started loading it high with food: a slice of spit-roasted meat, a fresh slice of buttery bread, some smoked fish, and a rich gravy simmering with vegetables that you covered it all in. Like always, there was no arguing that this food was particularly exceptional – rather, the variety reminded you of Vincent’s back at the inn. It smelled decent enough, and that was all you could ask for, really. But you’d definitely be purchasing your own provisions tonight to cook with, in the following days. 

With the precariously wobbling plate, you sat on a low slab of rock that jutted into a haphazard wall. It was an awkward manoeuvre, but you finally managed to set your pack at your feet and your plate firmly in your lap. Then, the first conundrum began. How do I eat ? You considered your possibilities: removing the fabric would run the risk of you possibly being recognised, whereas keeping it firmly in place would let you assume your anonymity longer. There was a third, secret option – eating in Group Four’s stall, but you didn’t particularly like that option.

If you ate with the bandanna on, the gristly meat would soak into it and the soot-smoke particles would infuse the threads of the fabric. Yet, concerningly, you spotted both the short silhouette of Brando conversing with a wealthy businessman – all while Zeppeli’s figure cut through to approach the buffet table. No , you nervously surmised, I’m keeping it on . They’d both definitely recognise you: ruthless Zeppeli, who’d likely accuse you of plotting to poison his drink and immediately throw one of those steel things at you, wasn’t someone you wanted to cross; Brando, who’d gazed at you with such sickening contempt that it seemed personal , also wasn’t a person you wanted to see your face once more. 

Carefully, you arranged your jacket around you so any escaping sauce landed on your worn cargoes, rather than the twisting embroidery on the carmine fabric. Then, the shredding began: metal scraping against bone, bone scraping against meat, and meat scraping against the porcelain. As you tore the food into manageable enough scraps to (hopefully) not ruin your sole bandanna, the rich, salty aroma wafted up – even through the fabric, you could nearly taste the sweet onions and garlic in the gravy.

With your famished stomach, you inhaled copious amounts of food in that narrow time window. Pungent fish, gamey meat, garlic-roasted tubers – they all slid down your throat with an efficiency that surprised even Depeche Mode. When you went back with your emptied plate, the official just stared – scandalised as you loaded it up just as high as before. Among the goulash you tried, there was a pearly-brown grain you later found out was buckwheat oats. They tasted like juiced paper, though they paired well with the salty goulash. 

It was just after your plate was placed on the table stacked high with dirty dishes that it happened.

Mere moments before the commotion began, Depeche Mode stirred at your sternum – like a phantom bird attempting to escape its cage, so too it felt like your breath had escaped your chest. There was no plausible rationale for it, yet you could feel the big, shiny red button swimming up into the forefront of your mind as a precautionary measure – but nothing had yet happened . 

Then, the announcement began, and you met the eyes of an impassive Gyro Zeppeli. 

Alarm bells rang at the sight of him; by all rights, he looked as composed as a highly experienced jockey, though the brutal acceptance with which he showed his victory was off putting. Rather, his brows were drawn together in silent determination: unbothered by the excited stream of businessmen and sponsors who plagued him like rats seeking a morsel of food. 

Beside him, seated on his grey-dappled horse, rode Johnny Joestar – the jockey who’d brushed shoulders with you during that final lineup. He looked every bit as harrowed as you felt: smudged blue lipstick, face marred with a worried frown, and hunched near the champagne table as if he truly felt out of place amidst all the carefree wealthy people. 

You met his eyes briefly – one, two seconds – but were forced to look away as the commentators started a long-winded spiel. 

“ First place is awarded 100 points, second 50, third 40, and so on – it will all be announced soon! The points leader at the end will win the title of Steel Ball Run’s champion. Though there have been some discrepancies regarding an incident in the first stage, we have worked out all the details surrounding this fiasco; the judges will now award the points!”

Meticulously, you studied Zeppeli’s face. It twisted now at those words; his brows were drawn tight and low over those intense eyes – and how those intense eyes glowered furiously at the weather balloons overhead ! Before he even did it, you could already see that tanned hand reaching for those holsters – though, he stopped short to loop his thumb into his belt instead. Watching. Waiting . 

“By deliberation – and oh , how we deliberated! – Gyro Zeppeli was in first place.”

The crowd was silent. None who cheered for Zeppeli before spoke now; not a hush, not even a murmur from the crowd broke the delicate trepidation that threaded itself across everyone present. Was . No, if his face was twisted now, it was positively wicked with a spiteful fervour – attesting that those horrifying emotions were threatening to spill out the proverbial pot. You swallowed heavily. 

“But because he disrupted Sandman during the race… he has incurred a penalty. At around the thirteen kilometre mark, as reported by the judge in the weather balloon, he disrupted the race with some kind of weapon!”

Get to it , you wanted to plead out. Who knew what this suspense would catalyse? With a foul mood and even fouler temper, who could possibly predict the outcome Zeppeli would create?

“Gyro Zeppeli has been lowered twenty places as a penalty. Second will be raised to first, and so forth. Rising in the ranks is Sandman – he who has won the first stage fair and square is Sandmaaaan !”

His eyes were darkened with fury now; with his chin tilted down and eyebrows as low as they could go, he looked every bit the vengeful figure of strife and discord you knew him to be capable of. All too quickly, your mind flashed back to deep maroon blood staining the ground – suddenly, you were back in that morning with the coppery stench of blood sending all your thoughts into disarray. But he didn’t do anything; rather, he remained still and silent. Medusa . He was both statue and Gorgon, glaring up into the faulted sky with an unchanging wrath. 

“Second goes to the ever-elusive, red-adorned Mr Brisk-and-Irate ! Then. the Prince of Jockeys, the English star of the horseracing world – Diego Brando – came in an illustrious third! Pocoloco, he who has found luck in the unluckiest situations, is fourth–”

You tuned out at that point – in your hand, your plate was frozen with disbelief. Second? Second ? In your hazy memory, you remembered only Sandman and Pocoloco came before you, and Brando right after. Though, you couldn’t trust the jostling, ever-changing view from Group Four; there were simply too many things going on to gain accurate information of the situation. Still, second . Second ! You felt stupidly proud, if only for a moment. Fighting a huge smile – then beaming anyways, since it was covered anyway – you placed your plate down with a lightness that betrayed the joy you felt. 

[That’s crazy.]

Up on the large billboard that had been previously blank, were two officials struggling to paste a large sheet of paper onto the wood. It was a vast swathe of paper, yet it was still too far to truly let you see – you shrugged and turned away instead. You’d always be able to just look at it after. 

Yet, any thought of reading the message on the billboard dissipated when you heard the commotion. 

Gyro Zeppeli, with his intense fury, had finally unsheathed those lethal spheres. 

Stricken, you watched as they spun and crackled in his grasp. Your view was partially obstructed by the delicate flutes of champagne, as well as the crowd of wealthy people bustling about – but you craned your neck to watch as he pressed the spinning ball to the tablecloth, regardless of the people that jostled you. 

“–to complain about, Mr Zeppeli? Normally, you would’ve been disqualified for the use of a weapon against another contestant,” Stephen Steel’s voice was muffled as he addressed the angered rider, but you could make out the conversation nonetheless. Beside you, people were also silent to eavesdrop on the confrontation. 

Inexorably, Zeppeli flashed a satisfied grin with those shiny, gold teeth. 

“Got nothin’ to say, really,” he delivered with a nonchalant yawn, slipping the steel ball into its holster once more. “Won’t talk to you anymore – the past is in the past, bygones be bygones, all that rubbish – we can’t do anything except look forward to the future. Right, Mr Steel? Right?”

He rattled it off as if he were reading from a script, though you could faintly register the glee reverberating within his throat. The fuck is he planning ? As he turned to walk away with Johnny still at his side, he enunciated his parting words. “I’m here to make myself better, that’s all – nothing more, nothing less. Go enjoy your champagne!”

Any protests from the race director were engulfed by the worrying sound of bubbling. Wide-eyed, you watched as the popping started – corks after corks shot out of the champagne bottles, arcing politely and hastily onto people’s faces. Amongst the chaos, you slipped quietly away with an amused grin on your face – really, you hadn’t known that he was this petty, to the point that he spitefully inconvenienced people for revenge.   

[That’s funny as hell.]

Silently, you agreed – really, was there anything more joyful than hearing rich people lament about their six-hundred dollar champagne? To top the discord strewn amongst the panicking crowd, the water tower that served as backdrop for the champagne table promptly exploded as a stray cork too many pierced through the creaking hull. You watched, mildly horrified and fascinated, as the esteemed Stephen Steel and half the rich guests were drenched in stale water. 

The culprit had disappeared off to who-knew-where (probably the stables), but you weren’t planning on becoming the next target of his annoyance. That, however, was the least of your worries – just as you turned to leave, you collided with a gentleman that looked more like a drowned rat than any so-called upstanding member of society.

He looked a querulous man: sharp, thin eyebrows; an unsatisfied set of his mouth that sucked any joviality out of his surroundings; and a dull, sombre three-piece suit that stunk of money. Well – it stunk of dirty water now too. Your nose wrinkled at the dust and mud that radiated a rather unpleasant scent, but it wasn’t like he could see through the bandanna anyway.

“How dare you–” he furiously opened his mouth, yet was interrupted by an arm thrown around his shoulder – albeit very gingerly. His previously angered expression turned into one of immediate illness. 

“Sorry for his dourness,” the newcomer interrupted cheerfully, with a faint East London accent. His plump cheeks were rosy with a crisp vitality that spread into the surroundings, but it could’ve very well been the cold water that still streamed in rivulets from his dark curls. He then glanced briefly at the queasy-looking man, before maintaining intense eye contact with you once more. “One small inconvenience, and he snaps like a clam! Or oyster, really, but whatever.”

“No worries,” you attempted to inject as much certainty into your voice as you could, in the perplexing face of this enigma. “I should’ve been watching where I was–”

“Say, you’re that Brisk-and-Irate feller, aren’t you?” he peered closely at you after waving your garbled apology off with his free hand. With some disjointed fumbling, he held out his white-gloved hand for you to shake, which you took hesitantly. “My word, you’re a rather mysterious chap! Fancy spotting the number two contestant, right, Eric?” 

Eric just looked at you blankly, as if he wished for nothing more than to swiftly leave the conversation. 

“I must say- you do have the most warm hands I’ve ever shaken! By Jove , I’ve forgotten to introduce myself – what a rude and inconsiderate pig I’ve been–” he prattled on as he rummaged around in his breast pocket for a tattered and slightly damp card that had fuzzy ink printed onto a yellowed card. He handed it to you proudly, seemingly unaware of just how illegible it was. “I’m Franklin Grantz, second cousin to the old Steel himself and partners with dear Eric for the Boston Equestrian Corps.”

[What a character.]

“I was just speaking to Mountain Tim – you do know him, don’t you, the chap was just talking about you – about a potential sponsorship if all goes well – fingers crossed, Eric, fingers crossed – for some up-and-coming stars just like you!” He finished off with a jovial beam. You pocketed the card in silence, only pausing to mull the thought of Mountain Tim over in your mind. Where was the man? You hadn’t seen the ranger at all since the start of the race – and the uneasy feeling in your stomach was only amplified by the similar look on Eric’s sullen pallor. 

“Right–” he continued, all without drawing breath. Franklin still had that vapid look in his eyes as he rambled, and you could feel the urge to bang your head on the table beside you. “–after your daring stunt with the bridge,  you could be eligible to be endorsed by us in return for being the face of our company! We’re scouting potential spokespeople – don’t tell anyone else, but I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks?” you hesitantly replied, feeling traces of glee at your uncertainty from Depeche Mode. Money would be good , you decided – it would be best to keep an amiable but distant facade, especially with how overwhelming he was. God, what a pain , you lamented. “I’ll keep you guys in mind.”

“What’s your background in racing?” Eric finally found his voice and interrupted the lull in conversation. His tilted, lanky body had finally regained its balance after being shoved down by a heavy arm. Now, rather than looking ill, he looked ill and irritated; his beady eyes bore into yours with a sharpness that hurtled you into disorientation after Franklin’s vacant gaze. His cadaverous lips were still open when you heard another voice from behind you. 

[It’s your best friend.]

“That’s what I’d like to know as well.”

Trepidation crawled across your flesh like maggots worming their way through a corpse. As you turned, the stench of fear festered and pressed up against your skin in an amorphous, writhing beast that refused to quiet. Blood roared in your ears and bile coated your tongue – any lingering amusement that remained had long since dissipated in a trembling wisp of smoke. 

There – still wearing that geometrically-embroidered jacket, still sporting that little smile that held depths of horror, threatening to drown you in its murky, dark depths – was Diego Brando. He locked eyes with you, and your heart stopped beating – once in tandem with your tattoo, now it beat with a disgusting syncopation that made your blood both run too hot and deathly-cold at the same time. Could he tell ? Did he recognise you from that fateful encounter back at Vincent’s? Were you still that same person to him ? 

No. No . You weren’t going to grovel and cower towards some guy . No – you had bigger things to worry about than that sickening smile . In that moment, you straightened your posture, until you towered over the short jockey. 

“I’m afraid it’s not that extensive,” you replied evenly (though it was terribly croaky for your standards). You focused on Eric when you answered, choosing to ignore the crushing pressure that emanated from Brando’s presence. “This is actually my first race.”

Surreptitiously, you shoved your hands into your pockets and hid the beating tattoos that threatened to reveal just exactly who you were. Maybe it was a fool’s move to admit your incompetence, or maybe it was a stroke of brilliance – either way, in the face of that unexpected question, you blurted out the truth without consulting even Depeche Mode. 

[That is a stupid move.]

“Really?” Eric’s thin eyebrows shot up into his greasy hairline; he looked askance at Franklin in horror. “And to think, Grantz, you really wanted a novice to represent Boston?”

“Why not?” 

The question left both Eric and you speechless. Gone was Franklin’s carefree attitude – at this moment, his rounded eyes were blunt and serious as he met the gazes of those present in the conversation. Beside you, you could feel Brando’s eyes taking in your measure once more; his pupils left burning pinpricks through your mask and you fought the urge to go back to the safety of the stables. 

“Why- why not?” Eric spluttered in disbelief – rapidly and clunkily, he detangled himself from the careless limb of Franklin, pointing at him in accusation. “I can’t believe you – always acting the fool – but this, truly, is a new low.”

“Shut up, Eric,” the man in question answered calmly. He addressed him now, though made no effort to tone down his volume. “Haven’t I always brought the business to new peaks? With the race now – the success is sure to be booming, I know it, old Steel will pull through – millions across America are going to be inspired by the brave plights of the jockeys scrambling for the trophy.”

You exchanged a brief glance with Brando, almost unconsciously. His eyes were more thoughtful than you remembered. 

“And who will they root for? Not the middlemen, not the failed jockeys who started in disgrace and ended in disgrace, but those who start from the very bottom and succeed . Someone–” here, Franklin clasped your shoulder with enough momentum that you shrunk an inch. Then, rapidly, he began forcefully rocking you back and forth, until you could only stare at Eric in a Plea for Help. “–someone who embodies their own stories. So what do you say, you promising star?”

“I’ll, err, think about it,” you mumbled dizzily. He let go at that, though your head still buzzed from the shaking. 

“Great!” 

“Right,” Eric glared at him sullenly. Within a minute, Franklin was dragging the gaunt man along with him once more. 

“I’ll wrangle out some details and get Eric to draft up a rough contract for you to sign soon!” he yelled over his shoulder. You could only nod, slightly dumbfounded and stupefied as to whatever the hell had just transpired. As soon as his jovial face winked out of sight, you slumped against the empty table. 

“ What the fuck ,” you breathed out. What a strange individual – what a perplexing man. Your head pounded, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep. Blazing rays beat down from the sun; it was still the early afternoon, yet you could already feel yourself slipping into the realm of unconsciousness. 

“Are you sure I haven’t met you on the circuit before?”

The question almost had you yelp out in surprise. In your dazed stupor, you’d almost forgotten the very scary jockey still standing by you, to the point where that turquoise had simply blended into the haze of the backdrop. 

“No, you haven’t,” you may have delivered it with as much nonchalance as you could muster, yet your heart was pounding against your lungs and your palms were slicked with a cold, panicked sweat. In the blistering heat, your teeth chattered with a chill that was impossible to quash. 

“Where could you have possibly learnt to ride with such risk? The circus?” 

“Magic,” you snapped exasperatedly – the slimy way with which he asked the question almost had you irrationally mentioning Vincent’s name, which might’ve spelled tragedy for you, had he recognised the moniker. The absolute zero that froze your blood was slowly heating into a nervous anger; you were much too tired to deal with his pestering. “I clicked my heels together three times and turned into a fucking jockey.”

“What?” 

[Isn’t it too early for that reference?]

“What?” you scowled back. Ah . This man was attempting to gauge the opposition; it all clicked into place, and your expression shifted and lowered into a more guarded one. Caution and confrontation warred within your brain – your lips opened and closed beneath the fabric in a jape of a response. Depeche Mode bristled at the way you ignored it, but you ignored that too. “I don’t know you – haven’t heard of you – so stop asking silly questions like you know me.”

His eyes widened in surprise, almost imperceptibly. But before you could start feeling the prickles of guilt leeching your assurance, he held up his hands in one fluid motion of placation. The lines between genuine and carefully machinated had blurred in his face – all that you felt in that one moment was confusion and wariness. “I don’t mean to offend – deepest apologies really – I was merely curious about an interesting decision made by an interesting jockey.”

[This guy’s full of shit.]

Maybe , you conceded carefully. No, he hadn’t figured you out yet – had he any inkling that you were that one random person from Vincent’s, he would’ve turned on you with that ferocious glare once more. It was too personal for him not to remember your face with loathing. You felt as queasy as Eric had looked. 

“Sorry too,” you tugged on your gloves once more, all too awkwardly. It was made all the more awkward by the fact that you had to turn away slightly to conceal the tattoos lining your palms and arms, but somehow – somehow – you managed to get them on. “Didn’t mean to be all rude.”

“Don’t worry – we’re all tired, aren’t we?” Brando replied smoothly. There was something in his tone that made you pause. A certain oily charm, a certain underlying motive that made your skin crawl. This wasn’t just a mere change of personality; this Brando was on a completely different plane than the lordling you’d crashed into and greatly offended. What the fuck is up with this guy ?

[Maybe he’s looking for a strong ally?]

As much as you wanted to vehemently ignore Depeche Mode’s proposal, there was a grain of sense in that ridiculous question. Here, you weren’t a sworn public enemy for bumping into him – or was it him that bumped into you? – you were just a jockey who’d scored above Brando and made an extremely reckless move that won out in the end. No, this wasn’t just an exchange of pleasantries – this was a preliminary probing to see whether you could potentially be of some use, or if you were just fool’s gold. 

Fuck . You wanted nothing more than to be standing in the lab once more, instead of navigating this treacherous current. 

There were three things you could be labelled as: potential ally, potential nobody, or potential threat . Your position in the rankings put you in the latter category so far; whereas you wanted nothing more than to be in the middle. In the welcome, average middle-ground, it would just be dumb luck that you succeeded, and that scary jockey would leave you alone. You’d already screwed up somewhat by appearing too hostile – now, you truly had to play the fool. 

“You, uhh, enjoying the party?” 

[Great job, you unsociable toad.]

Was it even a party? This isn’t a party, is it … Beneath the thick fabric, your disgusted wince went unnoticed. You looked away from him as if that could possibly stave off the embarrassment radiating from you. But isn’t that the point ? You desperately tried to rationalise the question so you could actually sleep at night without yelling at yourself. 

“It’s quaint enough,” he commented after a sizable pause. God , you prayed to the heavens. If you exist, deliver me from this awful conversation . Maybe that was finally it – maybe those were his parting words with which you could make a hasty retreat, but he had to open his mouth once more. “You said you were a novice to racing?” 

“Novice to horse-riding, actually – I started a month back,” you admitted, then promptly cursed yourself out once more in the echo chamber of your mind. God , why did you offer up the information so freely? You didn’t like this guy one iota – why were you so forthcoming? You grabbed a flute of champagne – one that somehow managed to evade the unfortunate fate of its siblings – from a passing waiter and took an awkward, beneath-the-bandanna sip to ease your parched mouth. The exhaustion had accumulated so much that it was all you could do to focus on your words to make sure you didn’t screw up further; the only thing to be grateful about with this conversation was that you hadn’t yet blurted out that you were a time traveler. Those were the things that could get you locked up and lobotomised if you weren’t careful. 

Shit . You felt your blood freeze as you realised your admission could class you as a threat. God , you were such an idiot. Brando’s expression hadn’t changed, but you could feel his assessment of you switch . 

“That’s really impressive – to think that you made such a… brave move on that bridge, with such little experience” he remarked sardonically. The emphasis on brave was enough to politely hint at a very Foolish And Stupid move. You could feel your face settle into a rather ugly scowl; there was no way for him to know about Depeche Mode, but he didn’t have to talk to you like he thought you were an idiot. 

“Spur of the moment,” a shrug punctuated the terse reply. Why’s the peanut gallery commentating ? Spur – your eyes crinkled minutely at the realisation, then in annoyance as you realised how he skirted around the topic. If Mountain Tim was good at evading his own fucking point , then this guy was the goddamn deity ruling over the category. But you had to be careful – unlike the ranger, provoking this man would surely spell out doom for you. With each second that beat within the flesh of your palm, you felt your headache getting worse and worse. 

“I see,” his blond eyebrows were carefully neutral. You could almost hear the cogs whirring in his mind, just as you felt the phantom sensation with each slot spin. “And you – entering the Steel Ball Run – are you doing so for all the same reasons as these other fools?” 

Us and them . Are you like them ? It clicked suddenly; he lured people in by saying they were different , that amidst the dull sea of humanity they were like him – someone who had the potential to be a star like he was. And you, like the shallow person you were, had fallen right into the honey-trap and divulged information you wouldn’t have otherwise – certainly not to some lordling who’d looked at you (only days prior!) like you were the most rancid shit that had ever marred his pristine boots. It was subtle – enough to be effective especially on the already insecure, but not so much that it was cloying. 

It worked to his advantage – he’d secure precious information, while also appearing amiable and untouchable to those he didn’t choose to approach.  

These other fools . 

You may have been competing for other reasons, but you were a fool nonetheless. 

No . This was an opportunity. If you wanted to succeed in your – however impossible – goal, then you had to change within. Here was a perfect platform to which you could jump off into mediocrity – in Brando’s eyes, anyway. 

“Are you talking about the great prize?” you forced a laugh to cloud your throat with humorous bilge. Coy, just another contestant who’d heard of the money. But no – you had shown that your luck was above the rest (save maybe Pocoloco’s). Conspiratorially, you leaned in slightly and lowered your voice. “I’m not after the money, but something else – I just need to survive this race, then I can go back home to my folks.”

There . A simple story, simple motivation – and above all, the establishing of you not being a threat . 

“I didn’t even think I’d get through this first stage,” you added on, letting your disbelieving smile seep into your voice. Perfect. A random, self-deprecating jockey who’d accidentally had the fortune of stumbling onto the still-stable bridge. What a feat. What a victory. Maybe he’d believe you, maybe he wouldn’t, but you knew the story was somewhat convincing – with the left out detail of why it would allow you to go back home, it would give the story enough personal privacy to make any person feigning politeness not ask about it. 

[You sure think a lot for an idiot.]

“I hope you achieve your goal,” he interrupted the monotonic drawl of Depeche Mode curtly. He’s gotten what he’s come for . You were expecting him to turn on his heel and leave to go scrawl the encounter down, or whatever he did when scheming, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to grab your free hand. Startled, you could only freeze in place as your heart skipped a beat – though the tattooed pocket watch now pressed against his fingers still thumped, heavy and steady, beneath your riding glove. This close, he smelled of both horse sweat and patchouli. 

What the hell is he doing ?

“I really must bid you adieu,” he murmured – the whiplash from the soft tone against his horror-inducing gaze only days prior almost made you throw up on the spot. You could only watch on, dumbfounded, as he raised your slack hand to his face and briefly pressed his lips against the back of it. 

Then, just as quickly as it happened, he was swept by the crowd once more. 

What the fuck ?

[What the fuck?]

Dazedly, you placed your drained flute onto the table behind you. What the hell was that about ? Uneasiness roiled and festered in your wriggling intestines; you could feel your body get both too hot and too cold simultaneously. Your head hurt, your heart was pounding far too fast, and your legs shook with nerves. The sun was too bright, and the air too warm. As far as you were concerned, that was merely a show of respect that the British gentry were fond of; regardless, the closeness made your mouth dry with nervousness.

You stumbled your way to the cooler shade of the Santa Maria Novella church, until you could languish in the shadows. That pathway led back to the stables, and then it trailed down to the shallow-dipping valley that held a modest town. Deliriously, all you could do was take hesitant steps in the freezing heat of the shadows – there, there was the gate, so far yet so near. 

Just a few more steps , you pleaded with yourself. You’ll get out of here soon , you reasoned. Think about the soft, not lice-ridden bed , you attempted. Such a nice bath you’ll take , you cajoled. 

There was a smaller billboard posted by the side of the crumbling stone bricks. As you stood there, staring tiredly at the swimming letters proudly proclaiming you as second – with 50 points to your name – you noticed Gyro’s name pasted sullenly at the twenty-first place. Valkyrie , you read. You finally had the name of that horse that still thundered in your mind’s eye, with that russet cloak that billowed over it. Wonderful . 

Just as you turned to leave once more, a heavy hand clapped down onto your shoulder; you could feel your eyes roll back in your skull as you bemoaned your luck. Again ? Irritation forced your eye into a twitch, and you could feel your fists clench in preparation for the torrential slew of insults that threatened to flood out into the stale, stony air. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” the low, melodic voice of Mountain Tim entered your ear canal. Even though you still felt a surging anger at the interruption of your going to deep slumber, at least it wasn’t an annoying buffoon – like Franklin – coming to pester you. Small mercies, small mercies . "I wasn't sure I'd see you here."

[You guys are literally in the same race.]

You turned, and there he was – elusive ranger, decked out in his usual, dusty gear that was even dustier than usual after a whole, desperate race. Where’d he land on the scoreboard? Fifth ? Sixth ? You couldn’t recall, and neither did you particularly care at that moment. Regardless, you still forced yourself to relax your tightly-strung core – exhaustion seeped out of every pore at the motion with the fury having nowhere to dissipate. 

“Congratulations on your high placement,” you commented dryly. If he noticed your unenthusiastic tone, he sure didn’t react to it; rather, his lips stretched into a small, soft smile that appeared a lot more bashful than you expected. 

[This is a whole grown man.]

“You too,” he replied, still carrying over that mellowness in the timbre of his voice. Then, his smile widened into a smug expression you’d never seen on his face before. “I told you that you were a good jockey – look at you, scoring second like that.”

“A lot of it was Group Four and luck,” you insisted with an amused huff of air that devolved into a short laugh as you recalled her mad dash for the trees. “She just dove straight into that forest and navigated it seamlessly.”

“You deserve credit too,” he shrugged casually, but cast his eyes to the side as if he was thinking about something. “She’s not a particularly tall or young horse, so she can navigate obstacles like these without too much difficulty. Martha told me you didn’t choose her taking these into consideration, but you did choose a good horse regardless.”

“Anyway,” he continued before you could reply; with a serious voice, he locked eyes with you once more and leaned in so his words wouldn’t carry in the breeze that had started up. “I didn’t come here for idle chat – and I’m afraid it’s a matter of great importance.”

Once, twice he glanced about, before coming closer to your ear to speak even quieter. From the light where people mingled, this looked a rather odd scene; yet, the gravity of the situation made it fly completely out of your mind. Never had you seen him look so sombre – certainly, it was out of place for him. “I’m not supposed to tell you this – so long as you keep quiet – but there've been some candidate murders I’ve been asked to investigate. All potential suspects I’m supposed to pursue; just be careful.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” You had meant for the question to come out light-hearted, yet it was heavy with worry. Murders . Murders had occurred in this race; you weren’t truly surprised, yet it still shocked you nonetheless. Less than a day had passed, and people had already been killed in cold blood. You felt a sliver of worry – maybe you could purchase a carbine or other gun, just to be on the safe side. 

“I’ll be fine,” he replied seriously. In his light brows was the fierce set of determination; despite knowing him only a few weeks, it was strangely reassuring. “I’m a bounty hunter.”

“Still,” you murmured defeatedly. “Is there anything I should look out for?”

“They’re a highly unusual set, according to the sheriff – everything’s out of the ordinary,” he confessed. All of a sudden, he looked perturbed. Unusual, how ? Maybe they had a special ability just like you did – the thought made horror seep chillingly into your bones. “Just be on the lookout for any strange individuals approaching.”

“Will do.”

“I have to go,” Mountain Tim pulled back and turned to face the blazing light. His shoulders were set with a finality you really didn’t want to ask about. One last time, he looked back. 

“Good luck,” your words came out far too quiet against the thick fabric covering them. But they conveyed the message – the ranger gave you a thin, strained smile before disappearing into the flood of blinding light. 

[What now?]

What now, indeed ? Exhaustion plagued your every thought, and your limbs all felt terribly heavy. There was nothing you could do – no precaution at this very moment, not even handling a gun – and all you wanted to do was slip into sleep. This day hadn’t unfurled fully, and already you were regretting the energy you’d poured into getting here. Resolution and determination devolved into just wanting this all to be over . 

You were covered with dust, and the air was thick with the stench of sweat and ammonia. Hastily, you stepped out of the gate and into the stable section; really, it still wasn’t better, what with all the horse dung and damp hay.

I’ll check on Group Four once more, before taking a bath then sleeping , you decided firmly. Small things – small steps – at a time. With your newfound resolution, you marched through the throng of jockeys milling about and into the cool, rough-stone building. On your tired, wrung out body, the dappling shadows felt like a slice of heaven. 

[Well, this is certainly awkward.]

It had been an easy feat to find Group Four’s stall once more – just like earlier, she was contentedly resting in the small box amidst piles of fresh hay. Once she heard your echoing footsteps on the flat slabs of rock, her head shot up and she let out a deafening snort at your arrival. 

That was all fine and well. 

What wasn’t fine and well, however, was the sight that greeted you. There, sitting in a steel wheelchair, just a few stalls over, was Johnny Joestar – and beside him, the dreaded Champagne Terroriser himself. You suppressed a loud groan as you approached Group Four; how could you possibly reassure and talk to your horse in the company of such a Murderous Fiend and his buddy? Should you just stand there with your horse in silence? Should you leave ?

No – approaching then leaving as soon as you spotted them was a sure sign of outward dislike. With all you’d witnessed of Gyro Zeppeli, you might as well have signed your own name onto his mental hit list. Instead, you’d just ignore them; in return, you hoped they would ignore you. It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable position; you could practically smell the charred smoke of your hat as Zeppeli intently glowered at the back of your head. 

You were close enough that you could overhear fragments of their conversation, yet were too far to pick up anything of any use . Looking back on it, there were only a few things you’d gleaned from their hurried words. His horse’s name is Slow Dancer – that grey Appaloosa had only been bought by Johnny today, something which made your brows rise under the shadows of your hat. The coffee here is terrible – it was delivered with such a petulant tone from Zeppeli that you exhaled forcefully under your bandanna in something akin to a laugh while you quietly rubbed Group Four’s coat with some oil to stave off the dry, flakey skin that came with such a hot sun. 

Thirdly – and most importantly – the next stretch of the race would span over a thousand kilometres . You had barely skimmed over the race rulebook with the guide inside – it threw you off, and confirmed just how out of your depth you were. This first taste of an exhaustive race already had you dead on your feet; did you really think that you’d make the next stage, given that it would be several days before you crossed the finish line? You wouldn’t ever make it to Valentine if you were murdered at some point during the lone race.  

You needed allies, but had no one you could trust. 

A quick check of Group Four by the resident veterinary and head groom had you assured that there was no strange limp or stone stuck in her hoof when she walked. She, unlike you, was a lot more prepared for the gruelling stage than you were. Her initial skittishness had dissipated and she was as serene as you’d ever seen her. At least one of us is ready , you observed enviously.

It was pointless worrying about tomorrow. There was nothing you could – save falling into the healing embrace of sleep. 

. 　⁺ ✦

The seedy motel you’d found had peeling wallpaper and moth-eaten carpets – and the bed had the faint perfume of mildew layered atop dust – but you had a tub and somewhere to finally sit down. Small mercies , but you really couldn’t complain after all the rooms had been filled up by jockeys desperately wanting a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. 

Really, the bed was more like a coffin than somewhere to temporarily sleep – it was much too narrow, while the thin coverlet slipped off your shoulders as you hastily penned down your letter. In the fading glow of twilight, it was essential to scrawl down all you could before you lost all light. Although, the parchment felt more like you were dragging two Velcro straps against each other and trying to write coherent words; your eyes, on the other hand, were drooping shut with the sheer exhaustion that wracked your body. 

Maybe I should go to bed , you contemplated drowsily. It had been a long day – from the ecstatic pride that rushed through you at being named second place, to the flood of $600 champagne, to the kiss on your hand that you really didn’t know how to feel about – it stripped you of any energy you’d had. 

That kiss . Unwilling as you were to remember it, that moment rose in your weary mind on loop. Incessant. Disgusting. Intriguing . With all your experience gauging how people felt, you were completely lost on what emotions had been running through his own head in those precious few seconds. You knew members of the gentry employed it as a show of respect – it could’ve very well been a gesture adopted by the lordling, and that was to be expected. Had he meant it as such? 

It couldn’t have possibly been respectful. Maybe on the surface – you didn’t know a lot about the mysterious British prince of horseracing, but you knew he wasn’t one to throw out uncalculated moves. Yes , you decided, it was a show of respect. A farce . He’d gotten the information he’d sought out, and this was just a placation to someone lower than him in his alleged pecking order. His unfortunate target would be left with the impression that this great star actually held them in high regard, while he’d walk away with his proverbial gold and knowledge that he’d successfully curried favour with them. 

You felt exhausted.  

Unbidden, Depeche Mode popped into existence with unusually furrowed clock-hand brows. It said nothing to you, and you said nothing in return. Rather, it just quietly took the paper and quill out of your slack hand and placed them on the tiny bedside table – then, inexplicably, it tucked you in and disappeared just as suddenly.

Your throat felt tight (with exhaustion or with a strange, deep sorrow – you couldn’t tell and didn’t want to). Steadily, you were losing the lucidity of consciousness; even now, you felt like this was more dream than reality – drifting in and out of the dark abyss of a strange plane of existence. But it wasn’t obtrusive – not like today, where everything had crowded your senses and filled you with an urge to implode with irritation. 

No. You were at peace in this moment. The draught streaming in through the window was cold, and you were awash with calm acceptance.  

In another life, these moments felt like a clean balm to your soul. Everything was overturned by the crisp air – a new leaf , a new beginning .

It would be alright. 

Silently, you sunk into a dreamless slumber. 

. 　⁺ ✦

Dear Vincent,

I know if you’re reading this, Dolly’s reading it too. I hope this letter finds you well – I was told jockeys have a high priority in the mailing system (apparently they use birds?). I hope you two are doing great; even with only a day between us, it feels strange not being in the inn at this time and running errands. I miss the two of you. 

I don’t know what to say. By now, I think you two have heard I came second in the first stage. It was filled with a great stink – the ground practically shook with the force of the horses rushing through, and the air was completely drenched in dust and sweat. Group Four pulled through and I think she deserves the victory; I let her take control during the forest rush and just closed my eyes and hoped for the best (I know what you’re going to say, Vincent). I’ll be taking it easy during the second stage, but I’ll try write more.  

Thank you for everything – you didn’t have to take me in, but I’ll be eternally grateful that you did. I’ll be following your advice for Group Four to the letter from now on, and without those lessons I don’t think I would’ve made it. If you see Martha anytime soon, tell her thank you from me too. 

It might get dangerous from here on out. 

I’ll visit after it’s all over, before I have to go home.

Thank you once again. 

. 　⁺ ✦

[haimont]

Will Camping Overnight Be Exhausting?

Will camping overnight be exhausting? The answer to this question is definitely YES.

If you don't get a good night's sleep, you will feel extremely tired.

The vast majority of people give up on camping after just a short experience because they can't get a good night's sleep. It may seem unbelievable, but it's true that many people have a not-so-good experience on their first night camping, and it completely turns them off from camping again.

As a person with a considerable amount of camping experience, I have slept in various enchanting settings, ranging from the lush forests of the Dabie Mountains and the tranquil banks of the Yangtze River to the vast grasslands and snow-capped mountains of Tibet. I've slept in the simplest makeshift shelters, regular four-season outdoor tents, military tents, sandpits, cat ear caves, and foxholes. Through all these experiences, I have discovered some recurring patterns:

First thing you need to know: the first night is the toughest to endure.

The main reason for the difficulty on the first night is the change in sleeping environment.

Sleep is a tricky thing, which is really hard to say: some people can't stand any light, while others need a small night light. Some prefer a high pillow, while others like to sleep without one at all. Everyone has their own unique preferences, but when you go camping, the sleeping environment inevitably undergoes changes, making it harder for people to fall asleep.

It's practically impossible to replicate the exact sleeping conditions you have at home while you're out in the wilderness. As a result, the first night of camping is generally the most challenging. The following day, you feel groggy and extremely uncomfortable. If you manage to get an hour or two of sleep on the first night, you're considered lucky. However, if you can't manage to close your eyes all night, you're in real trouble. You find yourself in a state where sleep is elusive, and when you're awake, you end up with a headache.

Generally speaking, on the first night of camping, you can usually manage to doze off for a brief period, even an hour or two is sufficient. However, if you find yourself unable to sleep, don't get anxious or frustrated; it's best to stay calm and simply lie down to rest.

The second day is crucial: learn from your discomfort on the first night and take steps to improve your sleeping conditions.

Therefore, camping overnight can be tiring, but it's not impossible to overcome. You need to focus on two things:

Surviving the first night

Improving the environment during the second day.

Surviving the first night is essential, and you should take note of the following aspects:

1. Temperature:

Make sure you don't freeze yourself to death. In reality, it's not just the cold that's a concern; the wind can be even more brutal. Avoid setting up your camp in windy areas, and ensure your tent is fully windproof.

If that's not possible, find ways to protect yourself from the direct impact of the wind. During my military training days, I had to sleep in sandpits. I would dig a hole in the sandy ground, place a tarp and a sleeping pad, and keep my clothes on while wrapping myself in a blanket and a sheepskin coat for camping. In the Chaidamu Basin in October, the nights were already freezing, and "snow in August" is no joke. In a sandpit, you get no protection from the wind, and to be honest, it's almost impossible to fall asleep. Initially, I was worried about sand getting into my sleeping pad and blanket, so I tried to separate them with the tarp. However, in less than two hours after nightfall, I gave up and just pulled the tarp over the top to block the wind. At that point, who cared about the sand anymore? Anything was better than freezing to death.

2. Humidity:

Excessive humidity can be incredibly uncomfortable, leaving you feeling sticky all over, and your skin sticking to everything it touches. It's very unpleasant and makes falling asleep nearly impossible. Moreover, if moisture gets trapped inside your sleeping bag or blanket, it becomes even more uncomfortable, and as the night goes on and temperatures drop, it can turn uncomfortably cold.

During border patrols in Tibet, there were times when we had to sleep in gullies. The water vapor from India collided with the Himalayas, creating clouds and mist, which led to extremely high humidity. It felt as if you could wring rainwater out of the air. In such conditions, you need to protect yourself from both rain and moisture, and it's best to avoid using sleeping bags with synthetic linings. My trick was to bring along a small piece of thin plastic sheeting, lightweight but with a decent surface area, and place it underneath my sleeping area to insulate against moisture.

3. Snakes and insects:

It's advisable to opt for a tent with mesh screens and complete enclosure to minimize any unnecessary risks. Snakes don't negotiate with you. Generally, snakes won't actively attack humans, but they can't predict whether you'll attack them. In case of a misunderstanding, if one bites you, even if it's non-venomous, it can still be a terrifying experience. So, when you venture outside your tent at night, make sure not to be careless and always use your flashlight when needed.

4. Mudslides:

Before setting up camp, at least take a moment to survey the area. The world is vast, and there's no need to jeopardize your life by camping in a gully or under a cliff. There are plenty of safe places without the risk of mudslides or avalanches, so why do you insist on seeking excitement and putting yourself in harm's way? What's the point?

On the second night, you have the advantage of a full day to make improvements based on the challenges you faced with sleeplessness on the previous night. How exactly you can enhance your camping experience is something you'll need to figure out for yourself, as the environment and individual needs can differ. However, I do have a few items that I always bring along and would like to recommend to you.

1. Entrenching tool (Military Shovel):

A versatile tool! It can dig trenches, chop wood, level the ground, and even be used in combat! It's an absolute essential for any household trip, military march, or camping adventure! Just make sure to avoid buying those "multi-functional" folding gadgets from online stores. Instead, look for the simplest and most functional type – the kind issued by the military!

2. Plastic sheeting:

Don't go for anything too thin or too thick, and definitely avoid those fancy ones. Opt for the simplest type, similar to the kind used in agricultural plastic greenhouses. It's lightweight, durable, and incredibly versatile. You can use it for setting up tents, as a groundsheet, to collect rainwater and dew, and even to create an impromptu water pool by digging a hole and lining it with the plastic sheeting. There's no limit to its usefulness; it's a must-have for various camping needs!

3. Mineral water bottle:

Any regular mineral water bottle can prove to be far more versatile than you'd think. Wrapped in a towel, it becomes a pillow; placed under a wooden board, it can help with balancing. It can hold water, serve as a makeshift raft, and even act as a filter. The possibilities are endless!

On the following day, make the most of your time to make some improvements, and coupled with being genuinely tired, you'll find it easier to fall asleep on the second night and recover quite a bit. This process may repeat itself for a while, but as you gradually become familiar with the environment, it will get better.

Therefore, camping can be tiring primarily because of the changes in surroundings and the need for adaptation. If you mentally prepare yourself, it won't be as uncomfortable as you might expect. The key is the second day; figuring out ways to improve your situation on that day will help you get through it. It's at this point that you can truly start to enjoy camping.

[luxmaeastra]

//MAE LOOK!!!!!//

Samyaza looked around the castle, beautiful but devoid of warmth. He'd seen Natalia and grown up in Ephriam's. There has been warmth there, beauty, Rhain seemed uncomfortable even here.

Wasn't he king?

Miryam stepped toward the king, her dark hair in a braid. She'd had males fight for her years. Everyone always talked about the Unmated Valg and their violence.

Did anyone wonder of the Unmated Females? The violence they could unleash? The chaos they could unleash if they harnessed that rage?

Did anyone care what happened to the females who didn't understand they'd been mated and Marked?

Under Maeve it has slowed down, had even stopped in some places (is gone underground). She'd cracked down on it, had no tolerance for that type of behavior.

Miryam looked to Rhain, dark eyes taking him in.

"Why haven't you remodeled in the last couple hundred years you've held this kingdom? Why haven't you made it your own?"

She wasn't a fan of Turned, no one was. They were unpredictable, some of them had no morals. And the ones who did (like Rhain) seemed to be so fucking soft hearted.

But she couldn't go back to her mother, being a token bride. She couldn't go to Sebastian, he'd allowed what happened to Celestina all those years ago.

It had ended as well as it could but how many of those did? She'd still seen the marks on her skin, the way she jumped at any loud noise.

Ephriam was a good male to her, to his children. But was that all for show? Was -

Samyaza's touch on her elbow dragged her back. He'd been sent like a dog to get her back.

Did Drakon not realize he'd been the one to help he run that night everything went up in flames?

Did he know he was basically giving them in?

She saw that Priestess again. The one with the soft eyes and wide eyes. The one that Drakon didn't hide his gaze from.

Was it a rouse to get to be with her? Blame Samyaza for fucking his soon to be bride and take the female he clearly had eyes for?

Pythia had seemed so sweet, kind. She shuddered to think what that female was about to endure.

Miryam exhaled and looked to Rhain. "Maeve's kingdom is set to fall. My mother always believed you ousted Sebastian and Natalia from their kingdom all those years ago in Terresan. Is it true? I will bow to that King, my house will side with you in this. You're going for Doranelle's throne right? That's why you prepared your Heir for right?"

Hypaxia was elusive but she had seen her once or twice over the years. The way she hung onto Sebastian's son as if she held no self-respect. As if she had no personality and identity of her own, almost like that Autumn girl..Agatha? Amaya?

Anastasiya. Right. So unmemorable she didn't even wish to remember her.

Still they were powerful, or at least they should be. Autumn will be going for the throne. Any Princess with her marks would be.

Miryam was happy she didn't need to if Hypaxia was their choice. She raised her eyebrow at Rhain, her chin held high.

"Do you accept Rhain? Are you the King I learned about?"

That was a loaded question, one he wasn’t sure if he should answer or not. Had they already not gone toe-to-toe with Natalia and her family, had they not already disrupted the course of Night because they were not given what was rightfully theirs? Would they be forgiven a second time if they acted against the children.

Still it was a question that lingered, it was one which he didn’t know if he was really ready to answer. So many vied for their throne, yet there were also others who didn’t. Day, Dusk were two courts who were saying away. As was Dawn. It made him wonder why, but he knew better than to pry into that at this time.

In time, in time secrets would be revealed. For now Doranelle was the throne they were all wanting, it was one which was important. He stood tall when she spoke, when she announced her family’s standing. So many sweet words from her lips, he didn’t know if he honesty believed what she said…but allies.

“And what will you gain from it if I do?” He asked. She was clearly already spoken for, he wasn’t blind to see her bond with the male who appeared with her. And he…he had his mate. He had no need for another female, especially not with the gossip he had heard.

“Well?”