#varying schedule

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[light-wynd]

Coming back from my unintentional hiatus for a second to wish my son a happy birthday

[casual-praxis]

Assorted Four Swords Headcanon's #1

If the colors were not merged back together, here's some of my takes on how they adapted to continued existence.

+ Blue is the early riser of the group (though he's still not a morning person). He tends to get up around sunrise so he can make breakfast for everyone (the curse of being the only one who can cook). Red is a morning person once he fully wakes up, but he'll stumble about until then. Green would rather sleep in but as the leader, he also gets up at or around sunrise Vio would become nocturnal if the others let him, so don't expect to see him until around midday at the earliest.

+ Red is the easiest to pick up out of the four, and the others eagerly take advantage of this. It's one of the few things that annoy Red to no end. Like, he's refusing to go somewhere? Unusual, but pick him up. Is he standing in the way? They could ask him to move, but picking him up is more fun. Is he still not fully awake? Might as well pick him up.

Everyone holds him differently too. Blue throws him over his shoulder (Red's least favorite carry), Green picks him up bridal style (which usually involves Red's legs getting kicked out from under him, can be fun but disorienting), and Vio picks him up at the waist (he's not held for long as a result, mostly just for relocation purposes).

+ Vio can sit and or sleep in any position comfortably. Doesn't matter if he's sitting on the ground, laying half way off his bed, or upside down on the couch, he doesn't feel discomfort. Sometimes he gets into weird positions on purpose just to mess with the others. Shadow was a bad influence on him.

+ Speaking of Shadow, I like to think he mimics the motions of others when they're talking. Not in a mocking way, just out of natural reflex. So if Green were talking with his hands, Shadow would be copying him, though usually not within the speaker's line of sight. Vio mimics Shadow too sometimes, just to make him feel better about it.

+ Green is a worrier. It's kind of hard not to be when the others are the way they are. They're all a team, but Green is their appointed leader, and sometimes the stress of keeping everyone safe wears on him. The other's are pretty good about noticing when he's freaking out internally, but so far only Red or Zelda have much success in calming his nerves. A reassuring hug and kind words go a long way.

[hauntingofhouses]

Blue Eye Samurai & Themes of Breaking Free from Binaries and Boxes

Mizu must choose between being a woman or a man, between feminine and masculine.

Mizu must choose between being Japanese or white.

Mizu must choose between being human (loving) or demon (hateful).

Mizu has struggled against the chains placed upon her since birth, but no matter how much she writhes and pushes against them, the chains remain. And they will continue to, until she learns to accept all of those facets of herself and suppress none of it.

Mizu must realise that she is both feminine and masculine; Japanese and white; human and demon. Mizu is all of these things and everything in between and at the same time she is none of them. She is simply Mizu. Only upon accepting this can she slice through the chains and find freedom.

But Mizu isn't the only one faced with these stifling binaries and predetermined paths. Each of the main four characters represent this theme as well.

"This is the world. It grants women a fixed number of paths. Proper wife or improper whore." -Seki, to Akemi

Akemi, as a woman, must choose between being a wife (modest, meek, but rich) or whore (sexually liberated, willful, but exploited). Both of these would amount to defeat, both of these are cages. So what does she do? With the cards she's been dealt and the rules outlined for her, she decides to change the game so she can win, manipulating her husband (and father, who is now under her care) to give herself the advantage. This way, she blazes her own path ahead to achieve power for herself.

"As it says, there are four paths through the world. The way of the farmer, the artisan, the merchant, and the warrior. Each of these can lead to greatness. I never even cared which path, so long as I found mine." [...] "I know I can't touch greatness any more than I can swallow the sun. But, I can help. I can help greatness." -Ringo

Ringo, partially due to his disability, faces barriers succeeding any of the predetermined paths set out for him, but freely moves between each one in search of one that can lead him to greatness. However, upon meeting Mizu, his horizons expand. Now, he forges his own path, deciding to rise beyond a quest for his own greatness, choosing to instead to help greatness. This is similar to the role teachers take. Teachers do not get to be rich or successful or written into history books, but they help, teach, and inspire others so that they can rise up to their fullest potentials.

"Eighty-four thousand Dharma doors. For me, there were only two. The net or the sword. I could become my father, or I could cut my way free of the net." -Taigen

Taigen, born and raised impoverished, had only two options to survive. He could either be a fisherman and remain poor, or he could strive to work hard as a swordsman in the hopes to one day escape poverty. To him, it was a choice between a life of suffering or a chance at glory. Either way, the chances of dying (from either starvation or getting killed) were present, so obviously he'd taken the chance to run away and try his hand at greatness. But then, he lost his honour, and thus lost everything. Now his only choices are to regain his honour or simply kill himself. He tries the former, but upon bonding with Mizu and Ringo, he finds out there is more to life, that there is a third option open for him he'd never realised before: happiness. Rather than just mere survival, or toiling for material gain, he realises that life is about living.

Overall, the story is very multifaceted through its exploration of societal expectations and norms, and how people are forced to conform, but also the ways they can break free from those boxes.

And in my opinion each of the characters represent differing aspects of marginality, and can be analysed from differing perspectives.

Akemi's story is a predominantly feminist narrative about the marginalisation of women.

Ringo's story is a predominantly disabled narrative about the marginalisation of disabled folks.

Taigen's backstory is a Marxist narrative about the marginalisation of the poor and working class.

Mizu's story is most prominently a postcolonial narrative about the marginalisation of racial Others, ethnic minorities, and hybridised identities. However, as the protagonist, Mizu's story is the most multilayered and thus also heavily features feminist, queer, and Marxist themes due to her complex relationship with gender as well as her background as an orphan living on the streets.

I just found it very interesting that, altogether, the four main protagonists each represent groups that are fighting against an unjust system.

Even Takayoshi, son of the shogun, who should thus be one of Japan's most powerful men himself, is instead seemingly powerless as he is silenced and manipulated by his own mother due to his disability—his stutter.

I also find that these themes of breaking free from conformity and expectations are very interestingly displayed in Taigen, who had thought he'd found a way to join those unjust systems and play by all its rules, and by doing so he had played the role of antagonist. Because one of the central conflicts of the show is Man Vs Society, in which society is the antagonist and the man is Mizu, among others. So by becoming one with that cruel society, Taigen in turn also becomes Mizu's antagonist. Only when he is stripped of everything, all his years of struggle immediately stomped into the dirt as soon as he loses a single duel, only then does he shift away from his antagonistic role. Disgraced and dishonoured, he, too, now rejoins the margins of society, becoming an outcast alongside Mizu and Ringo.

So, TL;DR the society and world portrayed in Blue Eye Samurai is shitty for pretty much everyone unless you're a rich, corrupt, able-bodied cis man. Thus, essentially no one is free and everyone is restricted into neat little boxes where they play their roles and stay in line while the rich and powerful benefit. But Mizu, Akemi, Ringo and Taigen challenge this, and slowly they will rip the boxes go shreds—choosing what they want, and what they want to be, for themselves.

[chiptrillino]

Chip, sorry for asking, but aren't you from Europe? Tumblr says you posted some minutes ago, isn't it awfully late there? Are you okay??

you see... as i write my reply its 15:00 pm. but i am scheduling this post for 17:00 pm because i am a coward :') i rarely instantly do post something at the moment. all my post are sceduled. and for some reason i seteled on scheduling most my works in the middle of the night when i know i am asleep. (hopefully) or after work hours because idk honestly...

thank you for your concern anon! vary sweet of you

[pcktknife]

everything in the world working together to remind me that I'm not doing anything w my life 🙂‍↕️

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Nothing and Everything - Part 1

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

When do you call it and admit that you need help?

Especially when help is part of the trauma.

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, lots of flashbacks.

Word Count: 6340

Part one: Marc has a plan. It's not a very good one. The fallout ripples across the other two.

------

Sometimes it was better to be nothing. 

An odd sensation. One he was not supposed to like, if he was to believe the books. Disorientating, sluggish, and leaving one unable to process or do anything. 

Yet he welcomed it at times. He could feel it coming on and he would embrace that nothing. Floating outside of himself. Outside of time. Outside of the world and all it stood for. 

Out here, he didn’t have to be anything. He didn’t have to be Marc Spector. 

He didn’t have to be strong. He didn’t have to be grounded. He didn’t have to be a husband. A brother. A son. 

He could remember as a child sitting and staring down at his dinner plate. He could remember how the shape of the chicken and rice seemed odd. How the more he stared and tried to make sense of it, the less it became. He stared until the individual rice pieces became lost to him. What was it supposed to be? Where did it exist beyond the plate? It wasn’t real and yet here he was supposed to…do what? 

“Why are you such a pain? Why can’t you be normal? Pay attention when I talk to you!”

Crashing down, his world rang out and he felt what might be pain. He was aware of something hitting him. Splashing cold water on him as the cup crashed to the floor. Pain was not external. Pain was crawling out of that nothing. Pain was drowning in the cave. Pain was returning to his body and existence. Pain was the slow blink he forced on himself as he came crashing back to the diner table. 

“Go clean yourself up. You disgust me.” 

Pain was the man next to him continuing to eat with his eyes down. Pain was struggling to get up and move, wading through a universe that didn’t want him as he made his way to his room. 

Sitting down and holding his knees to his chest, he rocked. It helped. It soothed him. The rocking reminded him that he had a body. That he was supposed to be here. That there was someone else that he had to be there for. 

There were times when it was beautiful. 

Sitting in the temple, listening to the call of the Rabbi, staring at the beautiful art etched across the walls. The Hebrew letters ancient and strange and outside of his time. His father, so proud of how his son would become so moved. How his son would stare upward and rock until tears streamed down his face. It was beautiful out here. Beautiful and free… 

Walking home he would stumble. His feet were not his to move yet they had to move. 

“Did you enjoy it?” 

A voice answered that was not his. If the body was not his, someone had to own it. Someone had to make it move and speak and act. That was well enough for him. He could let Steven have this. Even if it made his father look at him with worry. 

“Son. You don’t have to talk like that. You’ve been watching too many documentaries from the BBC.” 

He would deal with it later. Let Steven have this. He didn’t want it. 

There were times when he would fight it. Times when the call of nothing scared him. When all he wanted to do was exist and he couldn’t. 

“Spector! If we don’t move we’re dead!” 

He stared down at the bullet shells around him. Glimmering in the sun, golden and charred and dented. He rocked back into the broken wall he was seeking shelter behind. Each thump of his back desperately trying to hold him. Lips moving he clung to reality desperately with each stay stay stay stay stay. 

It was what the counselor had told him. Just stay present. Stop drifting. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t day dreaming. Day dreaming was when he pretended he had a loving family at home. When he pretended his mother was at home cooking his favorite meal for him because she loved him. Yet drifting was a word that felt right. 

“SPECTOR! MOVE!”  

He cracked his head back into the wall and forced himself to his feet, running. He didn’t look where. Was it to safety? Was it to oblivion? He was moving. It was move or die. Gunshots. Metal in his hand. Bodies in the dirt. His own voice angry and firm. “Marc. Wake up.” 

No. He didn’t want to. It was fine out here. Why did he need to come out when clearly his body knew what to do. He closed his eyes. He would wake later to find the danger gone. The dirt red and the bullets surrounding him. 

“You’re a freak, Spector. A goddamned lucky freak.”  

Did the others ever drift? Did they find beauty or comfort in not existing? 

Steven hated it. It took away from his time that he could be studying. Or so he said. Honestly, it scared Steven. Steven who had fought so hard for his own sense of self. For his identity. Marc understood why Steven would find the experience disquieting. 

Steven would clench his eyes shut and dig his nails into his palms. He would fight it, exhausting himself and pacing the flat in any effort to stay grounded. He took up reading out loud, focusing on each word and saying it to make it real. He would spend hours reading out books on history until his voice gave out. When it was too much, he would throw Marc to the front and bury himself down and down until he could not drift away anymore. 

“I don’t know how you do it, mate. It’s horrible. Worse than feeling trapped. Worse than anything.” 

And Jake? Jake would not admit to it. There were long stretches at a time when they would not hear a word from Jake. Perhaps that was his strategy. The less he existed the less he could avoid not existing? Marc considered it an interesting problem solve. One he had contemplated in his darkest days as he tried to give his everything to Steven. 

Was Jake avoiding them? Was he avoiding life? Was he avoiding having to face what he was? 

Marc noticed the ticks. The way Jake moved his hands. The way he tapped his fingers one at a time on his thumb over and over. The way he tapped his leg, looking to outsiders to be an impatient man. The way he walked, always taking extra steps anywhere he went. Steps to be sure to place himself in the perfect position. The way he chose his clothes so carefully, feeling them and pulling them to test their sensations. 

No, Jake was not as prone to drifting. Jake was prone to a different problem. Jake felt too much. Too present. Too much sensation. Too much everything. Too much and Jake would leave. His solution to avoid that inner desire to scream and cry until it all stopped. 

A vague memory of a melt down in school. When the bell rang and the lunchroom trays crashed and banged and he could hear the rolling carts and laughter and screaming. Marc had drifted away and Steven was nowhere near the surface. It had been too much of everything and Jake had been forced to take front when he least wanted it. Jake hated school. He hated the over stimulation. He hated the sounds and the way he was forced to interact with so many people. People that did not understand him. 

Escaping into the bathroom he had locked himself in a stall and punched the wall over and over and over again, feeling the force of his hands on the wall. Listening to the thuds and feeling it rattle his skeleton. 

Marc had woken to bloodied and bruised fists. It was a wonder he hadn’t known Jake before. Looking back, he felt bad for all the times he’d force Jake to take a situation that made him want nothing more than to stay down below. He wanted to explain to Jake that it could be different now. That he didn’t need Jake to jump in all the time. That Steven could be there when he wasn’t. 

If only he could stay present. If only he could explain to Jake and Steven why it had to be this way. Why they had to suffer. Why he had failed them by just existing. 

“Marc?” Layla took his hand and squeezed it so gently. “Are you alright?” 

He blinked and gave the smallest of nods. It was the best he could do out here. 

He could feel her watching him. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know what it was like to lose oneself to the nothing. How good it felt to not have to be anything with any expectations. 

“Can you talk?” She wove her fingers in his and held on. 

“Yeah.” Marc pulled himself back down and held on, trying to focus on her. “Just…Having a moment.” 

She nodded and sat beside him, leaning into him gently. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating against his own. “Do you mind company?” 

He used to hide from her. If he felt himself start to drift he would lock himself away. Pretend to sleep. Anything so she wouldn’t know or suspect how broken he was. 

Now there was no use to hiding. She knew. She knew all of it. But she didn’t know the way it could make him feel. 

He could send out Steven. She would certainly welcome the company. Jake might even pop up if he was around. Jake didn’t mind the quiet calm she provided. It was hard to tell who was where in this state. 

“I’m sorry.” He managed to get out. 

“For what?” She leaned her head against his shoulder and he could smell her shampoo. 

“Being a mess.” He was slowly being pulled back in. It hurt to let go but it couldn’t last forever. He could already feel the headache setting in. 

“You aren’t a mess, Marc.” She looked up at him firmly. 

“I cause problems for them. Because of me, Steven has to put up with me... He has a hard enough time feeling recognized and I’m always taking that away from him. And Jake… I put him in these situations. I left him in the crowded underground station during rush hour yesterday. And for you… You having to put up with this.” He pulled away and moved to get up. 

She held his hand tightly, pulling him back down. “Marc. You aren’t the reason for this. It’s not your fault that you disassociate. All three of you do it. It isn’t really something you can control. You aren’t the reason Jake doesn’t like crowds or gets overwhelmed. He puts up with it because he cares, but I’ve seen all three of you melt down over different things.” 

She smiled and Marc frowned. “Jake is the one with the temper. Steven doesn’t melt down.” Even just saying it he knew it was wrong.  

Layla gave him a look. “I moved Steven’s book shelf the other day to get something. I thought Steven was going to have a heart attack. He doesn’t handle change well. Or loss of control. I know now to ask him if I can move things. Ask him to help me if I need to move something. It lets him feel more in control of his situation.” 

“It’s my fault.” Marc leaned back. “I had all this before them. Now that I have them, they have to have these problems too.” 

“That isn’t how it works and you know it.” She scoffed. “As far as I understand it, there is no ‘before them’ when it comes to this stuff. You all have the same problem because that’s just how it works. You all just handle it differently.” 

No before. Marc wasn’t sure about before. Who was he before Steven and Jake? Was he himself or was he all of them? Was he no one? Perhaps they were there first and he came later, crawling out of the desert leaving behind blood soaked sand filled with memories of pain and suffering. 

Thinking about it like that made him dizzy. Was he born in the desert? What if Jake and Steven had always been and he was the one that came out just to cause them pain and suffering? Soaked in sweat and blood and grime to reflect the inside of his very soul. 

He forced a little headshake to be rid of the thought. He knew better. He had been around since the earlier years. He remembered the snap of the belt. If anything, that was his proof of existence. 

Layla squeezed his hand when she noticed him frowning harder than normal. Thinking about his very existence was more than he could handle. He jolted a little and forced himself to squeeze her hand back, though it was weak. 

“Do you think you were happier before you knew all of this?” Marc leaned back and looked up at her. “When you thought I was just some normal man?” 

“You were never normal.” Layla smiled teasingly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You were a bottled up shell of a person that stared at me way too long and hard every time I looked at you. I fell for you because of the real you I would see now and then. You thought you were so clever and sneaky but I knew there was something.” 

“You probably weren’t expecting this much of a mess though.” Marc smiled back at her and laughed to himself. 

She shrugged. “Worst case I thought you had another wife and kids somewhere. Just turns out you were three people in a trench coat.” 

“Might still have a wife and kids somewhere.” It was Marc’s turn to give her the teasing look. “I mean, no one knows what Jake gets up to all the time.” 

“That is Jake’s business.” Layla shrugged. “And he would tell me if he did. He isn’t trouble like you are.” 

“Jake doesn’t tell you everything.” Marc frowned. 

Layla smiled and sat back. “He doesn’t tell you everything. I’m his gossip buddy.” 

“His what?” Marc sat up. “What does that even mean?” 

She zipped her lips and smiled. “Relax, Marc. You have nothing to worry about. Jake is my sort of gauge on how you’re doing as a whole. I help him relax and he lets me know when there are things to worry about.” 

“Things to worry about.” Marc crossed his arms. “So he’s like a snitch? I would have thought Steven would be the snitch out of all us. What sort of things does he tell you?” 

“He is not a snitch.” She frowned at him. “And I’ll have you know that Steven is the most trustworthy of the three of you to hold a secret.” She relaxed again, though he could tell she was mildly irritated. “Steven tells me if he has concerns. If he thinks there’s trouble or danger. He tells me if he’s having an off day. He thinks it is important to keep me in the loop, but he also doesn’t go into detail if he is fronting because of problems. Jake tells me if he is fronting because of necessity or because he wants to. There is a difference. An important one.” 

Marc looked away. He shared front most often with Steven. Steven was the easiest to switch with and often found it fun to sit with him as co-driver. It was a puzzle that Steven just couldn’t help but hack away at and be the best at. If Steven took over by force it was with good reason, but he knew Steven would never broadcast it. 

Marc had the hardest time switching with Jake. Jake often came to front after Steven. It seemed smoother and less jarring. If he and Jake tried to switch out on purpose there was always a delay. A delay that ran the risk of letting him drift. Not to mention the amnesic barrier that seemed to always sit between him and Jake. If Jake pulled front by force then it was usually a very bad day for a number of potential reasons. 

Reasons Marc didn’t want to think about. Reasons that Jake kept from him at times. Or perhaps reasons that Marc himself refused to see. 

Layla sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Marc stared up at the ceiling, resting his head back against the couch in a position that was sure to strain his neck if he waited too long. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset.” Marc closed his eyes for a moment and felt the world shift. “I just… I wish you’d see…” 

“What do you want me to see Marc?” She sat forward and looked at him fully, the frustration on her face easy to see. “I don’t like it when you are so hard on yourself. You know I can’t agree with you when you talk like this. I love you too much to hear any sort of hateful speech about you, no matter who it is from.”

He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to argue with Layla and he could not explain it to her. How could he? He couldn’t explain it to himself. He didn’t know who was closer to the front, but one of them would step in. He let go and fell to the back. He didn’t even want to be aware of what was going on. Especially since he was certain it was not going to be an easy transition. 

He would apologize later. He was always apologizing later. 

Steven groaned and scrunched up his face as the world swam into focus. “Oh bloody hell.” He took a slow breath and let himself focus in on his surroundings slowly. “M’alright.” 

“Great.” Layla sighed and struggled to reign in her frustration. “Hey, Steven.” 

“Hmm.” He smiled as he focused in on her face. The smile faltered as he noticed her look of utter irritation. “Sorry. What did I miss? Is everything alright?” 

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Marc has been in and out all day. I made the mistake of pushing him. I thought maybe he just needed some company or something to ground him. He pushed back. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Then he just throws you out when I call him on his own B.S.” 

“Oh.” Steven squeezes her hand firmly then frowns. “Are you mad at him?” Steven was the peace keeper. He did his best to keep everyone happy. To make sure no one felt left out. 

He had been the first to bridge the gap between Marc and Jake. The first to open communication between Layla and Jake. He kept everyone in the loop. 

Even now, he was fishing inside for the general sense of wellbeing. Marc snapped back and pulled away, effectively slamming the door on him. 

“No.” Layla crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths. She tried to contain her emotions at times. She hated to think that any arguments or problems would carry over to her feelings on someone else that wasn’t involved. 

Sometimes it was hard. 

Sometimes Marc shut her out and she turned a cold shoulder to Steven because she needed someone to know she was upset. She knew she had snapped at Jake more than once when the realities of the situation became too heavy for her to hold up. 

“Yes.” She sighed and forced herself to take his hand. The same fingers, the same warmth, yet a lighter and more delicate hold. “He’s been a mess all day and I don’t know how to help him. He won’t let me help him.” 

Steven nodded. “I think we’re just having a day.” 

“What does that mean?” She looked at him, desperate to know. “A day? A day of what? Is he depressed? Is he upset? Does he need space? Should I trust him with space?” 

Steven scrunched up his face and rubbed his temple. The headache was starting to pound. It was hard for him to know if this was what had set off Marc or if the headache was a result of Marc being set off. 

“No. Nothing like that. He’s… He’ll be fine.” Steven did not have a poker face. When his world spun, he reached inside again. “I’m sorry, Love. I feel terrible. I’d like to go lay down for a bit, if that’s alright?” 

Layla looked at him with concern then nodded. “Of course.” 

She watched him get up and wander to the bed, flopping back as he pulled the blankets around himself like a cocoon. 

“Do you want anything? Some aspirin? Water?” She tried to help. Wanted to help. Needed to help. 

Steven made a sound and curled up tighter, rolling up in the blanket till all she could see was a few stray curls poking out of the top. 

“Alright. Just let me know if you need anything.” She moved to fill a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. 

He would be in bed for the next several hours. Marc had pushed too hard and now it was like he had dug his finger into the brain and clawed at it like an animal trying to escape. All that was left was for Steven to cling to it like a tether. 

Sometimes things spilled over. More than headaches and spinning into the nothing. 

Sometimes emotions carried through them. Sudden bouts of anxiety could pierce them, making the heart pound as adrenalin shot through them like a live wire. 

Steven was prone to the anxiety attacks. Worry about life. About the body. About his headmates. About Layla. About the relationship. About his job. About existing. 

Marc coasted over the anxiety like nothing. He was used to adrenalin. His face neutral, he would take a breath and focus like only Marc Spector could, holding down the fort like a man that had never known how to relax a day in his life. 

Anger was an emotion that sometimes scared Steven. He hadn’t realized he had the capacity until he learned about his headmates. Marc was filled with anger. He held it all back until he blew up. Steven would often blow up right along with him, unable to hold on. 

Jake knew anger. Jake had known rage and learned how to harness it. When the anger became destructive, Jake could pull it in and use the fuel to get things done. Jake was never more productive than when the anger simmered over into a boil. 

Steven wondered what emotion Jake brought to the table. Then again, Steven also often found himself crying for no reason. There were times when the tears would flow down his face without any reason. 

Marc was not connected to this overflow. When the sadness was too much inside, Marc disconnected. It made Steven wonder who of them was really feeling it. His own connection with Jake left him with suspicions but he was too afraid to ask. 

Steven had asked Jake once if it had always just been the three of them. He wondered about time spans in their life that neither he or Marc seemed to have. Had Jake been that active once? 

The one with those memories isn’t around anymore.

It scared him. To know that someone had once been there and was simply not anything anymore. Not death and not sleeping. Just… Not. Not aware? Lost in the void? Sitting quietly alone somewhere and feeling free from the mess that existed around them? 

Then again, he himself had such large gaps in his memory that perhaps he had simply not been anything for a while too. 

Steven curled up tighter and pulled the blanket down until it was stuffy and hot. 

How many had come and gone? How many were simply lurking and staying quiet? How many knew things that were forbidden? 

Marc was prone to flashbacks. They usually came at night. Sometimes set off by sounds and sometimes by weather. Rain often clenched at his heart till Steven slipped in. 

Yet one of them had started waking the body up late at night screaming. Emotions so overblown and painful that Steven would blindly step in and catch the tail end of pure terror. Flashes of something he couldn’t see. Sounds from the past that deafened them until the world was a buzz. 

Marc denied these attacks. He had no recollection of them. Jake seemed tight lipped and frustrated by these break through attacks, but he assured Steven it wasn’t from him. 

Someone in the system was distressed. 

I don’t know who you are, and it’s okay if you want to stay hidden…. But you need to know that you aren’t alone. You are safe here. We’re here for you. 

He called out. Into the dark. Into the void. Into the inner space. 

You are safe. 

“Steven?” 

He jumped and sat up. How long had he been in bed? Was it still day? What day was it? 

A fear often struck him that one day he might close his eyes and open them years later to find everything different yet to him no time at all. 

He looked around, trying to find context clues till his eyes settled on Layla. 

“Are you feeling any better?” She sat on the edge of the bed, a soft and hopeful smile hiding her worry. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Just a couple of hours.” She glanced to the side where she had set a fresh cup of tea. 

Steven smiled and adjusted himself till he was comfortable then took the cup of tea carefully. It was still hot and smelled wonderful and strong. 

Layla always made a strong cup of anything she brewed. Marc swore that Layla could raise the dead with her coffee. Jake had gotten a taste for it and they now had rules in place on when and how much he could drink. 

Steven stared down into the dark water, hands clutching the cup as he let the heat radiate outwards to warm him. He could pretend that it reached into his very soul and set fire to his hearth, then perhaps Marc and Jake could feel it too and they could gather around the glow. 

“Are you alright?” Layla leaned down so she could peer at his face under the mess of curls. 

It was then that Steven felt the tears drip off his chin to splash down into the tea. 

He managed a nod and wiped a cheek on his sleeve. He sipped the tea, now laced in sadness. It was bitter, but not unpleasantly so. 

“We’re a mess today, huh?” He mumbled. 

“Everyone has bad days.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Steven didn’t like talking about things that were not his own. If Marc needed space, he would give it. If things got out of hand, he would intervene. It was his place to trust Marc. To trust the others. 

Let me talk to her.

Steven frowned. Jake did not give space. Jake was often blunt and always analyzing a situation. 

“Let me finish my tea.” Steven suddenly felt stubborn and sour. Jake didn’t like tea and had let Steven take the brunt of the headache earlier when he had been just as close to the front when Marc bailed. 

The look in Layla’s eyes meant she knew Jake was trying to front. Like watching someone waiting for a friend at the airport. He would come with news and a smile.

Steven was just in the way now. A stand in between her and the functionings of something she wanted to know… But did she need to know? 

He sipped the tea again, less careful this time as he burned his lips a little. 

Steven.

It was a warning. Jake knew that Steven hated being spoken down to. Hated being looked at as incapable. He wanted to handle it. He could handle it. He always handled it. 

“Not now.” Steven snapped and moved to get out of the bed as if he could possibly put distance between him and the thing in his head that was annoying him. 

Steven. Let go.

Jake could pull him. He could pull Marc easily in the worst of times. Yet they all knew that Steven could put up a fight. If Steven didn’t want to go, he would fight and no one would come out of it unscathed. 

It was only kindness to them all that Jake asked. Normally Steven obliged. Jake didn’t ask for front a lot. Sometimes he was thrust into it, sometimes he took it by force, and sometimes he just slipped in. Usually when Jake asked, Steven was more than happy to step aside. He knew what it was to be pushed back when scared and alone… Begging to have control of his life… 

He burned his mouth on the tea and winced as he felt the scald run down his throat to sit in his stomach like a hot coal. The cup of tea sloshed over his hand before he set it down on the side table. 

“Fuck!” Jake moved to the bathroom and quickly cupped his hand under the cold water then moved to guzzle it, putting out the fire inside. 

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh god! Are we okay? 

Jake sighed as he felt the damage, his tongue raw and the roof of his mouth nicely seared. That would be a lovely annoyance for the next week. His hand was only mildly burned and at least would be fine by tomorrow. 

He looked up to find Layla behind him in the mirror, her eyes full of concern. 

“We’re okay.” An answer to her and Steven. 

He let out a heavy sigh, feeling himself settle in as the air left him. Almost like he was forcing out the remnants of the other two. Inhaling slowly, he filled with his own troubles. 

“We aren’t okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face before turning back to face Layla fully. 

“It’s the change of the season. The end of summer as the rains start to hit.” Jake glanced at the window, watching the sun casting lingering shadows at low angles. “A bad time of year for us… A lot of bad memories… A lot of regrets. Loss…” 

The sun was no longer golden and warm. It was hot and unloving. The night would stretch on and the pounding on the door would get louder. Tears at night soaked through pillows and night terrors left dark circles under eyes. 

The first rain would flash flood, unable to soak into the too dry ground fast enough. Dark grays like her sweater, coarse and painful in a hug full of lies and promises. 

He would see his father’s sad face in the windows he passed. Unknown to him in his age, no longer the strong and happy man he had known. He would hear him begging to stay as he walked away. 

And the screams… 

Jake clenched his eyes shut for a moment, willing the memories away before they overwhelmed him and flooded through. Steven was already too close and getting emotional carry over. He didn’t need the nightmares too. One of them needed to be able to sleep at night. 

Marc knew the nightmares were coming. Like clockwork he knew the depression would slide in to poison his mind and drag him down. 

But this was the first year that they were all aware of one another. 

This was the first time that Marc knew he didn’t have to be present. That perhaps…

“Fucking bastard is trying to dissociate his way through it.” Jake groaned and moved to slump back on the couch. 

“What’s that?” Layla settled in next to him. 

“This is our first year being… We.” He struggled to explain. “Aware. The first time we’ve known about each other. In the past, Marc fought through it. Held his ground and got depressed and… You know. You were there for a lot of it.” 

Layla looked thoughtful for a moment. “I used to think it was seasonal affective disorder.” She tilted her head as she chased a memory. 

“I bought him one of those sun lamps that are supposed to improve your mood.” She sighed. “I don’t think it helped at all. I thought it was weird that his depression started in so much earlier than most people.” 

Jake gave her a small smile, trying to imagine Marc sitting in front of the lamp dutifully every day while Layla watched, knowing that it wasn’t going to help. 

“He doesn’t have to hold his ground anymore. He doesn’t want to be present for it.” Jake shook his head at the cleverness that was both impressive and also so utterly infuriating. 

“You mean like hibernation?” Layla looked startled. “He’s just going to… What? Sleep all season? I’ll see him in the spring?”

He would try to be a grumpy bear, wouldn’t he? Steven grumbled from the back. He was still keeping his distance, feeling ashamed for burning them. 

Jake leaned on his hand, covering up a smile at that. “Marc wishes he could go into hibernation. It doesn’t work that way. He might try to front less… But he is still going to be affected. He’s trying to detach himself from the moment. If he’s stuck in the moment, he might even try to force us to switch. Give us reason to pull him.” 

Leave it to Marc to come up with a way to use his D.I.D to try to get out of his feelings instead of trying to face them. 

Layla was quiet for a moment then looked down. “It’s not a bad idea… Maybe we should let him. Is it so wrong to help him not suffer?” 

Jake sank further back into the couch till even Steven was complaining about the posture. 

Jake please, our back!

He remembered the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of sitting in a chair as the sedation washed over them. The feel of the body being numb and heavy. The struggle to even look up and see who was talking. 

Jake had hated every moment of it. Every moment of helplessness. The sensation of nothing. Of being locked out. 

But not Marc… Marc had loved it. The feeling of not having to do anything. He loved the way he didn’t have to think. 

It was any wonder that Marc developed a drinking problem after that. Desperately trying to recreate the numbness. 

It was only out of pure will that they had managed to avoid diving into deeper and more damaging things. 

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t control things like that. Our system is actually pretty delicate. All three of us…” He paused here, not used to including himself in these admissions. “We’re all in a pretty delicate balance. He can’t just pretend he isn’t here for half the year.” 

“What one does, the others have to deal with too.” Layla frowned then looked down at Jake. She reached out and gently gripped his arm, pulling him back up into a better posture to spare their back. “Marc might be fine, but the other two would suffer…” 

Steven perked up at that. The nightmares… Are they yours?  

Jake leaned into Layla lightly, laying a hand over hers to keep her touch there a moment longer. “Steven would be happy to run the show, I’m sure. Pretending that we didn’t exist. Living like he did before he knew…” 

Steven protested, but half heartedly. He knew the truth and couldn’t hide it. How easy it would be to pretend he was normal. He would be sad at first, missing the company. But how many times did he wake up in the morning and call out, wondering if it was all just a dream? Would it be possible for denial to kick in and make him forget? Would it be hard to give up control again in the spring? 

Even without the denial, the loneliness felt like a pit deep inside and it terrified him. 

“I don’t think Steven would be very happy alone.” Layla looked down at Jake’s trembling hand that clung to hers. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he had been clinging. “I don’t think any of you want to or should be alone.” 

She lay her head against his shoulder and gently wrapped her free arm around his waist. 

“I’m sorry.” Jake or Steven mumbled. They didn’t know who was in front. Steven had always blended easily with the others. Even before he knew about the others. It was easy for Marc of Jake to mesh with Steven. His strength had always been to hold them up and together. 

“It’s okay…” She whispered as she squeezed his hand. Steven loved to be held. Jake loved to be leaned into. Marc loved to do the holding. “I’ll be here for you.” 

Tears ran down their cheeks again, flowing into streams like a flash flood. Steven felt his heart clench in anxiety and Jake pushed back a memory. 

Someone inside was so sad that it threatened to drown them all. 

You’re okay. You’re safe now.  

He cried out into the emptiness. 

Jake’s hand squeezed Layla’s till he slipped back and let Steven have the front again. 

At what point would it not be enough to be reassured? At what point would it be too much to exist? Sometimes it was so nice to not be. 

Jake wished he could feel it too. The way Marc did… The free float of nothing. Instead, he was trapped here in the sarcophagus pounding his fists against the solid wood, feeling everything. 

---

Part Two HERE

[mapsareforbraindeads]

pssst. british mutuals. what city has the most pretentious people and/or mediocre athletes. also where would you go if you had to meet the person who murdered your ex girlfriend somewhere public but somewhat secluded, kind of like a bed and breakfast. asking for a friend.

[morganaspendragonss]

wanted to get another chapter of the s5 fic out before the episode drops but yeah that's not happening so i guess i'll see you all in the morning. godspeed 🫡

[elizabethshaw]

seeing as the new series is starting very soon (i'm so excited!!), just wanted to make it clear that i won't be posting anything about the new episodes until they've been broadcast on tv in the uk for the benefit of those trying to avoid spoilers! and, as usual, i'll tag any posts relating to the new episodes with #dw spoilers until a week or so after first broadcast so feel free to blacklist that if you need to :)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

When you have ADHD and 5 different alarms to get you to wake up; but you’re so anxious about being late for work that you consistently wake up one to two hours before your alarm goes off because suddenly you developed an internal clock once you got a solid routine.

And as you’re going peacefully about your morning, you’re violently jolted out of focusing on your book for the fifth time by your own kalimba cover of “Oranges and Lemons Say the Bells of Saint Clements” which you’ve made your alarm tone, and once you pull out your phone to make it stop, you’re unceremoniously greeted with the alarm label of “6079 SMITH W!”

I KNOW SHUT UP I’M ALREADY FUCKING AWAKE

[newlacesleeves]

haven't run since wednesday because work is kicking my ass again but i did booty pop like a champ on sunday night i feel like that's gotta count for something

[theconstellationsinyourskin]

it's just really demoralizing to do literally everything right but then get turned down for a factor that is fixable in literally like two days of training

[pumpkindogart]

There is no witty sentence I post youtube videos early on pay tree on along with other art

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Ah, the Ravenous Saturdays have set in. This time I took care to be well prepared. Plenty of left over pizza from yesterday, plus a couple of pieces of chocolate cream pie, in the mini-fridge. Birthday indulgences, thanks to a very lovely friend🥰🥰

[nessguts]

shrumo!