#where as it could be a very large source of paranoia and anxiety

[bigcryptiddies]

It’s not specific to dav by any means, I just wish player characters were able to have the same depth of trauma and vulnerability as companions are on their own specific quests at any point in their respective games and Rook seems especially “smiling through it all” about everything because the rest of the game is also very sanitized compared to the others before it

[cosmicdenro]

ever since i got attached to toppats after realizing their family love n other stuff it made me wanna implement the idea on Reg at least that he does not like food being wasted; wanting the best for the clan and caring about the members (at least from what we know from source) I really do like to think he's extremely strict on how to deal with leftover foods and food in general, and very much wants to make sure everyone listens to him when he says to only take how much you'd be able to eat as to waste nothing in breakfast, lunch or dinner.

There could be food shortage days that would wreck Reg bad and immediately put it as a #1 priority to deal with asap so no one ever goes hungry for any longer than needed, but other times where they're good on food he has no limits on how much someone wants to eat but would smack them only if it gets wasted or thrown in the trash when its very much good still lol

i do not think he even lets the clans prisoners get starved but that's just me (one of those "not wish it on my worst enemy" kind of thing, because food's basic survival and it feels gut-wrenching to hear anyone not having enough food even if it's someone you don't like.)

following this he would also absolutely have thorough inspections and checkings done on the food supply he orders in because knowing they're the most infamous clan, the deliveries could be poisoned or tampered with and Reginald wants to make sure he does not slip up in that regard and get the clan killed or starved. Maybe it's never happened before but the paranoia of knowing the many many ways he and his clan could be killed or sabotaged keeps him at his toes and his ever-growing anxiety is the only reason he's still alive to this day zamn!

---

To lessen the anxiety by just a bit, they could have a food garden in the airship and maybe even make their own fertilizers but even then they do eventually have to go out and get supplies for such a large amount of people and go through all the supplies to see if it's safe to use or not.

[ycurkxng-a]

Hallucinations

Characters: (Coasty SMP) Dean King, Retalon, Star Samson

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, injury, general violence

Notes: ghegsggsgss

What time is it?

Shit, he'd lost track. A bash to the head from an earlier encounter had left him disorientated, unable to focus on anything but moving his two legs to keep himself going. He'd finally gotten to a point where he could think straight however, and the sudden realization that there was no more light settled upon him in a tidal wave of anxiety. Night had shrouded the forest he stumbled into with a thick blanket of darkness, only adding to the sickening tension that twisted like a knife in his stomach.

The trees surrounding no longer felt like a place he could rest, and it only pushed him to begin moving, not in any specific direction. Not that he even knew where the hell he was going, he simply needed to move. He kept his hands balled up while moving, his knuckles looking as though they were going to pop straight out of his flesh. Every little noise only drove him to walk faster, running would only draw more attention then he could handle. If he had to run... Well, he'd get to that point when it came.

Every breeze, every little crunch, they drove him into a further sense of paranoia. Normally he would move through the shadows without fear, but he couldn't think straight, and he was far too tired to actually fight... Now that he thought of it, when was the last time he'd slept? Most every night recently had only had him trying not to die, and tending to minor and large wounds. The arrowhead that had been buried into his hand still hadn't been forgotten, he swore he could feel his palm pulsating with every breath he drew in.

When he started to question things, that's when he started to notice something else. Something just out of sight, but so, so close, he could hear it. Breathing, his own hitched in his chest, but he continued to move. He had to keep going, if he stopped, whatever the hell was there with him would've for sure taken the chance to pounce. That, and he didn't seem to be in control of his lower half anymore.

Are you-?

We need to keep moving, you're not going to like what's there.

What does that mean?

Trust me.

Well, he couldn't argue with that. Even if he had, he wouldn't have won, he knew that at the very least. That breathing though, it was familiar. Something about it resonated with his very core, and it only attracted him to it more. Although that attraction seemed to be sensed by the other being, who only forced his lower limbs to put one in front of the other a little faster.

Then breathing turned into whispers, incoherent, at first. Only to grow louder, oh, so much louder. The voice was all too familiar, there was however a clear issue with the fact that this particular voice was speaking. And that was because the woman who owned that voice, and Dean's heart, had been dead for a long time. He still didn't know what killed her, he only remembered holding her corpse in his arms as he let out soul crushing shrieks of sorrow, and a seemingly neverending wave of hot tears.

It's-

No, it's not.

Listen, for fucks sake! It's her!

Dean-

No, she's there, she's right fucking there!

Moving his legs had never been harder, and he began to twist his upper half and pull back on his uncontrollable legs to force them to a halt. The only way he was able to force them to stop was with a shot to his own knee, bending over and sending quick fists into it, forcing it to stop moving. He seized the opportunity, taking his control back and staggering back around before making his way to the voice, which called him closer.

Dean, STOP, GODDAMNIT.

Fuck you.

STOP-

Finally reaching the source of the voice, Dean smiled wide underneath his mask. "Doll?" Hopeful, a type of hope that was only attainable through a mind that could no longer think straight. A mixture of his head wound and the lack of sleep had driven him to make irrational choices, ones that if he were fully in it, he'd smack himself for. In the moment however, he felt as though nothing but good could come from this. He reached out, into the dark, watching his arm practically vanish.

"It's-" He stopped, hands latched onto his limb and his heart skipped a beat. When the source of the noise stepped closer though, it sunk into his stomach. It wasn't Star, no. A zombie had taken hold of his arm, and he quickly realized just how badly he'd messed up in this situation. It's jaw opened wide as it quickly leaned down to take a bite out of his clothed arm, letting out a guttural scream, Dean yanked back his arm while kicking his leg forward into its chest.

The monster lost its footing and stumbled back, hitting the ground before making an attempt to stand back up. The scream had drawn attention, too much for his liking. And he could quickly feel more than a few sets of eyes staring dead at him, adrenaline shot through his entire being and he felt a new burst of energy, one that was used to make a mad dash through the trees. He pushed other mobs out of his way, from zombies attempting to tear chunks out of him, to skeletons that shot arrows at him and luckily missed, all the way to creepers.

He didn't stop, he COULDN'T stop. That was true before, but even more so now. Leaping and cringing away from those who tried to end him right there, he didn't take a single second to breathe until he was far out of the forest, and a little more after that. Retalon remained silent throughout the whole endeavour, not wanting to say a word that could somehow mess with Dean any further. It could feel his heartache building up from the experience with that hallucination, but it could also feel the nausea inducing panic and fatigue that was quickly wearing him down.

It all seemed to stop suddenly, at a lit ditch. Torches that had been left there, presumably by someone taking shelter for the night there. Of course, no one remained, but the light kept those bastards at bay. The sudden ending came as Dean finally skidded to a halt, his heels digging hard into the dirt, before he promptly collapsed onto his back. His eyes slammed shut the moment he made contact with the grass, and his entire mind shut down, finally giving him a moment of reprieve.

Some peace amongst the chaos.

[star-strings-spills]

Dream SMP: Timely Kingdom AU Information #2

This is a continuation from "Dream SMP: Timely Kingdom AU Information” - checking out that post first may help you with understanding this one.

Seeing as this is mostly an indulgence AU of mine, I decided I would “indulge” myself a little further today since MCC 13 and the Streamys makes it a technical work-free day. Other than indulging on my part, though, I also thought it would be fun to explain why I made the roles the way I did - namely, why Dream is The Moon and George is The Sun. I know in a lot of cases, others would do the opposite and for equally as good reasons as mine, which is why I wanted to talk a little about why I chose to go this route. 

The way I’m going to do this is simple: I’m going to explain why I feel each role suits them from an individual standpoint, and then I’m going to go at it from the standpoint of them being a pair. Today, we’re going to be talking about Dream and The Moon...

The Moon (Dream)

First and foremost, the moon is considered very mysterious and enigmatic by almost everyone - there’s simply something about it that gives an air of the unknown. Dream - for as open and willing to share as he is about a lot of things - is still incredibly mysterious all things considered and a good portion of that is because we don’t know what he looks like. Even where his character on the SMP is concerned, very little is actually known about him and his true motivations are only privy to himself - it’s not even clear what he is at this point. In addition to all of this, his mask and being “masked” seems perfectly in-character for the moon for a reason I can’t quite place other than the pure allure of the unknown and what lies behind.

The moon has always been largely regarded as calm and soothing in nature, which is something I feel many can say about Dream. He’s very good at keeping a cool head even in high-stress situations, and it’s no secret that he does his best to support and motivate those around them when they’re down. It should also be noted that the moon represents maternal traits, one of which is nurturing and Dream is nothing if not nurturing when it comes to his friends, especially those that are smaller creators. He’s stated on a few occasions that the reason he doesn’t stream on the SMP and invites those to it that he does is actually because he wants to help them grow rather than build only himself up. 

The moon also controls the tides and in turn is thought to be deeply linked with emotions, which I don’t need to tell you fits Dream very well. His character on the SMP’s control aside, I’m actually thinking about this control in consideration to how powerful his influence is. He has an extraordinary way with words when he gets going and his passion for things is incredibly moving even to those that aren’t a fan of him at times. On the note of being passionate, Dream is known to be a very emotional person and has said as much himself - emotions are a large part of what drives him and the things he does. It would make sense that he embodies what many believe to be the source and influence of emotions themselves.

Other things the moon is credited for symbolizing are wisdom, intuition, luck, the hunt, immortality, and eternity. I feel like these all lend themselves to Dream fairly well when it comes to not just Manhunts, but a vast majority of the things he does in general. Dream is an extremely intelligent and skilled member of his community with - as sore of a subject as it is right now - unparalleled luck when it comes both to the game and life in general. He’s dedicated to perfecting his craft and proving himself at every opportunity, thoroughly earning every bit of attention he’s gained over the past year for his work. 

As for the dark side of the moon, Dream has his moments where he lets his pride and stubbornness get the better of him and he sometimes speaks without thinking. With as strongly as it’s connected to emotions, the moon is known for turning love and calm into aggression and anxiety - I don’t think I need to elaborate on that very much with this past week or so. It also has the ability to inspire lunacy and paranoia, which is quite fitting for the effect he has when he’s plotting something because it’s a well-known fact Dream always has plans no one could ever predict up his sleeve and there’s hardly a way to stop them once he’s put them into motion. 

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (8)

Chapter 8: Cal’s Dark Deeds | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

TW: Depiction of violence and manslaughter - this is the only chapter that has it.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

You gravitate to the Holocron resting on its pedestal. The nearer you got, the louder the voices became—overlapping at one another, battling for your attention. Only some of their words were distinct, they were calling for your name followed by another word that you could not yet comprehend.

Your hand slowly reaches for the artifact; the light around it was so blinding that you had to squint your eyes as you try to grab it.

When your fingers have finally closed around the glowing cyan cube, a heavy, warping sensation cloaks you from head to toe—it’s as if you were being sucked into the black vacuum of space—images flashed before your eyes, an indescribable feeling lingered within your very core, and then suddenly, everything from the voices to the cries was reduced to a single, faceless, unseen entity.

[y/n]…

It called to you. The sound of the voice was warm and familiar, you could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat when you heard it say your name.

You dared to utter a name. A word you haven’t used in a long time.

“Master?”

[y/n], remember your training.

You spun around where you stood, searching the entire chamber for the source of the voice—nothing.

Heed me well: do not let fear and inhibition trample on what you believe in. Trust only in the Force.

“Master, wait!”

Then the chamber was entirely silent. That rhapsody of feelings, sounds, and images have vanished out of existence. The viscous, bioluminescent substance tracing the etches across the walls and floor have lost their bright glow, albeit they remained; even the light of the holocron’s pedestal dimmed out when its precious treasure have been taken out of its place.

You examine the cyan cube framed with gold, amazed that the metal has never tarnished after being sealed away in this tomb.

“Cal…!” you gasped, not realizing how long you’ve been inside this chamber. To you, it felt like only a few moments have passed.

You tucked the holocron in your backpack and hurried out of the chamber. The door rumbled as it opened.

“Cal, I got…!” your smile melted away. “It…?”

Much to your surprise, the foyer was as empty as it was when you entered it. You surveyed the entire foyer, you crossed the gap again until you were on stable ground. You looked at the doorways that lead to the passages, the platforms that he may have climbed up, and even the exit.

No, he couldn’t have left me on purpose!

“Cal?” you called again.

Attempting to radio call him proved to be futile. There was no answer on his end.

“No, it can’t be…” you muttered to yourself, thinking about scouring the first levels and the other passages that he may have gone to—which, not much later, you did but the result remained the same.

In your haste, you climbed the vines that covered the wall at the lobby ruins where Cal and the Fourth Brother battled yesterday. You sprinted back to the foyer, as it childish as you thought it would be, you had hoped that he will reappear in that spot where you left him. Your faith in Cal’s ability to take down that many Stormtrooper was faltering.

He’s strong. He’s not that easily taken down. You thought to yourself as you head for the exit.

The growing paranoia in you had heightened your senses, making you hypervigilant. While being aware of the possible presence of Stormtroopers and Purge Troopers hiding amongst the rocks on the clifftops, you sprinted along the path where the Varans were tethered.

Again, you had hoped that Cal would be there sitting on his own Varan waiting for you. The result was the same as the temple.

He was nowhere to be found.

The pair of Varans were behaving wildly. They were rearing, standing on their hind legs as they loudly croaked and clicked; you tried your best to calm both of them down, holding them by the reins and gently tugging them until their muzzles were close enough for you to pet.

“Where is he?” you say under your breath, you had wish the creatures could speak. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

The creatures chirped in agreement. You connected the reins of the two reptilian steeds before riding your own Varan.

“I hope I’m wrong,” you sighed.

You kicked the side of the creature’s belly with your stirrup and the Varan went darting through the plains on the way back to the village. Your heartbeat pounded loudly, its rhythm almost synchronized with the Varans’ galloping; as you rode, you could not shake the thoughts that were forming in your mind. The only consolation being that they are only imaginings that took form at the expense of your paranoia.

Unfortunately, Cal had already beat you to the village. A cloud of sand signaled the arrival of a convoy consisting of a shuttle and a pair of small transport ships, the village was already on high alert as the triad of black ships landed right outside the town border.

Razh and a company of perhaps all of the men in the town, from the adolescent boys brave enough to come with up to the able-bodied elders who could still swing a staff, were armed to the teeth—possibly ten times more than when you and Cal first arrived—the small army marched to the entrance of their town, ready to greet the intruders. The women, children, and elderly have retreated to their homes—locking their doors, shutting and barring the windows until the background behind this small band of protectors fell silent, and only the wind disturbing the dust spoke.

There was a medley of anxiety and eagerness amongst the men as they anticipate for the ship’s door to open and reveal their unexpected visitors.

“You better be prepared,” the Grand Inquisitor cooed, standing in front of the door with Cal by his side.

“I am.” Cal simply yet firmly replied.

The shuttle’s door hissed as it retracted into its frame. The two stepped out of the ship, the transport ships’ had already dispatched a handful of Stormtroopers each—there are more inside, obediently and patiently waiting for the command.

Cal appeared—alongside the Grand Inquisitor—Razh recognized him immediately when he walked closer. The Grand Inquisitor, imposing as he always is, terrified the men but Razh tried to calm them down, repeating the words “Steady, men” until the vocal shudders were silenced. He could not believe what he’s seeing. This ought to be the heaviest shock of his life so far, and he was already hoping for the worst.

“Cal? What are you doing? Who are these people?!”

“What’s the meaning of this?!” an elderly man who made sure he stood out for his voice to be heard, pushed his way through the crowd.

Cal did not answer the bombardment of questions. The Grand Inquisitor leaned closer to Cal’s ear, his jaw slightly moved as he spoke, inaudible to Razh and the rest of his crew.

“Give the command, Cal,” uttered the Grand Inquisitor.

“What is he saying? Cal, what did he say?”

“I’m sorry, Razh,” Cal raised his arm, visible enough for the Stormtroopers rallied behind him and the Grand Inquisitor. The soldiers that were stiff as a pole at one second, became firm in their aiming stances in the next. “You were a gracious host… but now I will do what I must.”

At the simple flick of his two fingers, all of the Stormtroopers squeezed the triggers of their blasters; Razh and some his men managed to dodge the bullets but a large fraction of them had been gunned down. More of the Stormtroopers spilled out of the transport ships, they sprinted through the skirmish that was happening on the ground, and their targets were the residents shut inside their homes.

Nobody was spared.

A mother had been gunned down for protecting her children, a blast from the barrel of the Stormtrooper’s rifle found its mark on her forehead. The children were slain before her lifeless body could even fall flat on the ground—all it took was one shot for each.

One. Two. Three. Four.

An elderly couple, hiding in their bedroom and coddled up to one another in fear, did not put up much of a fight when a Flametrooper kicked down their door; when the old husband knew that pleading and begging will never save them, he embraced his frail wife closer and tighter until his lips could touch her forehead.

Her trembling sob was the final thing he heard before the trooper pulled the trigger of his flamethrower.

The babies’ chances of survival were the slimmest. Even if they were kept hidden in their houses while their mothers dared to fight back and were slaughtered in the process, a single blast startled them horribly and they began to bawl, their cover ultimately blown and discovered by the raiding Scout Troopers.

While carnage ensued in each and every home, the skirmish continued; the men hindering the Stormtroopers from coming close to their doorstep, desperately attempting to protect their families.

“Why are you doing this?! WHAT HAVE WE EVER DONE TO YOU?! I GAVE YOU SHELTER, I SHARED MY TABLE WITH YOU, MY WIFE NURSED [Y/N] TO HEALTH… AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?!?!” Razh roared in rage, stuck in a spiraling confusion where he could not process that this was his reality now.

“You will never understand, Razh. Never.” Cal uttered, devoid of remorse as the cries of death spilled out of every window and door in the town.

“Please, Cal…” Razh’s voice warbled, and he ended up speaking in sobs. “Leave Miera and my son… my sweet Yenzo… leave them out of this!”

Cal’s eyes drooped, giving Razh a false hope of mercy as the pensive expression was painted all over the young Jedi’s face. He smacked his lips to give his verdict.

“I think I can,” Razh’s eyes lit up as soon as he heard Cal’s answer, but the Jedi’s eyes glanced over the leader’s shoulder. He gestured a nod in the direction he was looking at to Razh. “But I don’t think they will.”

Razh quickly turned around to his back, his eyes widens in fear as he finds a trio of Scout Troopers armed with electrostaffs, spearheaded by a commander, barging into his shouts. Miera’s shouts of struggle sent Razh into a panic.

“MIERA!! NO!!”

A Stormtrooper held Miera violently by the hair while she never let go of their son, Yenzo—who was nearly breathless from all his terrified crying.

Now, Razh was at a standstill. Should he attack Cal? Or go to his wife and son?

Razh tightened his grip around his weapon’s hilt, preparing for retaliation. He comes charging towards Cal with his staff held high over his head, Cal had anticipated this. Their weapons collided, his staff pressing against the beam of his lightsaber. The young Jedi’s face was a blank slate, except for the ominous glower in his pale jade eyes; he looks again over Razh’s shoulder and nods again, he looked behind him—and the next moment will truly be the most devastating in all of the town leader’s life.

Without hesitation, the other Stormtroopers jabbed Miera and baby Yenzo with their staffs until the high voltage forcefully sent coursing through their bodies had rendered them lifeless. The light in Miera’s eyes was extinguished as she stared at her husband, until the speck of life that clung finally died with her. The swaddled infant, cold and lifeless like his mother, rolled away from her arms as they fell to the dust.

“NOOOO!!!!” Tears pooled and rolled down Razh’s cheek as he roared, heartbroken and ultimately destroyed upon witnessing the slaughter of his family.

The grip on his weapon was failing, but there was still a fire in him that allowed him to fight with all his might. A typical act of wrath, the Grand Inquisitor thinks. Cal brandished his lightsaber and deflected Razh’s weapon. Cal fought dirty, kicking Razh hard on the shin before being killing him.

Along the way, you suddenly felt a stabbing feeling in your chest. The vein in your neck throbbed as the dust in the wind pricked your cheeks. The negative thoughts came back to you instantaneously, itching to devour your sanity.

You remember the words of your late master that echoed in the chamber. Following her advice, you fought off the thoughts while you tried to keep your grip firm on the reins; constantly hoping that Cal is unharmed, that he will be waiting for you, and that every bad thing in your mind is just a hyperbolic figment of your imagination.

“COME ON!!!” you bellowed at your Varan, wildly snapping at the reins, prompting it to go faster.

When the silhouette of the town was becoming more and more visible, relief grew in your heart, but as you got closer, smoke wafted out of the skyline and the smell had alerted the animals. Your eyes furrowed in curiosity, heeling the Varans to a slower pace but they were jerking their heads from side to side as you approached the town.

After passing through the town’s arch, you were met with what could be the most inhumane scene that you’ve ever laid eyes on. You can feel your stomach sinking to your feet. The burnt awnings and canopies explain the smoke that you saw from a distance. Shards of clay pots and wood scattered across the sand. Bodies were strewn all over the streets.

“Oh… Oh no…” you were at a loss for words that perhaps all you could do was faint.

You dismounted the Varan and untied the connected reins, allowing the animals to investigate the scene with you.

Everywhere you looked, there was the touch of death.

You peered over the doors that had apparently been broken down, only to find the interior in a complete disarray—as if a great windstorm had gotten inside their house. The stench of charred flesh drew you to a house whose door was hanging open.

“Hello? Is… anybody there?” you called as you step into the abode.

You treaded carefully along the common space of the house, the odor got stronger every step—the scent had led you to a room with a door left ajar, you pushed the door open and immediately wished that you never did that, you gasped in horror at the discovery the charred bodies of the elderly couple who fell victim to a Flametrooper.

Your knees were noodles, bringing you down to the floor, your stomach sinking to the bottom of your feet—you couldn’t keep your eyes off the body even if you so desperately wanted to.

Now, you were frantic to find any survivors and the call of the Varans may have helped you with that.

You struggled to regain your bearings and then ran out of the house to find the creatures—they repeated their hollering, waiting for you to come quickly. You find them nuzzling their snouts against a bunch of bodies—one of which still appeared to be half-alive.

“Razh…?” you whispered.

You went closer and confirmed that it was indeed Razh. He ceaselessly wept in a haunting and sorrowful howl while he lies next to the corpses of his wife and child. The trail of blood that led to him implied that he worm-crawled all the way from the spot where he had stood to where Miera and Yenzo lay dead when they were executed.

He viciously shook away your hand from his shoulder. You caught a glimpse of Yenzo’s face; it was pink and soft when you last saw him, now the baby’s skin had purpled, riddled with reddened veins trailing all over his cheeks, stuck in a permanent expression of a wakeless slumber.

Razh refused to be touched by anyone—not even you—but you understood that he was in a state of shock and trauma. You tenderly spoke to him, calming him down.

“Razh, it’s me, I won’t hurt you,” you consoled.

“My love, my baby…!” he bawled, completely incapable to utter other words besides those.

“What happened here?” you said, as you continued to survey the land.

“Cal…” the mention of his name sounded like a warbled grunt.

You leaned closer to hear better.

“I’m sorry… I couldn’t understand that. Who did this?”

“It was Cal!” he shouted, then his voice returned to a whimper, ignoring you and gazing back at his wife while caressing her cold, hard cheek as if still hoping that she would wake along with their baby.

You couldn’t believe what Razh said. You demanded an explanation, but you knew that you wouldn’t get much from a grieving man lying next to his dead family, expecting nothing but for death to come to him as well.

“No… it can’t be… He wouldn’t!” you shuddered in disbelief. You slumped to the ground, sitting close enough to see baby Yenzo. The sight of the dead child brought you to tears and gave in to your grief.

It was the least you could do, you wept with Razh and offered to help him bury Miera and Yenzo, along with the other townsfolk—he politely declined, shaking his head and saying it’s useless for he will die very soon, he is just waiting for it. He requested you to leave him alone to grieve. Out of respect, you obliged.

Having not much to do, you decided to look for clues, your Varan followed you along in the investigation.

Not much later, you heard a familiar beeping amongst the earthenware sitting outside one of the huts. Your head jerked up, frantically searching for the sound—it was perhaps your only hope.

“BD…?” You breathed.

A pair of lens and an antenna peeked out behind the pots. BD-1 showed himself out of his hiding place when he saw you and excitedly scampered towards you.

“BD-1!!!” You exclaimed, beckoning him to your arms which he happily leapt on. “Aw, am I so glad to see you! Where’s Cal?”

BD-1 chirped a series of trills and notes, his panicked tone wasn’t a good sign. He told everything single thing to you—right from the beginning where the Grand Inquisitor arrived at the ambush back in the temple up until this moment in the town.

The little droid finally gave what you were looking for: Cal’s location.

“Cere, are you there?” you call over in your radio.

“I’m here. What’s happened?”

“I’ll explain in the ship,”

You cut off the communication and brought BD-1 to your shoulder for him to perch on, you hastily mounted your Varan and then snapped its reins—sending you out of the town and into the wasteland, back to where the Mantis was waiting for you.

You weren’t sure how you’re going to lay it on the crew. As a matter of fact, you still weren’t sure what had happened.

[elyvorg]

Later Alligator

Later Alligator is a visual novel indie game with extremely charming character design and animation set in a world of anthropomorphic alligators. It’s primarily goofy and humorous, which isn’t precisely the kind of game I’d have sought out on my own, but it is the kind of game I’ll happily sit through and enjoy if a Let’s Play channel I already follow happens to do a playthrough of it, so that’s a thing that I did. Upon said playthrough recently finishing, I found myself having some Thoughts about the story, particularly the true ending, to the point that I figured I might as well get them out somewhere.

The game begins as your player character arrives in Alligator New York City one morning, where in a hotel lobby you find another alligator named Pat. He seems very nervous and hesitant to talk to you at first, until he suddenly gives in and starts spilling his soul to you because you have a trustworthy face. (A face that you can’t actually see yourself because the game is in first person.) It seems like Pat does this spilling-his-soul-to-strangers thing a lot, because he thinks he accidentally let slip some kind of secret to someone at some point and now his family is going to rub him out in what they’re calling an “event” this evening, which is why he’s so nervous. Looks like this impulsive dork was unfortunate enough to be born into a gangster family that he really doesn’t belong in? Since he trusts you, though, Pat asks you to go and talk to his family to find out more details about the “event” and maybe convince them to not actually murder him.

You apparently don’t have anything else to be doing that day, so you proceed to go around the city talking to the many members of Pat’s very large family, helping them with their various problems in minigame form so that they’ll maybe spill a few details about this super-secret “event” involving Pat tonight. As you do, it very quickly becomes clear that, A, Pat’s family really doesn’t seem very gangster-ish at all, and B, this “event” sounds more like some kind of surprise party. And, oh yeah, Pat offhandedly mentioned it was his birthday today in your first conversation with him. His family’s almost certainly just throwing him a surprise birthday party, but Pat somehow got the wrong end of the stick with their vague hints and got convinced they were going to assassinate him instead. Silly Pat.

But the more of Pat’s family you meet, the more it becomes overwhelmingly apparent that not only are his family not remotely gangsters, but… they all really love him? Sure, everyone in his family is weird and quirky and eccentric in one way or another – it’s that kind of game – but they’re all generally nice people and think Pat is a great guy who’s fun to hang out with (well, there’s a few bad eggs, but they’re just self-absorbed and don’t have any malice towards Pat). How could Pat ever actually have thought any of these people would want to hurt him?

You meet up with Pat a few times throughout the day, as he keeps wanting to have his new friend help reassure him through his nerves about the whole totally-getting-super-murdered-today thing. In one of these meetings, your character implicitly tells him “this event really just sounds like a surprise party”, and Pat insists, “no, that’s just what they want you to think, they’re definitely trying to kill me, keep investigating!” It starts to become clear that Pat’s not just acting nervous today in particular because he thinks he’s going to be killed – he’s always nervous and anxious and paranoid, and that’s why his brain’s convinced him with absolutely zero proof that his family, who clearly think the world of him, are out to get him. Poor guy!

But at least Pat has you, this kind stranger who decided to take on his problems and with whom he can feel a little bit safer and find it a little easier to believe things might be okay. In the evening, you lead him to the room where the “event” is taking place to help ease his fears, and he’s adorably delighted when he sees that it really is a birthday party all for him and no-one is trying to kill him even a little bit dead. A couple of his family members mention that he pretty much freaks out like this every year (suggestion, guys: maybe you should stop making it a surprise and just outright tell him he’s getting a party to help him be less paranoid about it). But this year Pat’s freakout wasn’t quite as bad as usual, thanks to you being there to help and reassure him. Aww.

Pat invites you to join in the photo with all of the people who made it to the party (for some reason, only the family members whose minigames you’ve completed will be there, which I guess is to give you incentive to replay in order meet them all and see the full photo). This comes with the neat twist of having a character-creation feature at the end of the game, as you get to decide on your own alligator features at last just before being in the photo. So rather than just picking what best represents your actual self in alligator form, you’ll probably be picking whatever features you think fit the kind of person you seem to have been playing as in the game, based on the comments of everyone you’ve talked to, especially Pat.

And you taking part in the family photo as Pat’s newest friend implies he considers you one of his family now too (after all, a couple of the people you met weren’t actually related to him but were still invited to the party just out of being a friend of his). It is all in all a very wholesome and lovely game about helping this guy through his anxieties, and his big eccentric family that loves him anyway, now including you. Pat is a precious adorable goof who deserves the best birthday party and as much support with his anxiety and paranoia as his family and friends can give him.

Then, if you’ve met every single family member, there’s a true ending. The “event” really being a birthday party barely counts as a plot twist because it’s so obvious, but the true ending is an actual legitimate surprise, so this is your last chance to stop reading if this has made you want to play the game for yourself.

…

Turns out, someone really was out to kill Pat that day, and that someone was you. You are actually an assassin that, through some comedic coincidences and misunderstandings, Pat accidentally hired to kill himself on his birthday.

That’s why you came to this town today. That’s perhaps even why you decided to spend your day talking to Pat’s family and getting information about the “event”; you probably assumed one of them was the one who hired you to kill him and were trying to find out who it was. The whole time Pat was relying on you to stop his family from totally-super-murdering him, and wanting your company to help ease his nerves about it, you were quietly planning on killing him yourself and he never had a clue. Apparently you were so good at hiding your intentions and appearing trustworthy to Pat, to the point that he impulsively spilled his soul to you at the beginning and continued to trust you throughout – but he never should have believed in you at all.

At the end of the party, you approach Pat alone on a balcony, and as he turns to greet you with a big smile, you push him over the railing… only to have an extremely sudden change of heart and catch him as he falls.

…So, obviously I am very on board with the concept of your assassin-gator protagonist (for whom I’m now going to switch to third-person pronouns because it turns out they’re their own character and not just an extension of the player) not actually wanting to kill Pat any more. But I don’t think the way this moment plays out quite works to properly sell their change of heart, not when it only happens all of a sudden once they’ve already pushed him to his death. If they had grown to feel unwilling to kill Pat, that’s something that would have gradually happened over the course of the day as they spent time with him and his family. Given that, if by this point they didn’t truly want to kill him deep down, I don’t think it works that the protagonist could even have brought themselves to carry out the act and push Pat off the balcony in the first place (especially not when he’s looking at them with a huge excited “hey it’s my new friend!!!” smile). I can see them approaching him, intending to do it, telling themselves they’ve just got to finish the job they came to do, but not actually being able to go through with it and physically take an action that should have ended his life.

This moment could have happened differently to sell it better. Imagine if, instead of going to push Pat off the balcony, the protagonist pulls out their knife (the knife that had always been vaguely visible inside the briefcase menu screen, and that they’d pulled out of nowhere in one of the minigames for what seemed like the kind of non-sequitur gag that this game is full of but was actually foreshadowing!)… but then they hesitate, staring at the knife, their hand perhaps beginning to shake. Then Pat turns around to greet them and freaks out so spectacularly over seeing them looming ominously over him with a knife that he falls backwards off the balcony – and the protagonist unthinkingly throws their knife aside and rushes to catch him. That way, they’re still saving Pat from themselves to seal the change of heart, but they didn’t deliberately begin to kill him before that and make the change of heart seem inappropriately sudden.

So, well, I’m basically trying to pretend that that’s how that scene actually played out, because I am otherwise finding myself rather invested (totally not for any reason that some of the people who follow me will be aware of) in this implicit story of an assassin who gradually realises that they really don’t want to kill their target at all. Based their office that we see, the protagonist very much appears to be what I like to call a “responsibly-sourced assassin” who willingly chose that profession for themselves, which you’d think would mean they were truly unfeeling and heartless and had no qualms about doing murders for a living. But clearly they do have a heart of gold somewhere in there.

This is probably me totally overthinking this largely-comedic game at this point, but: because of this, I headcanon that the protagonist got wrapped up in some really bad stuff in their past that led to them thinking they were a horrible person who was only good at murdering people and deciding they might as well give up on trying to be better and just do that for a living. They’re also evidently very good at appearing like a decent and trustworthy person on the surface, but they’d tell themselves that’s just deception so that they can more easily gather information for a hit, and definitely not because somewhere deep down they actually are capable of being a good person if they tried.

It’s also fun to think in a bit more detail about exactly how the protagonist had a change of heart. One could imagine it’s just down to Pat and his family being such lovable goofs, but on the other hand that’s the kind of thing that a professional killer would have trained themselves to block out and not let themselves be affected by, so I don’t think that alone would be enough. Maybe instead it’s got more to do with the sheer irony of the fact that Pat is genuinely paranoid that his family, who are lovely and would never hurt him and clearly deserve his trust, are out to kill him – and yet at the same time he’s blindly trusting this complete stranger who actually literally is plotting to kill him. Perhaps it weighs on the protagonist’s mind more and more over the course of the day that they don’t deserve Pat’s belief in them, especially not when he finds it so hard to even believe in the people who actually love him, to the point that the protagonist starts to wish that they were someone that Pat could believe in, that if only he could be right to do so after all.

There’s also the fact that this true ending – complete with an achievement called “Save Pat” – is something you only get when you’ve met every single member of Pat’s family. Which kind of implies that… if you don’t, the protagonist actually does kill Pat and doesn’t catch him at the last second? If so, the difference is probably less down to the last few family members having influenced the protagonist’s change of heart that significantly in and of themselves, and more down to the idea I mentioned earlier that maybe the protagonist was mostly talking to them all to try and figure out which one hired them to kill Pat. As long as they haven’t met absolutely everyone, there’s always the possibility that one of the remaining people they missed is the person who wanted Pat dead. So maybe with that in mind, the protagonist can continue to tell themselves that they’re just doing their job and carrying out their client’s wishes, and really Pat’s death is not on their hands and is just the fault of the person who hired them and wanted him dead. But if they’ve met the entire family, then there’s absolutely no denying that nobody wants Pat dead at all. With that, the protagonist can no longer hide from the fact that the only actual bad person with murderous intent here this whole time has been themselves – and maybe that’s what causes them to realise that they don’t want to be that person any more.

Pat reflects in the true ending, after the protagonist has not-killed him and he’s invited them to his house the next morning, that they essentially saved him from himself. He almost seems to think his own paranoia and conviction that people were out to kill him is to blame for accidentally hiring someone to actually do it. This is apparently why he seems so weirdly not-traumatised about the part where the only person he did trust was the one who actually was plotting to kill him for most of the day. You’d think that would’ve made him feel like his paranoia is justified and therefore make him more paranoid, if anything, no matter how sure he is that the protagonist doesn’t want to kill him any more. Instead, though, Pat frames it as “the only one out to get me was me”, not putting any of the blame on the protagonist for hiding their true intentions from him all day and being the one to almost act on that supposed self-destructiveness of his.

But… if Pat really does think his own paranoia is to blame for this, he’s wrong. The exact amusingly ludicrous coincidence that caused this was Pat sneezing jam onto an ad in the paper for the protagonist’s services (you know, that place where assassins usually advertise) that happened to cover just the right words and letters to change the meaning of the message from “I can kill whoever you need, just give me a description of them” to “I am ill and need help, please give me a description of yourself”. Pat saw this and immediately went “oh no I have to help them!!!” and called them to describe himself in third-person, including mentioning his upcoming birthday, because they said that would help them somehow!  So the only thing to blame for this other than a ridiculous coincidence was… well, partly Pat’s tendency to jump to conclusions and act without questioning things, but also his instinctive kindness towards anyone and everyone, even complete strangers. Not his paranoia!

So, I propose a different overall point of this story. It wasn’t the protagonist saving Pat from himself and his own paranoia; rather, it was the opposite. Through the sheer luck of the coincidence that caused him to make that phone call, his tendency to sometimes jump to overly-trusting conclusions instead of overly-paranoid ones, and his and his family’s general goodness, Pat saved the protagonist from themselves. He led them to realise that they could be better than they thought they were and didn’t have to or want to kill people for a living any more.

It’s not mentioned at all in the ending, but I firmly headcanon that the protagonist quits the murder business altogether from that day onwards and becomes just another member of Pat’s family: that one who incidentally used to be an assassin but changed their mind about it thanks to a combination of some unlikely coincidences and Pat just being a good guy. That’s exactly the right flavour of silly eccentricity that’d make them fit in perfectly with the rest of those goofs.

[cmoroneybooks]

Unmasking: Part One

Order is the ruling concept of the Andalan faith and the nations that bow before it. Anything done in the name of maintaining order is considered justified, no matter how perverse or cruel. Anything powerful, unpredictable, or free is regulated or destroyed. It is this thinking from which the Dagasi Order, a system of legal assassination was born.

Designed to keep the grudges of the petty and powerful from spilling into open warfare and stealing the lives of the innocent and weak, the Order is a mysterious but widely accepted part of life in the upper echelons of Andalan society. Andalan nobles scoff at the barbarians to the East who call the Dagasi Order and its practices savage. They tut at the unruly and unregulated magics which lie beyond the invisible line that divides the continent between Andalan and other. They worship the Gods of Order and Chaos, but only one affects their judgement.  

Georgiana served the Order despite its cruelty. She excelled despite her slight stature and sex. She killed for her freedom and killed some more for her fortune. It was all supposed to end in peace and serenity, but unfortunately for Georgiana she fell in love with an ambitious man and he loves her just as much.  

Her dress rustled with every step, the layered black silk whispering secrets to anyone who paused to listen. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! Even amongst the hubris of the crowded antechamber full of slow-moving aristocrats, petty rulers, and merchant princes, her ears caught every whisper her skirts made. This announcement of her presence brought a prickle of unease between her shoulder blades.

Georgiana clutched tightly to Marcel's arm, perhaps a little too tightly. He had repeatedly glanced over at her as they made their way through the stream of over-decorated butterflies. His face was impassive, green eyes unreadable even to her, but the gesture alone spoke of concern. She loosened her grip and forced herself to relax. At least, she forced her body to relax, over that she had complete control, even now after so many hours spent at a writing desk instead of training. Her shoulders fell back, her torso shifted in line with her pelvis and she curved her lips just slightly, in an imitation of an unconscious smile. Marcel wouldn't be fooled; he would carry the concern all night. A tightness in his jaw, a slight curve of his spine as he walked. Little things only she would notice, but there all the same.

"Relax," he breathed, his words not going past her ears.

Georgiana shot him a look that would have withered up and blown away lesser men, but her husband only smiled.

Balls and upper-class gatherings of all kinds brought up memories of her time in the Dagasi Order as one of Andala's sanctified assassins. Hours spent crouched in shadows, blood splatters on fine fabric and priceless floors, the surprise on each and every face.

Memories Georgiana preferred to repress.

It wasn't remembering the people she had killed that bothered her. In fact, she was proud of several of those assassinations. No, it was remembering how easy it had been to kill them, even the trained fighters.

"We're on hallowed ground,' Marcel reminded her as a stern-faced guardsman, who barely remembered to incline his head in acknowledgement, ushered them through one large, ornate antechamber and into another. "Violence is strictly prohibited."

"So is politics," Georgiana shot back as they moved into a room illuminated by green light. Marcel didn't reply, his attention caught up by the source of the light.

In the center of the room was a portal's whirling vortex within an archway formed of entwined vines of emerald fire. Trailing tendrils of flame crept down the marble pathway that led to the fiery arch as if reaching for the guests. Here the disorganized mass of moving people stopped, being directed through the fiery portal in small groups by two hulking guardsmen.

To the side of the archway, behind the guardsmen, an unusually tall mage stood. His skin was completely hairless, devoid of eyebrows, lashes, or any hair at all upon his head, limbs, or face. His skin was almost supernaturally pale. His eyes had only the barest hint of blue and were nearly colourless. The black band of a slave, glittering with enchantments encircled his neck. She openly stared at him as she passed, but he didn't return her gaze, his disturbing eyes fixed on the pulsating light of the entrance. An albino with power, and a lot of it judging by his bland expression. He was quite the prize.

Perhaps he was a gift from some influential popinjay that wanted to get in Zahra's good graces now that her daughter was The Fire That Sustains. As the spiritual guide of the South she could command the hearts and minds of half the people on the continent -, commons, and nobles alike.  A capability that Zahra, by extension, now also enjoyed.

Stepping through the archway burned cold; a breath later and they were through the other side. The warm air was a shock against her skin and the blazing light of hundreds of candles reflected against their crystalline chandeliers burned her eyes.  A hand squeezed her stomach painfully as she blinked away blind spots, the skin between her shoulder blades burned, and her chest tightened. Sensing her anxiety Marcel dropped the arm her hand delicately rested on, abandoning formality to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead.

Georgiana pushed back unwelcome memories of dark rooms, burning light, and pain. She clenched her hands into tight fists to help fight off the urge to reach up and touch the two bladed pins that held her hair in place. It was a precarious thing the hairstyle that kept the blades away from her scalp. She didn't want to undo her maid's good work out of mere paranoia.

Once her vision cleared Georgiana recognised the entrance hall of Andefor Manor, some thousand miles away from the corridors of the Hall of Ascendancy where they had been a second before.

𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.

Despite losing the protection hallowed ground offered against violence, the sight of Andefor Manor's entrance hall calmed her. It was as familiar as the Hall of Ascendancy was alien. It was here that she had completed both her first and final contract for the Order.

Since she had last visited, the manor had been redone in the classical style. Columns of aged marble reached up to support the vaulted ceiling as ever, but now golden vines had been painted around them twining up towards the sky. The floors had been redone in milky quartz, polished to shining, and the walls were draped in lengths of satin. Alternating between the shining gold and crimson emblem of The Fire That Sustains, and the green and black coat of arms of the House of Andefor.  Gentle piano music hung in the air and an unseen choir sung a wordless hymn, their voices brimming with reverence.

"A bit much wouldn't you say?" Marcel murmured, leaning in towards her ear as he did. Georgiana repressed a shiver at her husband's closeness, and she felt his lips twist into a smile.

"I preferred the marble floors myself."

"Yes, you would," he said with an exaggerated sigh. Georgiana just smiled beatifically; she had just spent an exorbitant amount of money having the façade of their townhouse in Halossa sheathed in marble.

"I suppose it's difficult to really enjoy the carousing in the Hall of Ascendancy."

"Nothing like being reminded of the gods to turn you off sin for the night," Marcel said. "And a sinless celebration would be something of a failure."

"Especially given the tastes of Iman," Georgiana agreed, thinking of the party she had attended the year before when she had first met the ruler of the Vestika Imperium. Most brothels were a picture of chastity and innocence compared to the debauchery she witnessed that night.

"Apparently he prefers blondes," Marcel said as they navigated the crowds.

"He does," Georgiana agreed looking out into the crowd. There was a disgusting amount of taffeta and satin, which was unfortunate as the next several years in fashion would be directly inspired by what was worn tonight. There was also an unusual number of blonde women whose faces she couldn't put a name to.

"I don't know her," Marcel said, having followed her gaze to the face of a silver-eyed blonde girl, barely more than a child by the look of her.

"I doubt anyone here does."

The many guests, most already familiar with the layout of Andefor Manor, were moving through the open double doors at the far end of the room, which led to the reception hall and ballroom beyond. The reception hall had been redecorated similarly to the entrance hall, but with the added addition of a golden throne set on a raised platform in the very centre of the room.

Georgiana recognised most of the guests that swirled around them, as they pushed further into the reception hall. Courtiers from the Attessan city-states, high ranking priests, wealthy commoners like herself and Marcel, Imperial aristocrats, and the sovereign lord of not one, but nine nations. There was an unusual energy among them all. A thrumming excitement, unseen but unmistakable.

"It's a holy day, they can relax" Marcel said, noticing her staring off into the crowd. "So, can you."

Georgiana would love to believe him, but she couldn't. Her Dagasi price had been inquired after two moons past. She was only lucky her service to the Order meant it was exorbitantly high. Apparently, her would-be murderer couldn't afford it, but that was cold comfort. At the night market in Halossa - known for illegal activity -, a well-dressed man had been asking around for the services of an illegitimate, non-Dagasi, assassin.

Someone wanted her dead.

Someone who was willing to sacrifice their honour and integrity to see it done. Willing to deal with cut-throats and side-step the ancient system, which had kept the continent from dissolving into open warfare for centuries. Perhaps even dirty their own hands. And what better time to catch her unaware than on a holy day?

No, she couldn't relax, especially with Marcel on her arm. Her husband had many talents, but self-defense was not one of them.

They had crossed the breadth of the reception room now and Marcel steered them towards the far corner of the room. The Dominus and Domina of Milkain, a wealthy, aristocratic couple of some standing in the Imperium, were sitting there together on one of the deep purple velvet lounges, a table laden with fruits and cheeses in front of them.  The Dominus, Ibrahim, was an intelligent man who shared many of Marcel's drier areas of interest and so, despite his pleasant temperament, was a rather boring man. His wife, Amira, made up for him. She was a vivacious and engaging woman who was considered by many to be the most fashionable woman on the continent and supposedly one of the purest Varani living. She certainly looked it. In a room filled with coffee-brown Estans and ebony-black Varani purists she had the darkest skin of any. No small feat, and her eyes, which lit up with welcome as they approached, were a vibrant purple that was never seen in anything less than pure-blooded Varani. Blessedly, she was in fine linen dyed a soft grey and embroidered with silver flowers. If Amira had worn taffeta, it would have cemented the trend irreversibly.

Ibrahim rose, gesturing for Georgiana to take his place beside Amira. Grateful to get off her feet she sat down beside Amira who flung her arms around Georgiana's shoulders with unembarrassed affection. Georgiana gave her a genuine smile. She didn't often attach herself to people, but Amira had found a place in her heart from their first meeting.

"How did you like the ceremony?" Amira asked in a conspiratorial whisper as their husbands waved over one of the many servants in gold-trimmed livery who hovered around the guests.

"We were seated in the sixteenth row, so we didn't see a great deal. The music was very good, however."

"That is very close for a commoner," Amira remarked. "Marcel must have been pleased."

"He was, especially given the Comte of Avada was in the row behind us."

"The seventeenth row?" Amira looked shocked. "Blood feuds have been started over smaller insults."

"He must have done something to offend Zahra. I'm told she saw to the seating chart personally."

"I imagine he is not long for this world."

"I, for one, will not miss him." It was Ibrahim who spoke, he and Marcel returning to them, a servant following anxiously at their heels, his lips moving soundlessly in some incantation.

"He's a bit of an idiot," Marcel agreed sitting down in the winged armchair the servant had materialised out of nowhere. Purple velvet, a perfect match for the lounge. A twin armchair materialised beside it and Ibrahim dismissed the server with a smile and nod.

"I would have said poorly educated."

"Only because you're a snob."

Ibrahim waved a hand at Marcel dismissively. "You are uncouth."

"I'm shocked to hear you use such language, Your Excellency," Georgiana said with a grin that Ibrahim returned.

"Your husband has been a bad influence on my behavior, I fear, ma'am."

"Naturally," Marcel said with a sly grin. "But you're better for it. So, how was the ceremony from the sixth row? I noticed you two have moved up in the world recently."

"It was -" Amira shook her head, a far-off look in her violet eyes. She leaned in closer. "It was disturbing if I am honest. You could see the spirit take her. One moment a little girl, the next -"

"The Fire That Sustains," Marcel finished for her.

"I only hope that Johanna herself wasn't burnt away in that fire."

"Well, tradition tells us that both the spirit and the bearer are present in that holy union."

"As does our personal experience with Johanna's predecessor," Ibrahim added. "No one could say Nasira lacked for her own, distinct, personality." A servant appeared at his elbow, a golden tray with four glasses of rich, red liquid held out.

"Your drinks Your Excellencies, sir and ma'am."

"I asked for cherry wine and they've got Bavordan vintages," Ibrahim said as they all accepted their drinks from the servant, who bowed when Marcel took the last drink off the tray and quickly scurried away.

Amira held her drink aloft. "The Fire That Sustains, long may she burn."

The rest of them raised their glasses, repeating "long may she burn," and they all took a drink. The wine was tart despite the sweetness of cherries and rich like all Bavordan reds.

As they toasted a hush fell over the room. Georgiana looked over Marcel's shoulder to see Johanna Andefor, The Fire That Sustains, representative of the Mother Creator on earth and spiritual guide of the South standing in the doorway. She was small, even for an eight-year-old girl. The badge of her rank, a crown of fire opals and gold carved into the likeness of roses on a vine, sat precariously on her head. Tilted back so it didn't fall over her face. She was Zahra in miniature, with her silky black braids and delicate features, but her eyes had turned grey where they were once her mother's warm brown. She looked out at them all for a moment and Georgiana scrambled to her feet so that she, like the rest of the assembled guests, could drop to her knees and press her face into the ground.

"Rise," she said, her soft, soprano voice carrying across the room.

Georgiana waited a moment before getting to her feet. There was a delicate balance of ego amongst the more sensitive nobility that she had no interest in upsetting by rising before them. Marcel followed suit.  Amira and Ibrahim watched them with amusement, having stood immediately.

"I always forget the two of you are commoners," Ibrahim said as Johanna strode purposefully towards her throne, people melting out of her path.

"I'm also a literal bastard," Georgiana added to a snort of laughter Ibrahim tried to cover up as a cough. "But I'm a rich bastard and that's really all that matters."

"As I am to celebrate my flower day in less than a month I could not agree more," Amira said with a wide smile, linking her arm in Georgiana's. "Rich bastards tend to be excellent gift-givers." Georgiana returned the smile thinking of the purple tourmaline and gold jewelry set, inlaid with outrageously expensive protective charms, she had commissioned for her friend.

"We should probably mingle," Ibrahim said. "Taxation reform is never popular, and I promised His Illustriousness we would try to curry favour for it."

"We?" Marcel asked with a raised eyebrow. "I don't remember Iman offering to pay me."

"Considering the new reforms would let you expand your venture beyond the Attessan states and into the Imperium - "

"Well in that case." The two of them shared a slow, satisfied smile. Amira too was smiling but Georgiana had to hold back a sigh, polite small talk with people who looked down on her wasn't her idea of fun. Reluctantly she followed them further into the room and towards a group of Imperial nobles.

"Do not look so sullen, Georgie," Amira said in a singsong voice. "You should learn to love occasions like this!"

Georgiana opened her mouth, a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat as she felt a breeze on her neck and her gut twisted with the primal knowledge she was being watched.  Without conscious thought, she doubled over, dragging Amira down with her and neatly avoiding a blade aimed for her head.

A dull, wet thud and a scream. A blade thrown in a crowded room was always sure to hit someone. Georgiana pushed Amira behind her and into the crowd which had erupted in startled shouts and curses. Guardsmen who had before been trying to look unobtrusive now forced the crowd apart, pushing aside aristocrats and priests without care. As she moved, her would -be killer, a middle-aged balding man, made to slam into her only to find empty air. She nearly laughed as she finished the movement she had begun, sweeping her right foot into a wide circle as she spun, her feet never once losing contact with the ground. She slammed her shin into the back of his knee, knocking him to the floor in front of her.

𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘶𝘳.

The fear of before was gone. Waiting for an unseen assailant was one thing, but with the violence out in the open she was again in her element. She straightened, hand flying to the ornamental hairpin holding her dark locks in place. That would have been it for him, her instincts told her to kill first and ask questions later. But a second attacker, a young man with taunting eyes, saved him when Georgiana was forced to duck out of the way as he came hurtling towards her. She moved backwards and to her left, letting him barrel past her she slashed her arm. The hairpin caught him in the cheek, and he screamed as blood gushed down his face. Georgiana felt a breeze of movement on her right arm and twisted out of the path of another attacker. A short, lithe blonde woman rushed past her, going further than she planned without Georgiana to slow her momentum. She ran right into the blade of a quicker guardsmen's sword, impaling herself. Georgiana swiveled back to face the man she had slashed, the half-impaled girl already forgotten. He moved more cautiously now but still smirked at her. She wanted to slap that look off his face.

"You're very young to die," her voice was low and husky, as they circled each other, ignoring the shouts and ringing steel as guardsmen and military-minded guests alike moved to engage the other ambushers. They had apparently come in numbers. "Surrendering might save your life."

He didn't answer, rushing her instead. Evade and strike, a memory whispered. She rolled out of the way – her first mistake. Her layered silk dress wasn't designed with acrobatics in mind and the roll tangled her up in it. Her attacker noticed and that obnoxious grin lit his face again and so Georgiana made her second mistake. Her blade shot across the room, following the path of her eyes to bury itself in his throat. He made a retching noise, clutching at his throat and dropping to his knees. The shock on his face was almost worth losing her only weapon, the other hairpin had fallen out of her hair during the fight. She was free for only a second. Just long enough to get to her feet and see that Marcel was safe behind the battle lines the guardsmen had drawn up to entrap the would-be assassins.

Then her fourth attacker was upon her.

He was at a disadvantage, having fought his way to her. Blood stained his brown breeches dark on his right side. His face pale under coffee brown skin, sable eyes very wide. He didn't rush her, holding back from the move that had proved fatal for his compatriots. Instead they circled, the dance of death a teacher had once called it. It was something to be avoided according to that teacher, best to throw them off, give them no time to think. No time to fear. Fear could sharpen or break an opponent. That teaching had been a warning. But in Georgiana's opinion, if wielded properly, fear was a potent weapon.

She pushed her circle out wider, edging herself towards the blade lodged in his comrade's throat. It took him longer than it should have to notice she was getting closer to a weapon. As he stepped in to block her path, she pivoted so that for a second his back was to her. She slammed her elbow and forearm into his shoulder blades and lower neck. He stumbled forward, his sword clattering away out of his grasp. She didn't give him time to regain his balance, slamming into him with her entire body weight and the not insignificant added weight of her dress. He fell, face first into the marble floor. His nose broke with an audible crunch. He'd probably lost teeth. Georgiana went down with him, though her fall was controlled, her weight falling on top of him and winding him again. She didn't give him a chance to catch his breath. She caught his arm, twisting it backwards and forced a knee down onto his cheek, pinning his head to the ground. He struggled, trying to break her balance and grip, but despite the inconvenience of her layered skirts his attempts didn't shift her.

She leaned down close to her prisoner's ear. "Too late."

"What are you planning to do to that man Madame Allegra?"

Georgiana looked up to see the guards had ringed the room, shutting off all exits and separating the crowd from the bloody scene Georgiana found herself in the middle of. There had been two dozen assassins in total, but only four had made it to Georgiana, guardsmen and guests alike cutting them down. Of the four who had reached her, three were dead. Ibrahim's badge of office, a ceremonial dagger with a bloodstone blade and a ruby encrusted hilt, was buried in the back of the middle-aged man, which explained his disappearance. She had killed the second attacker; he lay in a pool of his own blood, unmoving, eyes no longer taunting. The girl had impaled herself. Two others were still living, being restrained by guards. In front of her stood Johanna, Iman and Zahra only a pace behind. The three most important people in Andala had their attention focused solely on Georgiana.

This is part one of ‘Unmasking’ the first installment of ‘The Dagasi Saga.’ The entirety of ‘Unmasking is available for free on webnovel, and the second installment ‘Anathema’ is available for 0.99cents USD on Amazon. If you don’t want to pay don’t worry! Everything will be released on webnovel, it will just take more time. If you don’t want to wait, Amazon is the way. 

Webnovel

Amazon

[egdocument]

About the EvaGeeks wiki and why you shouldn't trust it, concerning mainly one user.

On the subject of EvaGeeks: Let’s talk about the manipulation of information on the wiki, and perpetuated “nastiness” on the forums that has persisted for several years now. THIS IS A MIRROR OF THIS GOOGLE DOCS FILE. (My twitter post.) You can share this post or the original document freely, use parts of it, etc. I want this document to simply serve as a warning to new Eva fans and those less familiar with EvaGeeks and their history - as well as an update for people who haven’t seen the current state of it.

NOTE: If you can’t read any of these images, these are Imgur albums containing all of the notable ones: https://imgur.com/a/z2mGvvX https://imgur.com/a/oAgufc3

The intent of this document is not to “take down” the wiki or forum, obviously. The intent is simply to inform people of the dangers of trusting this site with their Eva info. It might be the best we have but that doesn’t mean we can’t improve it. I would actually love to see a more community cultivated version of the site with less biased information, but I fear that will never happen. The anxieties of any one (or many) individual(s), which have prevented consistent change until now are well justified, and it is not within reason to blame the outsiders for never bothering to correct the myriad of issues with the wiki. Please extend kindness to other Eva fans and approach sites like EvaGeeks with the appropriate scrutiny, if you aren’t already. We’re divided enough as it is.

Before I begin, I must state: All of the information presented is publicly available, either through main pages, chat logs or history. And yes, the link to join the Discord server and verify the information given in this is publicly available too. I will not link it myself, as I want to avoid any possible harassment of the users I speak about here. Harassment is NEVER the answer in any kind of conflict. This behaviour I don’t believe can go unchecked, but that doesn’t mean the consequences of it should be any kind of conflict towards any user. I will be naming them here so you are aware, but I really do have to advise you, as a reminder, DO NOT HARASS OR ENGAGE WITH THEM. The rule of thumb is that these issues are more systematic than you might think, and blaming or taking it out on a singular person or even a whole group is never justified. Targeted harassment, even with reason, especially never helps to remedy an issue, because it forces the person to double down on their behaviour and beliefs. Causing unnecessary pain to a person is never okay, and the ‘offences’ committed here aren’t deserving of it in the first place. Please also consider the feelings of the people who use the server and EvaGeeks site; not everyone is your "enemy" or your "target" (and frankly, no-one should be) and despite the feelings echoed in this document, EG is not a monolith of a singular opinion or belief.

The purpose of this document is to inform people of the ways EvaGeeks fails objectivity and has existed to push narratives and exclude outsiders for far too long. With new people coming into the Eva fandom (and there of course being others who have been around for quite a while but just aren't aware) I feel like now is the best time I could write this.

As for what prompted this, an anonymous member of the Discord server contacted me regarding the behaviour of one particular user they were concerned about. Said user had expressed considerable bias in the past and was admitting to making large edits to pages on the wiki very recently, and the person who contacted me felt unequipped to bring the issue to light themselves.

A decent amount of this document will be dedicated to presenting said user's contributions - while I feel someone always had to address the EvaGeeks Problem at large, it doesn't help that this user has essentially incriminated himself here to expose the problem in its entirety. 

There is quite a bit of pretense I must discuss before I get into the subject of the wiki pages themselves. I suggest you read all of it; the start of the wiki section will be in heading text if you’d like to skip to it. I’m sure information on the biased editing of wiki pages is privy to anyone who has used the server or the site itself, but at the server’s current status of 60 entire members, I know not everyone has, or is aware of what the problem actually is. Please note that the person who contacted me has requested anonymity and I will be complying. I will not include screenshots of their conversation with me, and anything I quote from them will be paraphrased so nobody can go full Sherlock and analyse their typing patterns. It sounds silly and it’s probably just paranoia, but they shared my concern here. Any conflict we can prevent is for the best. EvaGeeks, of course, has a culture very much promoting the idea that it’s the “number 1 source for all things Eva”, and for English speaking fans it definitely is - you’d be surprised the amount of people who still, after all these years, think this site is consistently reputable. For the sake of context, I’m going to assume that you are not all that familiar with the site’s history or nature, so I’m going to provide a little bit of information about it for those without any first-hand experience. The forums in particular cultivate a very join-us-or-get-out type community, where those who dare to go against the grain get incentivised to leave the site; they’ll claim this isn’t the case if asked and obviously the site is NOT a hivemind but that doesn’t mean it’s not insular. I can vouch for myself and many others who refuse to go in more than a few threads for fear of discussion turning particularly nasty. Even the server member who came to me about this has stated they feel it “might not be a hivemind but it sure feels that way.” Silencing dissent, even when officially-backed, is part of their culture. You don’t have to personally harass everyone who has an opposing thought to you for it to not feel acceptable, you just need to have a history of mocking those who do. If you want some previous, notable cases of “discussion turning nasty”, here’s some off the top of my head: 1. The AWL Incident - In which ADV VA of Rei and director of EoE dub, Amanda Winn-Lee, joined the forums for discussion and was promptly harassed by a user. Most of these messages have been deleted but you can view what remains of her post history here.  2. Recently brought to my attention: upon beginning translation of the Episode 24 drafts, EG forum user LiLi was subjected to incentive to leave, mostly in the form of homophobic disgust in replies to her thread or others they were mentioned in. Any information that goes against the cultivated narrative, even when it is literally officially licensed content, is only ever considered with a degree of reluctance. The fact these drafts co-exist with other pages concerned with this episode is almost a miracle. You can find plenty of repeat instances of the above if you want to (more to do with homophobia and misogyny than outward hostility, but honestly it’s the same thing.) A look at basically any EvaGeeks thread concerning pairings or the female characters will unearth a variety of awful comments from many other users, not that that would be surprising to anyone who has spent more than two minutes in the fandom. Now, of course, that’s very relevant to the topic at hand even if it doesn’t seem to be. The EG wiki and forum have quite a bit of overlap and circular influence on each other as you’ll see later if you aren’t already aware of it. For a short summary before we jump into things and analyse our subject of the day, this essentially means that anyone with an opinion or information the majority doesn’t like will never get in a position good enough to edit the wiki and keep the edits there. This has resulted in many articles filled with conjecture and fan speculation that serve to shut down other viewpoints, whether it’s intentional or not.

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ON THE TOPIC OF THE EVAGEEKS WIKI

The issue surrounding homophobia and downplaying of references to LGB content in Eva, through proxy of fan-dictated content control and translation is not a new one by any stretch of the imagination. I'm sure you're all very well aware. It’s far from the only issue present in the fandom but it will be our subject of conversation today. Any ‘one instance’ of this persistent behaviour from Eva fans is never going to be enough to summarise how insurmountable it really is, though, so today I instead draw your attention to one user of the wiki who goes by the name of FelipeFritschF and his recent, frequent updates to pages concerning Nagisa Kaworu.

[TOPIC: FELIPEFRITSCHF]

I must reiterate here: although this document is mostly concerned with this user and will contain a number of receipts from various places, it is NOT supposed to function as a hit piece or inspire any kind of mob. Leave this guy the hell alone, just be aware that he’s the one making most of these changes and isn’t a particularly impartial party, to put things lightly.

Now, before we really get into things, it should be stated that the EvaGeeks wiki requires approval to get your edits there, as stated at the bottom of the homepage, here:

This means that anyone making consistent edits to the wiki has in fact been approved, and this isn’t the result of lack of maintenance.  

What you’ll find is that it is consistently Felipe making edits to the pages in question. Kaworu’s bio page, for example, is almost entirely edited by Felipe, which we can see from the “History” tab of the article.

This is barely half of his edits made in the last few days. Take a scroll through it yourself if you’re so inclined. This hilarious bit of waffle was added by Felipe a few days ago and since revised since by him, as shown here. 

(As an added bit of comedy, the man who decided to add in the Japanese in the first place apparently didn’t know the difference between 好意 (kindness, what Kaworu actually says) and 行為 (action). It’s been fixed since but I still think it’s quite funny.) Now, as anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of Japanese knows, 好き is not actually a very ambiguous word at all. I think it goes without saying, though, and I’m not here to have an argument about translations with you all (for the record, Kanemitsu’s now scarily infamous translation of this scene is perfectly fine with me in a vacuum, it’s just literally everything else surrounding it that’s the problem. Also, regretfully, I will have to speak about this nonsense later when it becomes relevant.) I’m using this as an example instead, to show how utterly ridiculous this guy’s additions to these pages are. He’s not even making a point here. It keeps going past this excerpt, and I suggest you read the whole thing (Kaworu’s page is linked above.) The point of bringing this up - and when I eventually discuss the Netflix translation when it’s necessary - is not to complain about semantics, although I’d argue that’s what’s happening in these articles, honestly. It’s just helpful when proving the actual point of the editor being incredibly unreliable and biased in how he phrases and omits things.

On the page dedicated solely to Shinji and Kaworu’s relationship (which is basically identical to their section on Kaworu’s page as far as I can tell), we can see that Felipe has also edited this several times, and even credits himself with expanding the version on the Evangelion Fandom Wiki now copy and pasted back to EvaGeeks.

The kind of “discussion” (very much not discussion when added to a wiki page supposedly presented as factual information, is it, frankly?) would be fine if it was happening in the EvaGeeks forum itself (and happen does it ever, but that doesn’t change the inappropriateness of this particular behaviour.) What I find disturbing is that in the past few days, this user has gone out of his way to make some already worrying articles even worse, presumably in an attempt to silence discourse, or add more fuel to the flames, surrounding the new Netflix translation. He has a whole page on that one, too, one which is very up-to-date in some regards and not at all in others, despite only being added a few days before me compiling this information. Frankly, going through this whole page on its own is a huge waste of my time considering how BLATANT it is in its biases, but I’ll do it anyway. It IS only a Theory and Analysis page (which is essentially an EvaGeeks free-for-all), but I think it’s quite bothering that the site even allows Theory and Analysis pages that consider only one viewpoint and are written by one person. The forum, presumably, is connected to the site for a reason. 

I’m just going to link it here, for the sake of brevity. https://wiki.evageeks.org/Theory_and_Analysis:Kaworu%27s_lines_in_Episode_24 I suggest you read this before continuing. For a slight departure, the original theatrical Funimation dub of 3.0 is partially available for viewing online, although the audio is in cam quality so you may want headphones if you have plans to watch what’s there. The home media dub’s major changes are to issues with lore and localisation of jargon. While not directly mentioned in this article, it is implied from the subject that this is what it’s about; it’s been speculated that the very literal translation of Episode 24 in particular has come about due to Khara’s embarrassment with how Funimation’s theatrical dub of 3.0 handled Kaworu and Shinji’s relationship rather loosely. Despite these claims, every instance of the two sharing (honestly pretty awkward and unnecessary) flirtatious back-and-forths are still present in the home media version, barring an instance in the stargazing scene where Kaworu’s dialogue was translated even worse than it is in the final dub. If you don’t believe me, do the comparisons yourself. It may not be conclusive, but I think it puts mostly to death the rumour that “a Khara employee was there and saw how people laughed at the Kaworu and Shinji scenes and demanded it needed to be changed for the final release and now that’s being reflected on the new translation”, which is what it tends to boil down to. 

It also goes without saying that NO ONE PERSON is “the most qualified” (holy shit, is this entry not even bothering to hide how biased it is) to translate an entire TV show, let alone something like Evangelion. Let us not forget that Kanemitsu’s claims that he respects “ambiguity” are not even true to begin with. EvaGeeks itself is a shining example of Eva fans, of which Kanemitsu is one and this is even discussed in the article, not being impartial enough to be tasked with discussing Evangelion! (There is obviously issue with citing the ADV translation as a source of all truth; if you read further into the thread on my tweet [the kitchen scene in EoE], I provide extra context for those interested, which I am aware has been spread around Discord and other places without that context included. Of course, I’m not an unbiased source either as you can probably tell from my tweets nor am I claiming to be, so please feel free to discuss these things in other places if you want. I’ve just got the tweets I have on hand here. Sorry about that.) Next, the repeat claim that this is “Khara’s licensed translation and thus the most accurate version” is pretty obviously nonsense; I’m sure I don’t need to point out to the audience that Japanese companies meddling in localisation has ended poorly in the past, or that Khara uses questionable translations from the dubs of the Rebuild films on licensed merch from time-to-time, or that the translation was fairly obviously not overseen or even QA’d by anyone following Kanemitsu’s translation work judging from the myriad of grammatical errors, missing subtitles and overly literal, poor sounding phrasing present in the final work. (Do I need to source this? Just watch the damn thing.) It’s not even like the ways it was translated have been consistent through different versions on Netflix; some were translated from Kanemitsu’s English to other languages judging from the obvious mistakes being present in multiple tracks, and some were barely even translated at all - the Italian version, the dub of which is mysteriously now missing, was so bad people were commenting that it sounded like Shakespeare or that it was translated word for word from Japanese. I dunno about you, the reader, but something about “Khara only bothered to check very rigorously the English version for their specific requests with the translation” doesn’t sound like what really happened to me. It’s more like they’ve just sent a translator they have worked with before to work on a project of theirs. Apologies for engaging in speculation, but that’s all this whole article is anyway. It’s just something I noticed from skimming through the page, but I find it quite interesting that Felipe makes a blanket statement about the excerpts from Schizo and Prano “being wrongly attributed to Anno” and then the source he provides for that is just someone on the EvaGeeks forums saying the same thing with little proper sourcing, when that was never really the intent of their post anyway. An interview summary exists where Anno has stated he wrote both books himself, and if you haven’t seen it, here it is. It’s obviously flimsy at best, but Tokyo Otaku Mode is an officially licensed Evangelion distributor. If Felipe is going to parade around his love for the Very Official Khara Subtitles Of NGE he can at least extend the same gratitude to other forms of official information; I mean, frankly, this article is about as reputable as anything in the Netflix subtitles are.  Lastly, another thing I found quite interesting is his strange love for the ADV VHS subtitles. I really, really think this is obvious, but subtitles changed in later versions of the ADV release were changed because they were deemed incorrect. I don’t have sources for this so take it with an absolute grain of salt but I believe there’s even a commentary track on the Platinum release where the translator talks in depth about why she translated episode 24 as she did. It’s not exactly a better word than Kanemitsu’s, but if we’re considering translator’s word as law for whatever reason like Felipe is here, we might as well consider hers, too, right? Oh, and actually, have a look at the sources used on that article. Most of the sweeping statements he makes have absolutely no backing beyond what he’s piecing together from old and irrelevant interviews (when discussing the Netflix translation) as well as...linking Kanemitsu’s job history...I mean, sure, the guy is qualified, but do I really need to go over this again?

INTERMISSION: Speaking of sources, you might have noticed from perusing these articles yourself that EvaGeeks has a very low standard for sourcing to begin with, which is likely partially to blame for how things like these articles can even exist in their current forms in the first place. A site that doesn’t have such a lenient policy on sourcing, though, is Wikipedia. Felipe, of course, cannot stay within the confines of the fandom and has decided to have a go at providing some information to Kaworu’s actual Wikipedia page as well.

https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Kaworu_Nagisa&action=history Felipe is far less to blame for the state of Kaworu’s Wikipedia article, which is honestly pretty bad to begin with. There have been plenty of other people editing this one and the rather homophobic “Relationship with Shinji” part of the article has been present for a while before he started editing it. (The fact this article literally uses someone being explicitly homophobic as a source is not surprising for Eva fandom, but holy shit, am I disgusted every time I reopen this page. I'm not even going to bother figuring out who added that one.) I do wonder if his reasons for not desecrating this page the same way he has on EvaGeeks is because he knows it wouldn’t stay up for particularly long. Reminder that he is also the main editor of the same pages on the Evangelion Fandom Wiki, which is essentially a copy and paste of EvaGeeks. Of note is this little tidbit I found:

This is what Felipe then deleted, as this is apparently not relevant, despite literally being about Kaworu’s relationship with Shinji. I mean, I’m sure this could have been put in somewhere else and perhaps phrased a bit better, but why the hell would you outright delete that kind of information? It’s supposed to be a wiki, not your own personal opinion chamber. BTW, this is the thread post he links as a rebuttal to that person adding it, and it’s probably for the best it’s presented here with context: https://forum.evageeks.org/post/886380/NGE-Ep24-Script-First-and-Second-Drafts/#886380

He clearly thinks he has a point here, but I’m not sure what exactly he’s going for. Basically everything he’s saying is conjecture, and while I can kinda see where he’s coming from it sure does completely fail to address the intent as explained in this interview. “Read the whole interview” is very dismissive, especially when the interview in full doesn’t exactly contradict the initial point. It does say quite a bit, how he will disregard official information when his wiki articles themselves are full of nothing but rambling.

Here’s another relevant and quite funny Discord screenshot:

Felipe is making a pretty hypocritical statement here. I’m sure he does have a point - there’s probably been quite a bit of vandalism happening to these pages which isn’t exactly surprising (again, Eva fans are not often rational people, please be honest with ourselves). That being said, I think there’s a particular irony to the man who has written many very, very long paragraphs on the wiki pages he has control over trying to stop people from thinking there might be anything but “ambiguity” between a pair he doesn’t like.

In the case anyone reading has forgotten: the purpose of a wiki should be to provide unbiased information on the material it discusses. Obviously the repeating of “innocuous” statements about how “ambiguous” it all is, in the vain of EG’s now made fun of ‘we don’t know what he really meant by that’ and ‘why Kaworu is so intent for Shinji alone to have happiness remains a mystery’  are pretty obviously intended to downplay the very, very obvious “subtext” and leagues of official information provided.

It kinda goes without saying that WE CAN INFER THESE THINGS FROM THE ACTUAL INFORMATION ON THE WIKI, you don’t need to add a disclaimer to everything going “well we just don’t know what it means!” (even in instances when we do know what it means, but that’s almost besides the point). You don’t need to add in these statements, unless you’re trying to sway people into ignoring what's presented by the show. If you want people to draw their own conclusions, you are in fact capable of presenting information without commentary - in fact, that's kind of the whole point of a wiki. Yes, Eva is ambiguous at times, but talking down to people like they need this reminded to them constantly is an absolute waste of time and energy. It’s almost as if the editor has been trying to cultivate a narrative and has been getting away with it because you can’t really prove these statements are biased unless you do the research. (I mean, you can from context, but it certainly hasn’t done much to get them removed, has it?)

You can view the editing history of any given EvaGeeks article on their own pages if you want to see just how many times these things have been added in by Felipe. And obviously, no, it isn’t just his fault - there are other users, several, in fact, credited with the editing of these pages, many of the edits serving the same point as Felipe’s paragraphs on “ambiguity”. He’s just the most concrete example of a biased editor. Also, yes, I do recognise this has all happened within the few days post the release of Eva on Netflix and that it was likely prompted by that. But we know at least one of the mods is aware of it given how Felipe talks about it in the EvaGeeks Discord server. It’s also quite funny I’ve seen people linking these pages like they're some kind of "gotcha" in response to tweets discussing the new translation, as if they haven’t been invented out of thin air in the past few days.

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Now, frankly I’m sick of staring at EvaGeeks, and if you want any more information on these articles and others with instances of the same thing happening, you can have a look at it yourself.

Originally, this document contained far more screenshots from Felipe. My desire for this to not turn into a hit piece has lead me to remove a great deal of these messages. I do suggest, if you want to, you join the server and make your own conclusions. Even beyond what the member told me about I found myself agreeing with him fairly frequently when he was being reasonable - this doesn't change my concerns regarding the presentation of information on the wiki, though. The anonymous member was mostly concerned about this user having basically all the control over Kaworu's wiki articles, seeing as he has far too high of a stake in everything. Not all of these messages are inflammatory or even necessarily bad or wrong, but I find that to anyone privy to the “revelations” about the EvaGeeks Wiki here, they paint an interesting story, to say the least.

It’s starting to sound like he perhaps has just had some bad experiences. The following few messages are part of the same conversation.

I find it interesting how he flipflops from not understanding anything about the whole Eva Parallelism Theory Thing to suddenly being all for it when it concerns things not about the gay stuff.

Comments on how ‘manipulative’ Kaworu is

Because Kaworu is very pro instrumentality, and this definitely isn’t just a theory, I mean, it’s even talked about on the wiki, guys! (And I’m not even touching on the yes-men in this server.) Oh.

Oh no.

For the record, this page is clearly still under construction, and to point out any one thing about how bad it is would be essentially just poking a stick at a beehive. At least this one is so absolutely poorly phrased it’s doubtful anyone could mistake it for any kind of proper information. I also find it incredibly funny whenever pages on the wiki use the forum as a source. Relevant: Qmisato’s post on his defending of Shinji sexually assaulting Asuka: https://qmisato.tumblr.com/post/183082754484/yesterday-i-was-invited-to-evageeks-official

In response much later. I really can’t see it as being framed as “fun teenage romance”, also why is the word romance suddenly being used to talk about Asuka and Shinji after the whole debacle with Kaworu? He’s said before he doesn’t see Asuka and Shinji’s relationship as romantic, either (and GOOD! It’s not!)

(Also - it’s not sexual assault when Shinji tries to kiss Asuka in her sleep, but it IS when Kaworu does the exact same thing to Shinji? Make up your mind, dude.) Turning this sort of thing into Shipping Discourse is frankly not the right way to go about it, but it is perhaps notable that despite what Felipe says, he is in fact an Asushin shipper. (I don’t feel the need to post all these images in the document as its cluttered enough as it is.) At this point it’s rather adhom and I feel irrelevant but I do think it’s relevant that through all of Eva fandom, those who have the most issue “understanding” (more like accepting, I suppose) LGB subtext, are those who also are really attached to a fairly morally grey het pairing themselves. Again, seriously, there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of this and assuming the worst of someone because of the pairings they like isn’t my intent here, it’s more that I find this pattern has always been prevalent and it’s bothering me I’m seeing it STILL in 2019. ESPECIALLY from a wiki editor who inserts so much of that into his work on the site. 

  You’re probably sick of reading all of this (and I’m getting sick of writing it), so I’ll wrap up the part on Felipe quickly: Yes, I just dedicated several pages to screenshots of mostly innocuous (when considered out of context) stuff one guy had to say. I feel more obsessive than I’d like to admit, and frankly I have no business with this person. We’ve spoken twice on EvaGeeks threads if you can even call it speaking. This task was given to me by a member of the community who was concerned about his behaviour but didn’t want to publicise it themself and I feel a little out of my depth here. I at least hope we can come to the conclusion I wanted to here, that I fear may have been lost in this whole great mess of language - no one person should have THIS much sway over the state of a wiki that’s supposed to be impartial, especially when they have not been quiet with their biases in the first place, and it is the failure of everyone involved in the maintaining of the wiki itself that this sort of behaviour has been allowed in the first place. 

The guy can have whatever opinions and theories he wants, obviously. I don't give a shit; he's not even that bad compared to the grand majority of Eva fans to begin with. Don't think this document exists to "cancel" him or thoughtpolice, I truly, genuinely, do not care what is said inside this server anymore. It doesn't concern me. I mean, it's a fucking cartoon, for god's sake. This only becomes an issue when opinions are expressed on a wiki, for reasons I have reiterated many times now. EvaGeeks lacks the objectivity required to function as a wiki and I'm trying to make that clear. 

[ON THE TOPIC OF THE EVAGEEKS WIKI AND COMMUNITY IN GENERAL] As for who can edit the wiki and what they’re allowed to say: As you can see from the nature of people’s posts in this thread, you’re given access to do very specific things, and although I haven’t bothered going through the process myself (as I find it would be quite redundant, trying to fix such an inherently broken system), I’m guessing it’s very easy to get your edits reversed if you post anything they don’t like. Take that as conjecture of my own.

I have it in decent faith that the approval process involves whoever of the mod team is there at the time coming to an agreement based on people’s applications. Obviously this is a decent idea for a system, and I’m sure there are legitimate reasons as to why EG has to be locked down as much as it is; judging from the state of other fanon wikis I’ve seen there’s likely to be a decent amount of vandalism, especially in a fandom as passionate as Eva’s is. However, I think it’s fair to say that the complete restriction of updating these pages to those approved by a mod team who, while I’m sure are very reasonable people overall, certain individuals of which have displayed concerning behaviour and biases of their own in the server during my brief look around. I won’t be naming anyone in particular from the mod team as I don’t feel like I need to add any more targets of shame to this already horrifically negative document, but I have gotten the general impression (in case it needed confirmation, following the remaining of these specific changes on the wiki) that some mods, not all, aren’t the most nonpartisan individuals themselves. I do happen to be decent acquaintances with at least one of them so, again, please don’t consider this a personal attack.

My concern here plainly is that I don’t think a group of mods who have routinely failed to prevent events like the ones mentioned earlier, nor seem to have much of an issue with the myriad of examples of people being openly homophobic and misogynistic on their own forum are really in the position to be choosing who of the Privelleged Few get to control the Eva meta-narrative here. As I was writing this, I was alerted to the state of the primary Japanese Evangelion wiki as a source of cross referencing for what these things can look like if done right. If you take a moment to browse it, even if you don’t speak any Japanese and have to use an automatic translator it should be very obvious how something like this differs greatly from EvaGeeks. Kaworu’s page, for a relevant example, doesn’t have present any of the nonsense statements about ambiguity or overwritten descriptions of everything. The wiki respects the reader’s intelligence enough to know that it is, in fact, a wiki, and thus tries its best to be factual. His page is fairly decent in size and states things we know are fact rather than theory. There’s no attempt made to influence or confuse.

Oh, and just in case you think the mods aren’t actually active or present enough to know what Felipe is doing, his particularly awful page on Kaworu in episode 24 got a shoutout from the official Twitter account two days ago.  

If you are going to join the Discord server to verify things yourself* or do further digging, again, please be cautious of other users inside and do your best not to start anything. I am an occasional contributor to the forums and I’d prefer not to get my account flagged or to experience harassment myself, if any EvaGeeks members are still reading this document and disagree with my conclusions. I may not have posted much since I joined earlier this year, but despite everything I find the forums to be valuable for connecting with other fans and have enjoyed the positive feedback to my SIRP translation! Those who have spoken to me there have been very kind (including Felipe himself), and I must reiterate that this is not targeted at the whole site, or even at just Felipe. I simply believe there is more than enough evidence to suggest there have been consistent, systematic failures to recognise and correct the utter lack of objectivity present. I seriously don’t have any personal issues or beef with this guy, either. I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t someone else who came to me about it.

*It should be noted that the person who spoke to me has pointed out certain members have been concerned about outsiders joining and screenshotting the chat. They may remove the public link to join if this document were to cause a huge issue. I will leave the server following the publication of this document and I have no plans to join again. I can’t speak for those who may join of their own accord but I do hope people have heeded the disclaimer I made initially.

Thankyou to all the people who have extended their own kindness and support during the creation of this document, to the anonymous person who tipped me off and the lovely Eva analysts I know for offering their own experiences with EvaGeeks and further supplementary information. If this whole document reads like the product of a bad mental health day, I guess it is. Also yes I know how hilarious it is that I’ve spent all this time creating what essentially amounts to an EVAGEEKS CALLOUT POST but I mean. Someone had to say it. Why not make an utter buffoon of myself in the process?

[rotcon]

@umbralrosa || continued from x.

    “My house is your house.” she’d said.

While she’s allowed exploration of the manor, he had complete guidance in leading toward her esteemed Library. With its seemingly endless shelves full of books and parchments. There was a hall on another side lined with assorted armory of the ages, their offensive and defensive gear to match. Maps detailing what all was explored, from all parts of the world, and their many paintings and carvings. A true blast to the past in that extensive room.

The rest of that old place had been yet to be explored. She only informed him to mind where he goes, that if lost to consult a servant, and if anything went or felt wrong, to speak her name three times. The last one was only if he absolutely needed assistance.

She was gone. Her presence null on Earth. And yet her presence lingered as if an afterthought, an afterimage. A faint silhouette of her pallor self padding the marble floors, muttering something without a dare above whispering. It headed for the Art room, where common instruments resided. Its windows drawn by long curtains, not like it matters. The entire building was darkness incarnate. Both because of it being underground and much more primitive in light source, but it was in the atmosphere.

Cold spots. Very frozen areas of more personal places, like what seemed to be an old master bedroom. A vanity with its mirror shattered and overgrown with signature achromatic roses. The bathroom’s mirror just as similar. The strangest of sounds came from the walk-in closet within; however, such as muffled sobs, and distinct yelling. It was all empty, save for a few servants that still tended here.

As well as the most unexpected thing: The one soul that was here is Sakuya’s, and it was fragmented. Most of them are residual, replaying old mannerisms. The fewer were intellectual, and wandered more often than not, though never dared to venture up the elevator. The single particularly strong presence had locked itself on the inside of the throne room. The door simply won’t open.

One of the aware fragments, unlike the others that felt his presence, had been caught. It recited how he shouldn’t be here. It not being safe. That he’ll die. His arms trapped the poor fragment against a wall, a hand on each side of the head. It shook with anxiety, paranoia bubbling up in the way transparent fingers pinch at the cuffs of her sleeves. It couldn’t tear its bottomless eyes away from his looming figure. His energy commanded to be made wary. The fragment felt this deeply.

    “I’m sorry.” she plead, afraid it’d meet an undesirable fate. Either because she felt he’d do harm, or because the poltergeist had finally exited the throne room.

Something was off and had been since the beginning. At first he thought Sakuya might have lied about needing to leave, since the devil could still sense her presence. Soft, it jittered, like a mirage. It was then he realised that they were connected; multiple aspects of the same being, strewn across these premises and further. Beautiful in a way. Horrific and plain unheard of in many others. Splitting oneself so jaggedly like that.

What he sought was, at once, both very small and very large. Being made of flesh was underrated as anything, but it was a necessary component of his plan. To feel cold for the first time was something he rather wondered about. Not simply to be aware of it, as brought about by practice and observation. Like a researcher looking in from the exterior of some glass dome. (Though this body was less a glass cannon and more a steel one, as hiis foes could attest to.) 

But to have the sensation run through one as though actually corporeal? The idea really did amuse him. How... quaint. Not human - that was out of the question - but his fiendish nature did pose some surprising barriers on occasion. A mortals-only gathering was his motive. Pretentious at best, exclusionist at worst. A dastardly little soiree which required one to be at least fairly close to the real thing. But perhaps Sakuya’s tricks weren’t something to be taught.

When he did come to this conclusion at last, his grip on the fragment loosened. “I despise apologies. They always reek of being disingenuous.” The demon’s aura had a mind of its own, raking down the halls as it hunted for the other fragment - the one it could sense but not yet lay eyes on. It slunk outside the throne room, ravenous and angry at the hindrance. Almost forming a sort of living wall over the entrance.

When the poltergeist burst through, the demon’s brow furrowed. Not in pain per se, but irritation and perhaps, at last, a touch of concern. “What is it?” The question wasn’t entirely aimed at the fragment, since it was mainly a result of Sebastian thinking aloud. “Why does it hide, only to come now? Does it fear her?” He was careful not to make mention of the Aspect’s name at any time. For now he didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Do start talking, my dear, I’d really rather not break another one of you.” Just as he preferred not to encounter a raging poltergeist.

Well. You couldn’t have everything.

[psychweeb]

Watamote Analysis Pt.2: More Than SAD?

Alright, so a quick overview: in my last post regarding Watamote (Watamote: An Intriguing Perspective On Social Anxiety), I discussed how many of the situations in Watamote, as well as the traits of the protagonist Tomoko Kuroki, indicate that she is suffering from Social Anxiety Disorder. This is a disorder that is characterized by extreme avoidance of social situations and people, to the extent where it is also considered “social phobia”. If you want to understand this concept more in depth, you can read my previous post, and there are many online resources that can provide more info- I recommend https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/social-anxiety-disorder as a great starting point, where I found many of the statistics and verified the information used in my last post.

Anyways, in this post, we will be continuing from where we left off. At the end of the last post, I acknowledged that while SAD seems to be the most plausible diagnosis for Tomoko, some other sources and discussions I came across online while researching suggested that she could be suffering from ASPD (anti-social personality disorder) or BPD (borderline personality disorder), either alongside SAD or alone. Both are widely associated with psychopathy and sociopathy, respectively. To begin, let’s first distinguish the differences and similarities between both. I will add that much of the information on these I’ve gathered is from notes from my abnormal psychology class, so I do genuinely believe it’s reliable- the rest will be in the list of sources.

Anti-social personality disorder, according to the  Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th Edition (DSM-5), can only be diagnosed after the age of 18- However, signs of it may emerge from around the age of 15 (defined as conduct disorder). Therefore, while she may have some traits of an ASPD affliction, it is already unlikely that Tomoko canonically suffers from this. Even though her age is never directly stated in the anime, she attends high school, implying she’s a teenager. Regardless, for the sake of the article, we’ll discuss some of the characteristics that classify it as its own diagnosis:

- Many behaviours of an individual with ASPD notably indicate a great focus on oneself, regardless of morals or ethical implications. Since they exclusively focus on themselves and personal gain, others are no more than pawns to use and aid them in their own pursuits. True intimate relationships are usually nonexistent due to issues with empathy and a general carelessness for others’ feelings. It is worth noting that, while all psychopaths are narcissists, not all narcissistic individuals exhibit behaviours of a psychopath. 

- Generally, they are manipulative liars, which ties into the above statement that they view others as “pawns”. They use their charm and wit, which they normally learn through observation of others, to convince others of their trustworthiness and integrate into society. 

- Normally, lack of remorse and impulsivity lead to criminal activity in these individuals. Irresponsibility and failure to learn from their mistakes is also commonplace.

BPD, on the other hand, does not have an age requirement to warrant diagnosis. It has been argued that, while Psychopathy/ASPD is within you from birth, despite the 18 or older diagnosis rule, Sociopathy/BPD is developed during one’s life. Some symptoms of it include: 

- Fears of abandonment or rejection. May push the individual to threaten self-harm or suicide.

- Unstable opinions of people and self-image or identity, such as shifting values and thoughts on others (which can intensify the above fears). Moods are also unstable in these individuals, and they often experience intense mood swings. 

- Paranoia caused by stress and losing touch with reality.

- Impulsivity, recklessness and irresponsibility (one symptom BPD shares with ASPD).

So, does Tomoko fit the bill for either of these? 

 I mentioned that narcissists and individuals with ASPD share similar self-centered behaviours. Tomoko does focus on herself, and appears to search for pity and validation among her peers, which narcissists tend to do. One instance that is frequently referred to to justify this argument is the scene in which she claims she has been “raped” to Yu, after hearing other girls in her class have been molested and feels left out. It can be interpreted as a way to exploit Yu’s friendship and get concern and pity from her- I, personally, just see it as another manifestation of her desire to fit in and be like her other peers. It is worth mentioning that, either way you interpret the objective of these questionable actions of her’s- whether fishing for pity or attempting to fit in, both would be indicative of ASPD. It’s a form of manipulative lying, as even if it doesn’t blatatly have any benefits for her, it provides her with some emotional gratification, either through a feeling of belonging or by offering the pity and concern she yearns for.

And that leads to another aspect of Tomoko’s personality worth contemplating-despite her undeniable disdain of her peers, she desires to be like them. I believe that a large part of this disdain towards other girls is actually jealousy, whether she realizes it or not. She attempts to be like them on multiple occasions, and fantasizes about being pretty and popular (although in her mind, this means being a “bitch”, solidifying her grudge/jealousy against other girls). In fact, a small part of her even seems to consider Yu a “bitch”. 

While being arrogant doesn’t always indicate ASPD, it is certainly a symptom, on account of the fact that it heavily ties into narcissism. Again, narcissism doesn’t automatically mean psychopathy- but in this case, it seems it would tie into something greater, since she actively lied and used her closest friend to feed her narcissism.

This arrogance may be a coping mechanism of sorts, a way to help her accept that she is not like them (”who would want to be a basic bitch?”), but her constant cognitive dissonance and changing opinions are indicative of BPD. As I mentioned above, instability in feelings towards people and situations is one of the . Some days, she hates the girls around her, other days she wants to be them. With Yu, Even though she’s a “bitch” like the rest of them, she appears to admire her beauty and popularity (ironically the key things that make her a “bitch”), and sometimes it’s even hinted at throughout the series that she has a crush on her.

*Side note: grabbing her butt is a very impulsive and reckless thing to do, as she isn’t considering Yu’s reaction or the consequences it may have of their friendship. 

Finally, Tomoko demonstrates the paranoia characteristic that is typically associated with BPD. Much of her stress and social anxiety is likely caused by SAD, but this stress undeniably worsens her paranoia. Consequently, she will lose touch with reality as the fear overtakes her- after all, even neurotypical people can drift off and begin to think up ludicrous situations when they’re extremely stressed. This losing touch with reality is VERY different from fantasizing, though, which she does often as well- daydreaming is not necessarily losing touch with reality. For instance, she sometimes daydreams that she has the looks of a sexy centerfold- but will eventually break out of this fantasy and realize she is herself again. Meanwhile, when in a state of panic, it is difficult for her to rationalize and think about the situation, more-so than for most people. In the infamous train scene - which is what leads to her “confessing” to Yu that she had been raped- she fears that she is being molested on the train when she feels something long and hard poking underneath her skirt. She nearly goes into hysterics. Even if she doesn’t blatantly show her fear until the end of the predicament, her internal monologue reveals her utter horror throughout her train ride.

 In reality, in just ended up being a schoolgirl’s stick (I’m unsure if it was a broomstick or what, honestly, but it was a long stick). Not a molester. In her defense, she doesn’t know what a penis feels like, but anyone in this situation probably would have been able to reason their way to the conclusion that it wasn’t. Tomoko jumps from conclusion to conclusion, letting her unrealistic thoughts feed her paranoia and fear.

In conclusion, I certainly think Tomoko suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder- there is no doubt in my mind about that. However, after doing some extensive research, I think it’s also plausible that she has Borderline Personality Disorder. While no trauma or particular cause of the emergence of BPD is shown in the anime, there is a flashback of her as a child in one episode, where she seems like a normal, pleasant child, which leads me to believe the wasn’t always like this. ASPD is not only something you inherently possess, but it seems a little extreme for Tomoko- I feel like she would feel guilt if she were to seriously hurt someone, or at least worry about the consequences afterward (even if her impulsivity prevented her from thinking about this beforehand). Her ever changing internal monologues regarding the things around her, as well as frequently becoming paranoid and losing touch with reality (which I think is worsened by her SAD) are all indicative of BPD. So, yes, I agree that she suffers from SAD and BPD- but not ASPD.

Sources:

https://www.verywellmind.com/the-diagnostic-and-statistical-manual-dsm-2795758- A resource I added for those who are unsure what the DSM is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dv8zJiggBs- A helpful video to distinguish between Narcissism, Sociopathy, and Psychopathy with Dr.Ramani Durvasula.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antisocial_personality_disorder Extensive notes on ASPD, good for anyone who wants to do further reading.

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/borderline-personality-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20370237 Extensive notes on BPD, for anyone who wants to do further reading.

My class notes from Psychology and Abnormal Psychology classes, which I have used to validate the info found in the above sources (with the exception of the DSM 5 definition and the youtube video).

* Cognitive Dissonance: In the field of psychology, cognitive dissonance is the mental discomfort experienced by a person who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values. This discomfort is triggered by a situation in which a person’s belief clashes with new evidence perceived by the person. (Definition copied from Wikipedia.com).

[blackwoolncrown]

hey, how do you feel about death? are you ever scared of it? or how do you feel about knowing you will eventually die?

No. The only anomaly was I got GAD for a while which feels like you’re alwayas about to die which is just exhausting and would drive anyone up the wall. And it was frustrating for me bc I knew I wasn’t actually afraid to die– it was more of an ego paranoia.

For most of my life I’ve ID’d as the thing inside me and not specifically the person I am. So I always knew I’d die bc things died, I just didn’t see this as being meaningfully scary. When I was in my early 20s I reminded myself all the time that I would get old some day. When ppl would envy my age, I’d remind myself in my head that I would be their age too, some day. I did not want to be attached to my youth or be one of those people who never thought about death- then suddenly have a crisis about it. This actually did happen to my partner though, who got critical Death Anxiety, and helping him through that was a scary and eye opening experience. 

At most, people are not afraid of death, I don’t think. They are afraid of long, drawn out suffering. They are afraid of the sorrow associated. They are afraid of the time before death- a scary event, a car crash, getting murdered. But these are all ego fantasies. It is the ego that’s afraid to die, and it is just afraid of death as it is of change in any form, because it considers this death, too.

I will say, when I had GAD, I was still a very spiritual person, and the fear + zeal I was dealing with actually led to me being afraid of ecstasis. And this is kind of what I mean. I’d have these experiences of ecstasis AND worries about spiritual awakening which should be the best thing in the world but it terrified me even though I’d been chasing this very thing from childhood. I was so afraid of being drawn out of myself that I refused any situation where my (ego’s) hold on my consciousness would be loosened- at one point I even got molars extracted only under local. I fought GAD…then I got tired and accepted it, and that’s when I began to really recover (along with all the meditation & chakra work, lifestyle changes etc– it takes ALL bases).*I realized, too, that I was so afraid of letting go. Overcoming this fear was key. I had stopped smoking weed, I’d become anxious when relaxing or meditating, I suddenly, strangely wanted to be ‘holding on’ all the time which was so odd for me bc I was a person who from childhood was always looking for mind alteration– but at some point your ego gets freaked that you’re not listening to it enough and will indeed shake the table.

Let it, though– your ego is afraid because it is the only thing that dies.I also realized that I had already been forced to let go. In passing out during a panic episode, in undergoing surgery, I had let my mind experience utter blackness in which I myself was certainly not ‘holding it safe’. What was? For it was returned to me just as I’d left it, the way it was returned to me after my first explicitly spiritual vision. I know what, now, and laugh that I wasn’t more relieved then. 

Fear is illogical. Remember that. Breathe deeply whenever you are afraid, and know clear thought is always more valuable than succumbing to panic. Panic is strong because it seems rational, while it is ravaging your body to make you believe you are suddenly at risk. Panic is an interesting little demon, and a good teacher.At the end of the day, people are afraid of being afraid. I choose not to reflect fear or misery related to death to the world, in regards to ppl passing or age happening. People are mirrors that reflect what they’ve been shown, and a large reason here are so afraid of death is simply because they are not given a cultural means and language for realistically, directly and practically dealing with the source of this fear on a psychological or even rational level. Many people are afraid of not existing, of blinking out, of it just ‘ending’ but they don’t realize that it is not possible to experience non experience. You can’t be sad about this, you’re not there. Only the livimg mourn. So some of us are actually afraid of causing our loved ones the trouble of grief. And I think that if a culture had a more death positive way of being, we could relieve the dying of this, also. Because they have their own inner journey to deal with, and shouldn’t be surrounded by people telling them how hard it is to let them go, binding them up with their own ego attachments, begging them to ‘hang on’. Leave them be. If they are meant to recover they will, and won’t be helped by stress from the external world. If they are not meant to, that is okay also, be grateful to be with them and patient in their process.We suffer feeling separated from Gxd, separated from the Earth. But death is the one guarantee we have of returning to these states. Do you see the irony? Just remember, the you that thinks ‘I am me’ is the smallest, shallowest form of what you are. It is contemporary and thus inherently transient, but mind is not. It and it alone fears death. The blackness of death is no scarier than the blackness of the womb.To answer your question most directly, how do I feel about knowing I will die? 

It is a relief I keep in the very back of my mind, not a fear. I am doing a good job here and I swear I will do my best each day I wake, and I do truthfully enjoy it. But I am not attached to it. It seems daunting to think that I should have to be me and handle this world with this mind from this little spot for too long- people who want to live centuries haven’t thought about the prospect long enough. It is perfection and mercy that allows us to forget things we no longer remember, that makes us surrender our waking egos to sleep, and death is the highest order of these intervals. Death will come to me like a merciful friend and dear lover arriving with the motherload of DMT hits. Even if there is no other realm to cross into, even if there is no more sense to this existence and it does all end- which I don’t believe but do consider and accept- that would be fine by me. ‘I’ can’t do this forever, and I don’t want to. You shouldn’t, either.I love the universe. And I will wait patiently for the day it tells me I am done.

[thoseofgreatambition]

mute pt 2

PART 1 | 2.4K

warnings: mentions of torture, ptsd, anxiety, depersonlization, paranoia , not proofread. this has heavy description of non-romanticized life with a mental disorder. read with caution.

wordcount: 4.5K

pairing/characters: george x reader, fred weasley

description: during the war you were a secret keeper for the twins-- fred and your boyfriend george. you were tortured for information, and ever since then you’ve struggled with how to express yourself and trust others. you find that the man who understood you perfectly before the war, can no longer understand why you do things. 

a/n: so this is technically a series i suppose? but this is the last installment. i had a lot of ideas for this thanks to talking to the amazing @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait​ (go follow) and i wanted to get them all down and share with you. i hope you enjoy! this is super long i hope y’all love it 

When Fred apparated to your apartment, he expected to see things the way they usually were. A little cluttered, but still fairly clean. What he didn't expect, was to see it look like a minefield.

He’d come as a favor to George-- and to check on you as well. Now that the war was over, between you and Fred getting hurt, George had found himself with quite the anxiety problem. After not hearing from you for two days, and three panic attacks on George’s part, Fred came to figure out what was going on. 

Sure-- you were quiet, but not this quiet. 

“Y/N?” 

Your apartment was very small, it didn’t leave much room as to where you could be. 

If your living room was empty, and your kitchen was as well-- that just left your room. 

“Y/N-- are you here?” 

Fred felt tired. Very tired-- he’d taken weeks to recover from being hit by the damned wall and even now walking around a little exhausted him. 

Hopefully, this would be over soon. 

He swung open the door to your room, and was surprised to find that something seemed to be blocking it. “What the hell?” 

“Fred?” your voice was quiet, seemingly muffled from some place that Fred couldn’t see. “I blocked the door.”

“Why?” 

“Someone was going to come in and hurt me again.” 

A chill ran through Fred’s spine-- that paranoid thought bringing back all the ones he now had when any sound remotely resembling an explosion went off near him. “I need you to let me in.” 

He didn’t hear anything for a few moments, until the sound of shuffling furniture hit him and the door was able to be opened. You stood before him looking quite awful. Your hair was greasy and you smelled like someone who hadn’t showered in a day or so. Your shirt was dirty and rather tattered. 

A far cry from the you he used to know. 

He stepped inside and looked around and noticed a few things. One-- the bedding from your bed had been removed and was poking out of the closet where you’d set up a little nest. Two-- you’d moved all of your non-perishables into your room with you, and judging by the overflowing waste bin of bread and cereal boxes, Fred reckoned you’d been living sequestered in your room for a while. Three-- you’d blocked all of your windows with blankets, leaving a little lamp in the corner and the wall figure in your bathroom as your only sources of light. 

Four-- and most importantly was that you were glancing nervously at the opened door, and taking small steps backwards. “Close the door, Fred.” 

Without comment, Fred nodded and did as you said. “What made you think that someone was coming for you?” 

Your hand twitched, “I woke up and saw them.” 

“They were here?” 

“No-- I... I turned on the light and they were gone.” you seemed to crumple a bit before him, and quietly Fred opened his arms to squeeze you tight. “I saw them though.” 

“I know you did. I believe that you saw it.” he petted your hair and looked around, “How about this-- you come and stay with me and George? You can room with him and there’ll be two extra people with you in case something does happen.” 

George? How long had it been since you’d seen him-- it was hard to tell now that you’d covered all the windows and hadn’t left your room. “Is George okay?” 

“He’ll be a lot better with you there. And I think you’ll be the same.” 

Glancing around your room-- you tried to think of what you needed to take, but seemed to face a rather large mental block, “I need to pack...” your voice trailed off as your throat grew tight, and instead of agreeing with you like you expected, you felt Fred pat your head. 

“Grab your wand, I’ll apparate us to my place, you’ll shower I’ll make us lunch and Georgie will come and grab your things.” 

“I don’t want to put you two out--”

“Nonsense. You’re family.” 

There was a long moment, as your brain seemed to fizzle out before you finally nodded. It’d be a lot safer to stay as a group, than just by yourself. You broke away from Fred just long enough to grab your wand, and allowed him to pull you close again to apparate you to his and George’s apartment. 

If George hadn’t been worried before-- which he was-- he was worried now at the sight of you. “Blood hell what happened to you?” he watched as you seemed to tense up and take a step away from him-- the vein in your neck seeming to pop out. His voice became a bit softer, as he opened up his arms for you to come to him, “Are you okay? I was worried about you.” 

Your throat felt tight and you found yourself feeling rather ashamed at all of this-- that you couldn’t take proper care of yourself because you’d been too scared to leave your easily protected closet for longer than a few moments to use the loo or grab a few hunks of bread. George watched sadly as you teared up began to shut down and stop talking, something that had become rather common nowadays. “Can I hug you?” 

When you nodded, George walked forwards and tucked you into his arms, sending a questioning look to Fred who simply shook his head before speaking, “Y/N’s not feeling great so I said she ought to stay with us for a while. I told her she could take a shower and I’d fix up some proper food for her. Could you go back to her place and grab her clothes? Figure it’d be more appropriate for you to do that instead of me.” 

George’s brow furrowed at the phrase ‘proper food’ but still he nodded, releasing you just long enough to look you in the eye, “Does that sound alright?” sometimes yes or no questions worked when you stopped speaking much-- little things that you could answer easily until you got to be more grounded. 

“Yes.” there was a long pause before you finally spoke again, “Love you.” 

He gave you a small smile, and pressed a kiss to your head-- not minding the grease in your hair. “I love you too. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

You simply nodded to that and allowed Fred to usher you towards George’s room and with a frown George apparated to your apartment. 

He stared as he walked around-- wondering how in the world you could have lived like this. 

It had to have been for more than the two days he hadn’t seen you-- your bed was covered in a thin layer of dust from disuse. 

With a strong sensation of dread, George gathered your favorite clothes and some other odds and ends he knew you were fond of. 

He’d thought that things would get better after the war. 

Things were a little easier now that you had Fred and George around. Not perfect-- but easier. Your rhythm was quite off nowadays, but with them getting up around the same time and having proper meals at regular intervals it was a lot easier than before to remember to do things like shower. 

George seemed to be a tad better now that you were around-- you’d asked him why that was and he’d said that being separated from you for too long caused his anxiety to come back. The same with Fred. 

It was a good thing you were there.

Fred seemed a lot like you-- that is, rather jumpy, and a bit paranoid. You couldn’t speak for Fred, but it was surprisingly comforting to know that there was someone who was going through the same as you. 

However, you couldn’t fix everything just by being here. Like right now-- it was the middle of the night, you’d had a rather terrible dream about being tortured again, and you’d grabbed a few blankets, a pillow and settled into George’s closet. It was hard to explain why you felt so much better-- but after climbing in with you the first time, George realized that you’d found yourself a easily defendable position that allowed you a line of sight to his bedroom door and the window where people couldn’t easily see you. 

It made sense why you’d feel safest in there. 

You stared at the doorway-- eyes hardened as the sounds of George softly snoring filled up the room. You’d protect him if someone came through. You’d protect him again and again, always. 

Your hand twitched around your wand. 

That was the scariest part of all of this. 

You’d been alone, because you protecting Fred and George. That was obvious-- they couldn’t be with you if you were their secret keeper. Not at first, at least. 

But you’d been alone. 

You had been alone. 

It wasn’t their fault and you didn’t blame them, but you’d still been by yourself. You’d been tortured by yourself. You’d almost died, by yourself. You’d had to kill two death eaters, by yourself. 

Which left you in a precarious position.

You didn’t quite trust that anyone else would be there with you when you were attacked again. If they were there or capable, you reckoned they would try their hardest-- George especially, but in times like now? 

He was asleep. 

He couldn’t take care of you. And any foe with half a mind would come in the middle of the night when you were most likely to be asleep, right?

It’s what had happened the last time. 

Your throat tightened a bit, and you took out your wand-- ready to strike. Apparently though you were more exhausted than you thought because one moment you closed your eyes in the dark, and the next you opened them to see George crouched in front of you with a smile with the room quite bright from the morning sun. 

It didn’t help that you didn’t feel like you’d slept at all though. George reached out and cupped your cheek-- and you let out a shaky breath. 

“Good morning Y/N.” 

A twitchy smile came to your lips-- as you found yourself a bit nervous that he was blocking your view of the doors. “Morning George.” He saw you trying to look past him towards the window and scooted over a bit so that you had a full field of vision once more. Your shoulders relaxed and a more easy smile came to your lips. “Thank you.” You placed a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, “Did you sleep well last night?” 

“Apparently-- if I didn’t notice you get out.” He scooted a bit closer, mindful of your need to see the exits before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

It took some conscious effort, but you managed to relax a bit. “I love you so much.” You grinned when his response was to plant a swift kiss on your lips-- these moments were so wonderful. Brief respites to normality. 

“I love you too.” 

But things weren’t normal anymore.

You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke again, “And you know I’ll always be there to protect you right?” 

It was impossible. It was impossible for you, so taken off guard by those words to hide the doubt and disbelief that flickered across your face. 

George saw it. 

It sucked the air out of him like a punch to the stomach-- George who’s worst fear now that both you and Fred had almost died in when he wasn’t there, was that he couldn’t protect his loved ones. George who got panic attacks when you and Fred were gone for too long that you might both be hurt. 

George who now knew you didn’t think he’d be able to protect you. 

You opened your mouth to try and explain-- but no words would come out, as your throat tightened and your teeth grit down against each other. 

He hoped, that you’d say something. A thought that made him feel quite guilty now that you were obviously shutting down. He wasn’t sure how to react. 

Most times, when he got anxious he could go to you and you would bring him close and help him get distracted enough until the feeling was gone-- but now? 

He didn’t want to be near you. 

Something that tore him apart with guilt, but what was he supposed to say? That it was alright you didn’t trust him? That he understood? This was like a confirmation of his worst fear, this was every intrusive thought coming back to him at the same time. 

George wasn’t sure what to do. His throat felt tight, it hurt to swallow or breathe. 

The boyfriend part of him wanted to hold you close and say that you’d be alright and that your worries were justified but would go away. 

The human part of him, the part of him that was also going through a hard time couldn’t do that. 

“I’m going to go.” 

Thank god he was already dressed-- it meant he could quickly retreat to the Burrow. A space that felt even more safe to him than this apartment. 

He heard you make a choking noise as he stood up, and once again he felt quite torn. You looked like you were trying to speak and part of him wanted to ask you to simply say what was on your mind.

That wouldn’t work though. That would make things worse. 

Space would be best. 

He needed space. 

This room felt too small. 

“Fred’ll be here. I’ll be back tonight.” 

You gripped the blanket around you tightly and nodded tersely-- flinching just a bit as he apparated away. 

No, things were not normal. 

You could feel yourself losing your tether to reality-- a terrifying sensation that you’d grown all to familiar with. 

Fred had gone to bed early, something the poor man had to do quite often now that his recovery was so hard. George had greeted you when he’d come in, said he was going to bed, and then promptly done just that. 

Which left you in a bit of an odd situation. Logically, you knew that if you quietly walked in, laid down next to George or went into your ‘nest’, he wasn’t going to get mad at you or get upset. He would let you sleep, and you two could talk in the morning. George was reasonable with you, and you were the same. You understood that you’d hurt his feelings this morning, and you reckoned that deep down he knew there was probably an explanation, seeing as you physically were unable to give one. 

You knew that if George was there with you, he’d protect you. He would fight with you and do his utmost to keep you safe. That wasn’t your worry-- you worry was being by yourself again. It wasn’t lack of faith in his skills, it was you worrying about location. 

The logical side of your brain wasn’t in control right now. The scared part of you was. The part of you that was too scared to go into your shared bedroom in case you managed to spark an argument-- not likely-- and instead was trying to settle into the living room. 

The living room was too big though. The living room had three doors-- the one from the shop and both of the bedrooms. The living room had five windows. The living room did not have a closet for you to hide in. The living room had no singular place that offered a view of each entrance. 

So you’d resulted to pacing around-- wand tight in your hand. Your legs burned from walking, your eyes watered from weariness but you still couldn’t settled down. It wasn’t safe. 

This wasn’t safe. 

You could feel yourself slipping away, continually reminded of the night the Death Eaters came for you-- things seemed to be growing farther away. Sounds became more muffled, it took you a moment to realize someone walked out of a room and was quite close to you. Eyes wide you spun around-- ready to shout a spell as you lodged your wand right underneath your opponent’s jaw. 

George took a deep breath-- and held up both his hands. Your face was hard and your eyes didn’t seem to quite see him. He spoke softly, “Y/N.” 

That seemed to draw you out of it a bit-- as the hand holding your wand began to shake. George kept his hands up in the air, not wanting to panic you. “It’s me. It’s George.” He could see the conflict on your face as you tried to understand what was happening. 

There was a tall redheaded man in front of you. You saw that. It took a long time for you to realize who it was though. 

You’d almost maimed your boyfriend. 

Your wand dropped to the floor, and your lip trembled. You wanted very much to apologize-- or to run away to where you wouldn’t be a risk to him, but you stood quite frozen in the spot until George reached out and wrapped you into a tight hug.

He rocked you back and forth, one hand guiding yours to the seam of his shirt so you could fiddle with the texture and start to ground yourself. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. Not until George felt you begin to cry in his arms. 

“It’s okay.” 

“I almost hurt you.” Your voice was soft, as you quickly fumbled with the seem of his shirt. The horror of what had happened was quickly descended on you. You’d almost died for him less than a year before, and you could have killed him just a few moments ago. 

His lips were pressed against your ear, and he held you even closer-- the squeezing sensation helping to ground you even more. “You didn’t. And Fred’s done the same a few times when I freaked him out. I reckon you two have shit enough reaction times that I’ll be alright.”

The rather dark bit of humor did bring a smile to your lips, a soft laugh present through your tears. “That’s not funny.” 

“What made you think I was funny?” 

With a sniffle, you found yourself becoming more and more present. “We’re above a joke shop that you own.” 

You could feel him smiling against your ear, “Okay but what else?” George stroked your hair and took in your scent as your hands moved around his waist to hold him just as tight. “Let’s get back to my room, alright? Someplace smaller.” He was still quite anxious about what had happened this morning-- but as more and more time went by he’d been able to think on it and realize that there was probably something you could have said to explain. 

As long as you’d been together, he couldn’t exactly withdraw something that complex from a look. 

That didn’t make him feel much better at the moment-- but he tried to remain hopeful that if he got you talking, things would make sense. When you nodded, he released you just enough to lead you into his room. “The bed or the closet?” 

Your hands twitched a bit-- “Closet then bed?” maybe you could sleep in the bed tonight-- it was about a fifty fifty chance lately. 

George nodded and led you towards the closet, climbing in first and pulling you into his lap. His arms snaked around you and resumed the tight hold they had previously and you reached up and stroked his hair, knowing quite well that he was probably still hurting from this morning. 

It was hard to put the words together, but you tried. “I trust you.” for a brief moment his hands were tighter on you, enough that you hoped he wouldn’t keep them like that, but they returned to normal. “If you’re here, and something happens you’d protect me.”

George’s jaw seemed to be working on something, as you watched his teeth grind. He sucked in a deep breath, and felt the tightness in his throat fade a bit. That didn’t quite answer what had happened this morning. Bracing himself, he looked down at you, “Is there a ‘but’?” 

Your hand twitched for a moment as you continued to place with his hair-- the words seemed to be inaccessible for a few minutes, but George knew to wait. Would always wait for you to put together the words. 

“I’m just... if something happens and I’m by myself I want to be ready. Even if you’re here I want to be ready. I wasn’t ready then, and I almost got killed. I’ve gotta rely on myself.” 

That was... sad to hear, if George was to be honest. That didn’t get rid of all his anxiety. That didn’t wipe his slate clean. It was quite a bit better than the intrusive thoughts that had been running through his mind since this morning though, so he supposed he ought to simply count his blessings. “I know this has been hard for you.” when you nodded he pressed a kiss to your hair, “I need you to try to put some more faith in me though. I know it’s hard. I know you’re scared, but I’m here. We’ve hardly been apart since you moved in last month. And if I’m not there then you’re around Fred.”

You hadn’t considered that. Looking back you nodded a bit-- neither had left you alone, something that you were now wondering whether or not it was a conscious effort or not. 

“So if something happens-- which I promise it won’t-- you won’t be by yourself.” Looking up at him, you saw George staring down at you with pleading eyes. “So please just try and put some faith in me, okay? I know it’s hard, but I need you to try, okay?” 

Your fingers twitched a bit, before finally you gave a small nod and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Okay Georgie.” 

He pressed his mouth close to your ear once more, speaking softly in such a grateful tone that you swore to yourself that you’d do your best on this even though it was going to be terribly difficult. “I love you so much.” 

With a soft breath, you relaxed in his arms, “I love you too.” 

It was about a week after a year after the battle. A strange phrase that George kept tumbling in his head as he quietly tried to clean up while you slept on the bed in your shared room. 

You’d sold your flat about two months after staying with Fred and George, and George found himself still struggling to keep all of the things between you and him tidy. 

Though both yours and his threshold for tidy were quite low-- and would probably be considered cluttered by most. Maybe he could put some things in the closet... though there wasn’t much room left anymore. 

Opening the door George frowned as he looked up at the shelves, holding a small stack of books you’d accumulated. You’d gotten a job down the Alley at a bookshop, and seemed to be taking full advantage of the employee discount. His lips twitched into a smile, it was rather cute though-- you’d come home about every nine days with a bright grin and would go on and on about how this was supposed to be the best book ever. 

So he supposed that he could deal with this until you two were able to find a bookshelf. 

The upper level of the closet was completely full of boxes with winter clothes, and when he looked down he saw more boxes-- though these were knick knacks from your old flat that the two of you were saving for when you finally found a place to yourselves. 

Not something that was going to happen until a few more months passed, and something that still made George feel a twinge of anxiety, but a good step. 

With a heaved sigh he found a spot on the floor of the closet to set the small pile of books down and was about the close the door when he realized something. 

You didn’t have a spot for your nest anymore. 

He reached down to remove some things so you’d have a spot until he remembered that you were the one to put those boxes there. George looked back at you in surprise as he thought back-- it had been so long since you’d hid away that he couldn’t remember really when it was. 

You still had trouble sometimes with your grip on reality. You still got scared and silent. However he realized that gradually, you’d learned how to better handle these things and had let him help you more and more. It brought a smile to his face as he stared at you-- his heart welling up with so much pride in you that it brought pricks of tears to his eyes. 

George climbed back into bed with you, resting his head next to yours with an arm slung over you as he pressed a series of kisses to your face. With a whine you frowned at your boyfriend, hair so mussed up that your vision was blocked a bit. “’ts too early Georgie.” 

“It’s nine in the morning.” 

“My point still stands.” you rubbed at your eye and giggled as a wet kiss was placed on your jaw, “What’s gotten into you?” 

“I just love you a lot.” 

You shifted your weight so that George was lying on his back and you were able to use his chest as a pillow. His arms wrapped around you and you let out a soft hum at the sensation of safety. “I love you too, Georgie.” when his hand drifted to play with your hair you blearily looked back up at him. “Do I have to be up yet?” 

His warm smile greeted you and he shook his head, “Nope. Go back to sleep. You’ve earned it.” 

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[solidburnreturned]

Every Single Night

A look at what Branch’s evenings are like.

(fic is set before the movie. mega angsty and borderline dark; about how his depression, anxiety, and paranoid ocd manifests at the worst of times.)

Murky grey clouds poured rain onto the forest below. Thunder clapped, shaking the earth, followed quickly by lightning. The storm was upon Troll Village and didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, drenching every inch of the area. Most trolls were tucked away safely in their warm, dry pods, hunkered down for the night, letting the rain form a sort of soothing lullaby. 

Most trolls, but not all.

One troll, as grey as the sky above, slogged his way through the muddy grass, shoving along a large apple. The fruit was as big as Branch was, and was proving to be more of a hassle in the rain than he had anticipated. He wasn’t prepared at all for the storm, and that bothered him. Being prepared was his whole life; it consumed almost every bit of his time. To not be ready for something was to take a huge risk. To be in danger. At least it was in his eyes. He wanted to get out of the rain ASAP. The loud thunder and the large drops beating against any wand all surfaces was loud enough to drown out any noise that an approaching predator might make. No matter how much he strained, swiveled, and pricked his ears, he couldn’t hear anything other than the steady beat of the downpour. It was also much too dark to see anything beyond the surrounding foliage that could be lurking, eager to strike and claim a tasty meal of troll with fresh fruit. Paranoia put a hot spark under his feet and he picked up his pace. 

Soaked to the bone and shivering, Branch finally arrived at his unwelcome mat. He threw it open and kicked the apple in, jumping in after it and latching the hatch shut. A sigh of relief and exhaustion mingled with the hammering raindrops above the hatch. Storms like that were unusual this late into Fall. Unexpected. Anything unexpected was really inherently threatening, if you thought about it long enough. And Branch gave anything threatening plenty of thought. 

Wringing out his hair with one hand, he used the other to start his elevator down to one of his storage rooms. The biggest one was where he stored his apples. They were a sizable food source for him, and very versatile as well. Fine if eaten raw, but could be dried, made into pies, crisps, soups, stews, the seeds could be roasted, and even the occasional hard cider could be made from fermented apples when he needed to wind down after a particularly hard day. Just one apple could provide him with all of this. Definitely worth the trouble. 

Coming to a stop at the apple-filled mini cave, Branch quickly booted the fruit in with the others and continued down. He was cold, tired, and desperate for a change of clothes. The bunker was already chilly enough without icy, dripping fabric clinging to his shivering frame. Wonderful for the hot summer months and quite comfortable in the spring, but nothing short of damp and miserable the other half of the year. He’d have to clean his chimney out before the first frost if he wanted any chance of staying warm during the winter. 

Arriving outside his bedroom, he peeled off his vest and threw it onto a stray chair, not about to toss it into his hamper and make all of his other worn clothes damp and possibly moldy. His shorts soon followed and both were replaced with dry equivalents. Satisfied, he wandered back to his elevator once more. His internal clock (a.k.a. his growling stomach) was hinting that it was well passed time for him to make himself dinner. 

Thunder rumbled again from above, prompting Branch to glance upward. Fitting. The mood within the bunker was not unlike that of the one above; dreary, gloomy, and lonesome. Although, lonesome seemed to be around whether it was raining or not. Especially this time of day. He stretched his shoulders with a grunt, trying to distract himself from getting into a bad mood.

The lift settled at the bottom of the bunker with an echoing clunk. Branch plodded towards his meager kitchen, debating if he was up to actually cooking something or if he should just have some cold leftover acorn gruel. He had done so for the past few nights. Next time, he’d tell himself. Poppy had given him a handmade scrapbook-style cook book a few weeks earlier with recipes she loved and hoped that he would enjoy, too. She’d even included little cutouts of her and Branch cooking on each page, smiling, covered in flour or chocolate or whatever else they could make a mess with. Some dishes had actually seemed quite good: Pancakes with raspberry filling and blueberry sauce. Coffee cake with strawberry chunks and cinnamon. Smoked fish with roasted carrots and acorns. Recipes that had delicious results, but required a good amount of time and effort. Time and effort had seemed to be in short supply for him recently, resulting in his current cycle of leftovers. He didn’t want to start making it a routine, but he just hadn’t had the energy to prepare anything. Ironic, after days of nothing but preparation.

A low sigh was released through his nose. A calloused hand rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion was hitting him hard and fast. He had already been running on little sleep when he had been caught in that storm and had exerted himself on top of that trying to rush back home. The last few days of constant foraging, manic energy, and anxious insomnia were now starting to drag him down mentally as well as physically. Rather rapidly, at that.

Yeah, it was another leftovers night. Next time. 

---

Sitting in the middle of his old couch felt better than pressing himself into one of the corners. He’d learned this some years ago. More room to spread out...stretch...scatter some books around for easy reading...feel like it wasn’t meant for a group of trolls to share, but rather one single troll to sit by himself on...

...stretch some more...

A bowl of watery, unheated, straight-from-the-fridge acorn porridge sat dejectedly on the small stump table in front of a pair of grey legs. Not much had been done to it. Branch was staring at it like he was attempting to make it to start floating, or maybe even disappear. Like it was the last thing he wanted to have in front of him in that moment. He scratched his chin before resting it in his hand, leaning forward to stare at the dirt wall instead. Had his stare been able to bore holes, it’d have dug more than halfway through that wall to troll-knows-where with the amount of time he’d spent glaring at it over the last several years, daydreaming like he was now. He imagined a happy pink troll being there instead of the cold earth. The clammy acorn sludge was instead a hot, homemade soup that she’d brought him. To put some love in your tummy! He picked up the spoon and scooped up a bit of the bowl’s contents. He looked back up at Poppy, who was grinning, eager for him to taste what she’d made just for him. 

“Cheers,” he muttered with a half smile, popping the spoon into his mouth. 

As soon as the bitter taste hit his tongue, his imagined Poppy was gone, replaced with dirt once more. The hot soup tasted as though it had been swapped out for dirt as well. Lovely. He swallowed quickly and tossed the spoon back on the table. The bowl was snatched off the table as we walked back to the kitchen towards the sink. Rather than torture himself by eating that slop spoonful by painful spoonful, he tipped the whole thing into his mouth in one go. Swallowing with a shudder, he tossed the bowl into the sink with the others and went to sit at his desk instead of that awful couch. The clatter of a tower of bowls tumbling over made him jump as it pierced the stillness he had been in previously. He should probably do some dishes soon. Tomorrow, for sure.

Another rumble of thunder mulled through the thick silence in the bunker. Branch picked up one of the many charcoal nubs lying on his stump desk and sat heavily on the rock chair. Practically nothing in this bunker was comfortable to rest on. Even his bed had grown rigid over the years, and that old couch was like a brick with a thin layer of moss. Unyielding, stone-like, cold to the touch. Hmm. 

One mindless drawing session later, the grey troll found himself staring at a rather unpleasant image. A scratchy, smudged version of himself in the craggy jaws of a bergen. Its eyes were bloodshot and wide with anticipation for the high it would soon get. Branch’s eyes were wide as well, with terror and desperation instead, as his hands seemed to reach off the paper to his creator in a last-ditch effort to get to safety. Branch scrunched up his face. That acorn gruel was at the back of his throat for a moment until he shoved the drawing away roughly. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Not that what he wanted mattered very much when it came to his thoughts. They came and went as they pleased, intruding almost constantly, bringing disturbing and upsetting images like that at the best of times. A twitch of the ears, and he was back to drawing, trying to depict something a bit nicer. A bit softer. 

He tried to make the charcoal glide over the page, ignoring his usual urge to make scratchy, sketchy, hard marks. Gentle curves, swooping lines. His nose was almost touching the paper, he was leaned in so close. His thumb carefully smudged here and there to add shading. Small dots for freckles. Curly marks for flowers. One quick swipe of black for a grin. 

He leaned back, dropping the charcoal next to his finished piece. Poppy’s smiling face beamed up at his sullen expression, almost willing him to tug up the corners of his own mouth. An all-too-familiar ache settled in his chest, turning his almost-smile into a definite frown. Thunder clapped. He tore the drawing into pieces. Best to get ready for bed. 

---

Scrubbing vigorously at his teeth, Branch avoided eye contact with his dull reflection as he stood at his old sink. When was he going to get rid of that stupid mirror, anyway? He made sure to get rid of any lasting traces of that gruel before finishing and heading off to his bedroom. He shrugged off his vest and carefully hung it back in his closet. An hour or two of wearing did not warrant it a wash. He wasn’t that grungy. 

He stared into the left corner of his closet for a moment. A small box sat in the shadows, a bit dusty from being left alone for a good while. A cobweb had even appeared on one of its wooden sides, one of which read “G.R.”. Still, he decided not to touch it. Not tonight. He closed the closet door with a click and walked over to his small nightstand, reaching up to tap the bioluminescent mushroom growing from above, encouraging it to give off a bit more light. A small journal and a bit of charcoal was gathered in his large hands from off the table. Lying back into his bed, stiff pillow propped up for extra support, he flipped to his latest entry and began writing below it:

October 12

Averaged 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Cloudy. Windy. Thunder storm in the evening and into the night. 

Supplies gathered:

- 32 pieces of firewood

- 12 blueberries

- 10 acorns

- 5 jars of fresh water

- 1 apple

Notes: Growl Beasts are becoming more aggressive as they prepare to hibernate. Should attempt to warn the village tomorrow. Thunderstorm despite storm season’s passing. River may start freezing soon. Should go fishing beforehand and stock up. No bergens spotted. 

Poppy encounters: 0

His shoulders sank a bit as he closed the log book. He was tempted to leave the last bit of information blank, as the night was still fairly young, but common sense beat that hope back down. The princess would not be out in this rain just to come visit him and get yelled at to go away. She was overly cheerful and friendly, yes, but not stupid. He knew that much. 

The log was traded out for a larger, more personal journal. Once a blank page was located, he stared at it carefully, rubbing his temple and brow with two fingers as his thoughts swam. He drew up his knees closer to himself, almost to become smaller, more hidden from...no one, he supposed. He started to write:

A storm rolls through

Grumbling, heaving, heavy

Longing to pour out what its been harboring

But too afraid 

As others would drown.

And what then?

Branch paused and grunted before flipping to a clean page. He tapped the charcoal against the page for a moment, thoughts drifting back to the princess. He began again:

Take me in your gentle hands

Our contrast as stark as warm sunbeams shining through murky skies

Mold me into something softer

More in your own image

Smooth my sharp edges

Touch me with tenderness that I haven’t-

“Ahh,” he hissed, aggressively swiping to a new page. Stupid. 

A dog that bites every hand that attempts to feed it deserves to starve.

It bites to protect those who it has bitten

But-

He scratched viciously at the paper, teeth bared, before slamming the journal shut. He held it with white-knuckle grasp, fighting the urge to throw it across the room. A couple deep breaths, and it was roughly placed back on the table. Not a night for that, it seemed.

Another roll of thunder. 

He slid down further to lie flat on his back, staring at the softly glowing mushrooms above him as he calmed back down. In his mind, they became twinkling stars in a clear summer sky. He turned to face his right. Imaginary Poppy was back, magenta eyes fixed up above to the stars above them. She turned to face him and gave him a small smile. That little gap in her front teeth could’ve melted him right then and there. She reached a hand over and traced the crows feet in the corner of his eye. He shut them, just for a moment, a bit longer than a blink, just a bit too long. The princess was gone as soon as he opened them again. The stars were back to being mushrooms on the ceiling of the muggy, chilled room. 

With a shiver and a sniff, Branch clenched his eyes shut and rolled onto his side. He needed sleep, he was starting to lose it. He yanked his patchy blanket up over his shoulder in one swift motion, trying to nestle down into the bed. It pushed back against him stubbornly. A heavy exhale. He hated how big this stupid bed was. Big, lumpy, cold, empty, lonely, made for two, occupied by one. Why did he have a second pillow. Why did he always sleep in the same spot, as if the left side of the bed was reserved, claimed by another troll. He couldn’t even bring himself to edge a bit closer to the middle. Ridiculous. 

He shut his eyes tightly, trying his best to clear his clamoring mind enough to get some actual rest.

---

The sharp sound of feet kicking against sheets ripped through the air as Branch jolted awake with a gasp. Sweat beaded on his brow and his skin felt clammy. He sat up with a cough and tried to catch his breath. Same dark room, same dirt and root walls, same uncomfortable, barren bed. Reality was hardly reassuring to him, but better than the alternative his brain had conjured in his sleep. Sweaty palms pressed into his eyes before being dragged down his face with a sigh-ish grumble. The small clock on his table told him is was barely passed midnight. His growling stomach affirmed this information. 

It was a bad habit, but he couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard he tried. It was either get a midnight snack or lie there with his own thoughts all night, too hungry to fall back asleep. Cruelly, sometimes the food wasn’t enough, and he’d be up all night anyway without rumbling demands from his gut to distract him. It would just be him and his thoughts. Those intrusive, unwelcome thoughts. And silence. But maybe tonight would be different.

He slid off his bed with a huff and made his way to the storage room across the hall. His legs were a bit more like jelly than he liked. He tapped a dimly lit mushroom and it immediately brightened up, illuminating the pile of blueberries that nearly reached the ceiling. Dipping into his emergency supplies made him anxious, but not anxious enough to stop him from plunking himself down next to the pile and helping himself to however many he wanted, blank faced. However many it took to fill this gnawing hole inside him, he supposed. He’d just mark how many he ate in the dirt, and then go out and collect enough to replace them tomorrow, and then some. His collection was already impressive. 734 berries tucked away for safekeeping. 

...733, now. 

He wished he could feel a bit proud about it, but really, it was just the product of a monotonous routine that he’d grown tired of. At one point he quite enjoyed it, felt accomplished, found comfort in the fact that he was so prepared. Now, if anything, foraging was a manic chore that had become an unpleasant compulsion, and the results were just a foreboding reminder that something was going to go horribly wrong one day. A bergen would arrive at the village and, like a coward, he would run away and hide. He would stay deep in his hole in the ground for another 10 years, truly by himself. No cheerful morning songs to wake up to, no booming late-night parties to keep him up. No one sneaking up on him to give him a spine-contorting bearhug. No more glitter-vomiting invitations being shoved in his face. No more visits from his princess, offering kind words, encouragement, inclusivity. No more adorable smiles, pink blushes, tucking of hair behind ears, mischievous winks. No more hurt expressions after harsh words. No more teary eyes or downcast looks. No more dejected walks back to the village. No more second, third, fourth, seemingly endless chances. That would end, and the village would be destroyed, and everyone would be gone for good. Except him, in his bunker, alone, for ten long years, until his supplies finally ran out. And even then he would remain down here, rather than face whatever horror was above ground, bergen or bergen-caused. 

Branch shakily wiped his eyes and shook his head. That was enough. Plenty. Time to go back to bed. 

He paused in the doorway for a moment. Down the shadowy hallway was another desk, smaller than the one in the main room of the bunker. Beside it were two small shelves, hidden behind ratty curtains, unlike the many other selves and cubbies on the surrounding walls. Unconsciously, he traveled to the desk and sat down, staring at the curtains. Carefully, almost fearfully, he drew them aside. The blast of color was visible even in the low light. His favorite invitation was selected and gently placed on the table. His eyes felt so heavy. Everything felt heavy. Crushing. If his hand were to even touch a single corner of this invitation, it would surely turn to dust. Destroyed by his rough hands. His ears drooped down, the silence heavy within them as well. He should go back to bed. Get some rest before going back out to forage tomorrow. Everything out there would be heavy, too. Sodden with the drenching rain. Unmovable, maybe. No matter how much it was pushed or pulled or encouraged or hugged, it would stay heavy and solid. Stubborn. Anchored by the product of a looming storm.

He blinked rapidly and drew in a deep breath. Reigning in his imagination was difficult when he was awake and alert, let alone half asleep and groggy. The invitation was nudged open. Two little figures popped out at him, stood atop a neon orange mushroom. Warm pink and dull grey arms were wrapped around each other, and big smiles stretched on little paper faces. Happy Valentine’s Day! was written in glittery, swooping letters across a rainbow of pinks, purples, reds and whites. Hearts on little springs danced lazily around the pair. Branch felt taunted by them. He frowned at the small grey figure. How dare it be there, honestly. An ugly smudge in such a beautifully colorful scene, embracing the happiest troll that could ever exist. What had he done to deserve that? Deserve such a loving gesture from someone so sweet and kind? With the awful things he’d done?

The invitation was slammed shut with both hands. He couldn’t take this torment his brain was putting him through. Couldn’t he just enjoy anything anymore? Not everything had to be upsetting, or miserable, or depressing. This downward spiral he could feel himself entering needed to stop. Somehow. At least that’s what he thought for the most part. There was always that small, nagging feeling to just let it happen, let his mind run wild, painting whatever horrors and torments it wanted. To just hit rock bottom and stay there, away from everyone and everything external that could hurt him. Internal, he’d have to deal with on his own. But really, he’d had practice, so maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Probably not. 

He recoiled with a sharp inhale. Sleep. Back to sleep. The card was hastily tucked away back in its place and hidden behind the curtains. 

His feet dragged as he entered his bedroom again. This really was his least favorite room in the bunker. The bed was cold when he climbed back in, drawing the covers up. He faced the empty space beside him, breathing shallow, mouth slightly ajar. He could feel his anxiety starting to build as he stared into the blackness before him. Shapes formed in the nothingness, but disappeared as soon as he attempted to focus on them. Ghosts? Burrowing predators? What was it. What were they. Anxiety turned to a fearful panic. It festered at the very base of his skull. It spread slowly to his temples, just behind his eyes, into the tense muscles of his neck, up and down his spine. Settled right in his gut and festered some more. Stabbed at his nerves, squeezed his lungs, churned his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his arms around himself and tucked his legs to his body, trying to squeeze out the throbbing ache. The silence was overwhelming. It was just unreal, paranormal...there must be something causing it. Something waiting in the silence to take him, rip him to absolute shreds in the space where he should feel safest. Just beyond the edge of the bed, it was waiting. He could feel it, sense it, hear it in the silence. It was so loud. He clamped his hands over his ears, worried he was already deaf. The thing would join him in the bed any second now, fill that empty void that he was saving. Years and years of saving. It would come creeping over over to him, engulf his entire body. Trace the wrinkles on his sweaty face, count the dark freckles on his cheeks and ears. A freezing cold touch. No tenderness, just ice. It would crawl into his ears through his fingers, seize him by the brain and destroy every bit of him from the inside out in one swift scream of pure nothingness. Fill him with silence as well. 

The icy touch slapped him across the face so suddenly, he couldn’t hold back the scream of shock and terror he’d been holding hostage in his throat. The blanket was ripped away and the mushroom was hammered on until the whole room was alight with an eery blue glow. Ragged breathing was strangled into sobs. The room was empty. He was alone. Another small drop of water fell down from the ceiling and onto the end of his nose. Above, he could see condensation had gathered on the mushrooms, waiting for gravity to pull the moisture down onto him. 

He screwed his eyes shut and reopened them, chest heaving. He was alone. It was just water. He was alone. It was all in his head. He. Was. Alone.

He buried his face in his knees, pulling at his mussed dark hair. Enduring these constant fights with his mind, clinging to slipping rationality, every single night...he didn’t know how to cope. He wished so badly that someone was there with him to hold him, pull him back to reality, tell him everything was alright. Ground him and give him reassurance. Tell him that he wasn’t alone, that he was strong, that she would be there for him always, that she cared for him. But he was alone, and she was in the village, surrounded by people she cared about instead down in this dank hole with him, the troll who had barked at her to go away every time she tried to get close. So instead he just sat, still as possible, and tried to get control of himself, tried to not let everything pour out of himself in a white-hot blaze of guilt and raw emotion. 

“Poppy,” he whispered into his knees, voice breaking, “...I’m sorry...”

---

The clamor of his alarm ripped Branch from sleep in an instant. He hadn’t even realized he’d managed to fall into a dreamless sleep at some point of the night. What a blessing. His body’s position was less than favorable; sat up, head in his arms, resting on his knees. Wincing, he stretched out, locked up limbs cracking and popping. He twisted his sore back with a groan until he earned a few pops from there as well. A lazy hand was slapped onto the alarm. Silence once again. It was early morning, before the other trolls would be up and singing.

He cleared his throat loudly and slid off the bed, trudging to his closet. A fresh leafy vest was pulled on with a firm roll of the shoulders. Clicking his teeth together in a rhythmless fashion, he went to check on the damage he’d done on his berry supply in the night. Seven jagged lines were drawn in the dirt. No wonder he wasn’t particularly hungry this morning. What a shame, he’d have to miss out on acorn porridge for breakfast. A real tragedy. 

He scoffed to himself and went to prepare his backpack. Slingshot, frying pan, rope, blanket, first aid, field notebook, charcoal, and a small jar of water. His usual arsenal for the day. It was all tucked away securely and slung over his shoulders with a huff. Maybe he’d forage closer to the village today. The terrain was more flat there, and probably wouldn’t be flooded. He did need to warn the other trolls about the increase in aggressive tendencies of the local Growl Beasts anyway. Poppy should really be the first to know, as the princess. It was just logical.

The elevator’s platform vibrated slightly under his feet as he ascended. His face was blank, staring straight forward, thick eyebrows slightly knitted together. Thoughts would normally be buzzing about in his brain, but he felt strangely clear and calm this morning. Like he’d had a reset. The fresh air felt wonderful against his skin as the bunker’s hatch was thrown open. The forest still had the smell of recent rains. The chill in the air was crisp. His breath was visible in front of him. Early morning in the forest was one of his favorite times. It wasn’t silent, but there weren’t any noisy celebrations happening either to attract hungry bergens. Just gentle wind blowing through bare tree limbs, the crunch of dried leaves under his feet, distant song of birds, and his own breath leaving his body. 

Time to get going. Night would be approaching again before he knew it. 

[lapzidorus]

Nothing for Nothing

Wha!? Where did everything go? Just a moment before, that car rammed straight into ours, and now it's just me, floating here in darkness stretching as far as I can see – not that I can even see my hands right in front of me because there is no light. I am still wearing my long-sleeved jacket and jeans, though, which was originally to avoid attracting too much attention. Am I dead? Is this what it’s like after you die? Am I just stuck here in eternal suspension, or is my fate still yet to come?

   Something taps the edge of my shoe, and I pull my leg back out of reflex, barely holding back a gasp. I peer down and see nothing still. I reach my foot back out and feel a hard, flat surface – a wall? Or perhaps a floor to settle on! When I reach my hand over for a feel of the texture, the rest of me suddenly plops onto it. Yup, it’s a floor – a cold, though smooth one.

    Relying solely on my touch, I position my hands and legs with care, taking my time with getting up. Once I'm on my feet, I tread forward slowly, reaching my hands out to feel anything in front of me. This goes on for a few minutes before my scrawny arms can’t take any more of the strain and I need to set them down. If only I had exercised more. I sink my hands into my pockets and continue walking, stopping every now and then to feel around the floor in front of me. Where am I anyway, and why is everything so dark?

    Several more uneventful minutes pass by before I decide to sit and rest my tired legs, seeing no more sense in continuing. My mind has gone numb from lack of stimulation, so I might just go to sleep right here. I slip my hood on and lay my head down, doing my best to get comfortable.

    Soon after, though, an assortment of crackling and crunching sounds starts up all around me. Oh, now something's happening! Well, what is it?

    These noises grow slowly louder over a minute or so, bringing my ears moderate discomfort, until they abruptly end. A few seconds after that, a large, round cluster of hexagonal holes, towering at about four times my height, brightens up before me in a crystal-y green color, making me step back in surprise – and turn away in horror. Ugh, I finally see something, and it happens to trigger my mild Trypophobia! At least now I know I haven’t gone blind. What even_ _is it, anyway?

    Once I can bring myself to stare fixedly at the unpleasant sight, my first observation is the source of its light: six closed-up hexagons twice their size of the others surround the edges of a deep hole. Also visible are six dark, bladed wing-like appendages protruding around its sides, and a thick tail of a similar shade that the creature appears to be standing with.

    I then hear the entity speak. “Hhellloooo!” Its swaying, high-pitched voice and its jovial tone fall into an uncanny valley between welcoming and threatening, which is accentuated by the disorienting echoes that bounce randomly around us.

    My mind is falling into shambles! Where am I? What am I looking at? Why are things playing out like this? Was I being watched the whole time? Oh, how stupid I probably looked! What’s going to happen next?!

    Hold on! This could all just be a lucid dream; but my dreams tend to be much faster-paced than this, though. Oh wait, I was just greeted by this thing; I should probably say something too!

    I manage to cough out what seems like the most appropriate question to start things out. “Wha-…who are you?”

    "Ahem." The entity’s voice becomes more controlled, and the echoes settle within it. “Why, I am an overseer of sin, who keeps track of the unforgiven sins of every individual I am assigned to.”

    “S-so-” I tremble at my next words. “-am I…i-in hell?”

    “Nooo, not quite,” the overseer corrects as if trying to comfort me, their wings drooping down a little. “You might consider this your own personal ‘purgatory.' Every sinner has one, constructed and designed specifically for them whenever their life is put at risk."

    My eyes scroll across the surrounding expanse, the only light still being the overseer’s eerie luminescence. I guess this _does _match my propensity for anxiety; just gazing into it threatens to fill me with paranoia of something jumping out at me.

    The overseer continues, "Due to the exclusivity resulting from this system, we can generally only meet up with one person at a time; thus, there must be a bunch of us since many people can die at once, as you may already understand.” Way to rub it in, huh?

    I turn back to the overseer. “So, w-what now?” I ask, feeling slightly more at ease knowing I am not (yet) in hell.

    The overseer proceeds to slither around me as they begin, “Here, you are to reflect back on all of your unforgiven sins and confess them to me personally; this is specifically for your sake as I already know precisely what you're guilty of.”

    A large larva emerges halfway out of one of the overseer’s holes, causing a squeal of fright to just barely leak out of my lips. The overseer then comes to explain, “For each valid sin you properly admit to, no matter how small, one of these little sweeties will pop out to greet you from the hole corresponding to that sin. It seems, however, that this one can already sense your fearfulness, darling.”

    Yeah, I am quite the nervous wreck. “Yeah, heh heh, I do make that aspect of me clear, don’t I?”

    The overseer lets out a creepy, yet also innocent-sounding little chuckle. “Now, if your self-assessment turns out to be fully accurate, you get to decide your own punishment! How does that sound, hmm? We figured if a sinner understands where they went wrong, they might know how they ought to suffer as well, so it’s the least we can offer down here, hm-hm!” They finish their circle around me, their seemingly endless tail keeping me fenced inside, and return to their original height and position.

    So I can choose what happens to me? Does that mean anything so long as it’s bad? What are the rules on all of this?

    “Now, as a fair warning,” the overseer notes, their tone turning a tinge more serious, “we are in full power to bestow our originally planned punishment if we deem yours unfit.” They lean forward in a rather intimidating fashion. “Do you understand?”

    I nod my head in short, meek bobs. “Yes, I understand everything.”

    “Alright then!” they announce with returning cheer, wings thrusted upward. “Let’s get started.”

    I think it over for a bit before I know just what to say. “Okay, well…I’ve done nothing.”

    The overseer’s wings flap oh-so-slightly. “What’s that, dearie?”

    “I did nothing in my life to get here. What I mean by that is, I-I should’ve done stuff but didn’t. I had grown to fear the feelings and consequences of failure, defeat, and disappointment at an early age, so I never took up any tasks that weren't in my direct way like, say, obligatory school assignments, nor did I seize any social outlets. I also couldn't stand up for myself in the oddly few times I was picked on; I_ did_ learn to blend in very well, though."

    The larva wriggles slightly up and down, presumably in excitement. “Very good so far,” the overseer interjects. “Now please, continue.”

    As I allow my repressed feelings of guilt to resurface and guide my words, my delivery smoothens and boldens, and I begin to gently pace left and right. “Furthermore, I held back from speaking my own mind except whenever I was forced to. Even if I shared my own thoughts, though, I wouldn’t have much to say ‘cause I refrained from developing any opinions or beliefs beyond the bare necessities, if that makes any sense. On that note, I was afraid to be skeptical of things, but I was also reluctant to hold faith in them; I wouldn’t commit myself to any side or any_thing._ I became complacent, unsocial, unproductive and, quite frankly, sort of lazy.”

    A second larva slinks out from a different hole while the first one thrashes about more violently. “Yes, yes, darling! Spot on!”

    “My mom eventually caught on to my inactivity, however, and had me join a co-worker’s son and his friends on a trip to someplace I forget. Of course, I couldn't conjure up the strength to resist the order. They were a diverse group, though, I must admit; I probably could’ve made at least one new friend if I tried.

    “Anyway, after our light at an intersection went green, the driver forgot to look both ways, and all the passengers were too busy with themselves or each other to see another driver speeding through from our left. Admittedly, though, I kind of only caught them from my peripherals myself despite my well-developed observational skills. Now, I knew I had to alert everyone in the car, but my lips clammed up; I guess a part of me winced at the supposedly unflattering image of a quiet person like myself suddenly shouting out to "Look out!", so how about we just add pride to this list, too, while we’re at it?”

    At this point my guilt and shame become so overwhelming that I can't look at the overseer anymore, and instead I gaze downward with my fingers gripping my hair and face. “Augh, that would’ve been my turning point; I could’ve saved all those people and started making progress with myself, but I went and blew it, all because I was so cowardly and selfish and pathetic that I couldn’t get myself to actually talk to people or accomplish anything my entire life!”

    I wipe my dampened eyes and cheeks on my sleeves and look back up at the overseer. What a mess I probably look like right now. “And now, here I am,” I sob, swinging an arm open to gesture, “pouring out my soul after it’s already too late for any more such chances. If only I became like this when it still would’ve mattered; I might've actually grown to love myself more.”

    Once I've calmed down, I can see that a peculiar arthropod now rests in the central hole. Could that represent-?

    “Well done, dear,” the overseer congratulates. “You’ve recapped all of your sins with perfect honesty, including the one running behind all sin: pride. Now, your newly found confidence can still serve one purpose.” They lean down in anticipation. “It’s time to choose your punishment.”

    “Nothing's going to happen to me,” I answer in a weak breath of defeat, “not good or bad. What should I reap if I hadn’t sowed anything in the first place? It’s best that you just leave me here to wither out in total isolation.”

    “Hmmm,” the overseer mutters in a jarringly ominous tone. “Perhaps you’re not quite as fun as I’d hoped.” They begin to back out, their tail pulling back out from around me and their light beginning to faintly flicker out. Well, here comes total darkness again.

    Once the overseer vanishes from my sight entirely, those weird crunches and crackles from earlier return, this time they gradually muffling out over time until they are gone once more. A loud, but gentle ting then goes off high above my head as if for closure.

    So...did I choose the right punishment? I figured they would’ve wanted a punishment that corresponded with the deed. It could be that mere isolation isn't severe or intense enough. If that’s the case then, what awaits me now, and how long do I have to wait?

    My next thought makes my heart jump: perhaps the punishment has already started! They might've unleashed a demonic beast of some sort to ravage me for all eternity. Or maybe I'm doomed to forever experience unprompted jump scares with no way to brace myself for them! Oh, the stress is killing me already! I think I’ll just lie back down again; maybe the torment won’t be so terrible then.

    I slip my hood back on and lay my whole body on the floor before shutting my eyes. If only I had the chance to make things right.

    If only I were able to escape this crazy nightmare.

    A bright light suddenly hits my eyelids. I prop myself up with my left arm and protect my eyes with my right hand, letting my hood slide off the back of my head. I note how the light is white. This isn’t a trap, is it; some scare to strike home how there's no hope of getting out? Well, whatever, then; there's really nothing left for me to lose.

    I move my hand aside to see what looks like a huge gash in the supposed ceiling. This opening – and the light emanating from it – seems oddly devoid of the desolation that had enwrapped me since I got here, which I sort of sense burning away. When I stand and take a step forward, I feel my feet lift off the floor, taking me by surprise. I look down to see my blurry reflection on the floor, and half a smile cracks through one cheek. Could I really be receiving grace after death?

    As I am drawn closer to the light, a soft blanket of silk envelops my body, and I close my eyes and lift my head in preparation; it looks like I am being granted salvation! No longer will I waste away my days leaving zero impact wherever I go. I can now become a lively individual who expresses thoughts and emotions in earnest, generates healthy social connections, and learns to feel legitimate love in all of it's forms!

    My new life begins here! 

[psychologyforeveryone-blog]

The effects of improving sleep on mental health (OASIS): a randomised controlled trial with mediation analysis

Fun fact: This article is currently free for anyone on The Lancet! If you want to read it for yourself, you can get it here: http://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(17)30328-0/fulltext?elsca1=tlpr

TL; DR Version[i]

·      Researchers gave college students with insomnia a validated treatment, assessing rates of symptoms of mental illnesses throughout treatment and 12 weeks after treatment ended.

·      The authors focused on hallucinations and paranoia, but they also tested for symptoms of anxiety, depression, psychological well-being, and other symptoms of psychotic disorders (i.e. mental illnesses that involve a break from reality, such as hallucinations and delusions.)

·      Increased sleep was found to explain a large percent of decreased hallucinations and paranoia following treatment; participants in the treatment condition were also found to have better mental well-being and fewer symptoms of mood and anxiety disorders. This provides evidence that insomnia may be a causal factor in mental illnesses, not simply a symptom.

·      It is important to note that the authors did not provide evidence that this study can generalize to people without insomnia.

·      It is also critical to remember that the treatment used in this study is very close to treatments used to combat depression and anxiety—therefore, these changes could have been because of the treatment itself, not because of the increased sleep.

Media Analysis:

Reuters: Treating insomnia can ease depression and paranoia, study finds[ii]

I’m nervous about how much this article focuses on depression, over the issues the study treated as central. Depression was much more of a side symptom in this study, with the authors focusing mostly on psychotic disorders. Most of the analysis was done on hallucinations and paranoia, with only minor tests run on depression and anxiety scores. However, for the most part, this article is accurate.

LiveScience: Lack of Sleep May Be a Cause, Not a Symptom, of Mental Health Conditions[iii]

I wish the headline had been specific to insomnia, because this feels like an overgeneralization, but honestly this is one of the best articles on psychology that I’ve read. It was clear, concise, but didn’t leave anything out—if you’re going to read one article about this study, this is probably the one to read!

Daily Mail: Lack of sleep is linked to depression and anxiety: Rates of the condition fell by a fifth among insomniacs given therapy to help them rest[iv]

Oh boy. This article is exactly what you’d expect from a tabloid—it’s extreme, overstates results, and is a pretty clear example of bad science writing. First of all, nothing was diagnosed in this study, so there are no “rates of the condition” to fall. What the authors found was that the scores for anxiety and depression were around 20% lower in the treatment group. Also, about two lines under the headline, they write, “a study now shows it is probably the lack of sleep causing these issues and not the other way around.” First of all, “probably” is a big word to use following one study. Second, even if you were to take this study as gospel truth without replication or follow-up research, all this study could have found was that insomnia can cause some symptoms of mental illnesses. There are plenty of people without insomnia who suffer from mental illnesses (depression, in fact, can be diagnosed by either too little sleep or too much), so that sentence overextends the findings to the point where it’s basically a lie. The Daily Mail also doesn’t cite its sources, so it makes claims (e.g. “On any given night one in three people are struggling to get to sleep, and this is believed to get them ‘stuck’ on repetitive negative and mistrustful thoughts”) that could be true, but without a citation I can’t check what exactly they’re referencing. I could go on, but in essence, the Daily Mail is not an accurate source of science writing. Remember, even though it’s British, it’s still just a tabloid.

Full Summary:

Hypothesis: The authors were examining a long-standing debate in psychology, namely whether insomnia was the cause of other mental illnesses, or a symptom of them. The authors expected to find that decreasing insomnia would decrease symptoms of mental illnesses, providing evidence that insomnia is a driving factor in these disorders.

Methods: Participants were university students in the UK, age 18+, who showed strong signs of insomnia based on pretest screening. They were randomly assigned to one of two groups: treatment as usual [a] or an online Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) [b] for insomnia intervention. This was a 6-session intervention that included behavioral changes, such as relaxation training and increasing the amount of sleep at one time by restricting how many hours a person spent trying to fall asleep; it also included cognitive treatments, such as mindfulness [c] and restructuring unreasonable and maladaptive belief systems (such as expecting to get excellent sleep immediately.) The CBT was given through online videos, where participants also had access to tools such as sleep diaries and recordings aimed at relaxation. Participants were assessed before the study began, three weeks in, at the end of the intervention (ten weeks), and 12 weeks after the study ended (22 weeks).

The authors were primarily interested in measuring insomnia (using two scales), paranoid thoughts, and hallucinations. In addition, they measured number and intensity of nightmares, prodromal psychotic symptoms [d], mania, depression, anxiety, and mental well-being. Participants were also asked if they had a history of mental illness, if they used any mental health services, if they were in therapy, or if they took medication.

Results: This study had a high dropout rate, with approximately 50% of participants failing to complete the study. More participants dropped out in the intervention group than the control; 603 participants completed the final assessment in the intervention group, versus 971 in the control group. Most participants in the intervention group did not complete all of the videos either—while the authors did not specify how this broke down in the participants who were tested, only 18% of people in the intervention condition went through all six videos, while only 69% even watched one.

Despite these dropouts, the authors still found strong results. The treatment was effective, with 62% of individuals in the treatment group scoring below the cutoff for insomnia used for the study (in comparison, 29% of participants in the control group were below the cutoff after ten weeks—so some people certainly get better just based on time, but it is extremely unlikely that would explain all the improvement.)

However, the point of the study was not to validate the intervention—that has already been done. When examining the signs of mental illness tested, the authors found that based on the 10-week analysis, 58% of the change in paranoia and 39% of the change in hallucinations were explained by the participants’ increased sleep. In addition, while changes in sleep explained a large percentage of the changes in psychotic symptoms, changes in psychotic symptoms did not explain a large percentage of the change in sleep. Therefore, it appears that the increased sleep caused the decrease in symptoms.

While the authors did fewer in-depth analyses, they did find that participants who went through the full treatment had lower scores in depression, anxiety, prodromal psychotic symptoms, had fewer nightmares, and higher psychological wellbeing. In addition, these increases remained 12 weeks after the study ended. However, there was evidence that participants were more likely to meet criteria for a manic episode.

Concerns and Important Issues: To pick up right where we left off, the authors made the point that increased risk of mania based on self-reports does not necessarily mean the participants were more likely to be suffering from a manic disorder following treatment. Measures of mania include decreased need to sleep (which, if interpreted as “sleepiness,” would make sense if the participants were sleeping better), increased talkativeness and cheerfulness, and self-confidence. All of those could, in fact, reflect that the participants were simply in a better mental state following treatment—or it could be evidence of something dangerous. To be certain, more research would be necessary.

However, there was one issue the authors did not address—CBT, the form of treatment used for insomnia, is also the current standard treatment for depression and anxiety. To be fair, the CBT used here was aimed at insomnia, not other illnesses, but it’s possible that the lessons learned while working on insomnia were generalized to other issues the participants were struggling with. Mindfulness especially has been shown to decrease mood and anxiety issues,[v] suggesting that the increase in mental health following the treatment may not have been because of increased sleep but instead because of the treatment itself. It is also important to remember that the authors specifically excluded anyone who did not have insomnia, so we have to be careful generalizing these results to the population as a whole. The only thing this study shows is that sleep disorders contribute to mental illnesses—it does not necessarily provide evidence that increased sleep for people who are not suffering from insomnia would increase mental health.

That doesn’t mean this study isn’t valuable, even to a layperson. First of all, it suggests that people suffering from insomnia would likely benefit from CBT, even beyond their sleep disorder (I know it seems small, but having 62% of people improve following a treatment is pretty standard in current psychological interventions.) It also suggests that increased sleep might help people, even those without insomnia. Full disclosure, I am personally firmly in the camp that sleep is helpful to people who are struggling with mental illnesses, and there’s no harm in sleeping longer (to a point—I’m not advocating spending 12 hours in bed, and that could be a sign of depression in and of itself.) This is an important study, albeit perhaps not one as generalizable as popular media has made it out to be.

Jargon Definitions:

a.     Treatment as usual: a control group often used in studies surrounding debilitating mental illnesses, where the participants are not offered any new treatments but are allowed to continue using their previous treatments. It would be unethical, the reasoning goes, to force people to go off necessary treatments just for a study. Therefore, the researchers hope that random assignment to groups will do away with any systematic differences in pre-study treatment, therefore allowing people to continue their routines without that treatment affecting the results of the study.

b.     Cognitive Behavioral Therapy: a form of therapy in which issues are addressed through a mix of behavioral and cognitive changes (cognition is, in essence, mental activities—such as learning and processing information.) This sort of therapy has become the standard for anxiety and mood disorders, as well as many other mental illnesses.

c.      Mindfulness: nonjudgmental acknowledgement of thoughts, feelings and physical sensations. Often included in meditation.

d.     Prodromal psychotic symptoms: symptoms found before a psychotic disorder becomes diagnosable. As a note, “psychotic disorder” is the standard technical term for disorders involving a break with reality such as schizophrenia—I know it’s a loaded term, but that’s the language the field uses.

References

[i] Freeman, D., Sheaves, B., Goodwin, G. M., Yu, L.-M., Nickless, A., Harrison, P. J., . . . Espie, C. A. The effects of improving sleep on mental health (OASIS): a randomised controlled trial with mediation analysis. The Lancet Psychiatry.

[ii] https://www.reuters.com/article/us-health-insomnia/treating-insomnia-can-ease-depression-and-paranoia-study-finds-idUSKCN1BH379

[iii] https://www.livescience.com/60329-online-insomnia-therapy-mental-health-symptoms.html

[iv] http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-4860076/Lack-sleep-linked-depression-anxiety.html

[v] Bluth, K., Gaylord, S. A., Campo, R. A., Mullarkey, M. C., & Hobbs, L. (2016). Making Friends with Yourself: A Mixed Methods Pilot Study of a Mindful Self-Compassion Program for Adolescents. Mindfulness, 7(2), 479-492. doi:10.1007/s12671-015-0476-6

[strangerdarkerbetter]

Okay so us autistics use identity first, as do blind people, Deaf people and other disabled people. I also refer to myself as being bipolar rather than as having bipolar II but I'm not sure if it's a me thing or a community thing. You and Sean are both schizo-spectrum, right? Is schizophrenic/schizoaffective person preferred over person with schizophrenia/schizoaffective disorder?

Honestly, I’m really not sure what the community consensus is on schizo-spectrum disorders. Personally, when talking about my mental health, I usually say “I’m autistic, ADHD, and schizoaffective with PTSD, PMDD, anxiety, and depression.” So I use identity first(IF) for autism, ADHD, and schizoaffective disorder, but I use person first(PF) for PTSD, PMDD, anxiety, and depression. 

I view schizoaffective disorder as a part of who I am. My mood swings and psychosis have greatly shaped me and, even on meds, will always be a part of me to some extent. As such, for me, it feels right to use IF language. Sean also uses IF language with regards to his schizophrenia. 

Meanwhile, my PTSD is something that came later in life and, while it has shaped my experience, I do not view it as a part of me. It is a plague upon my mind that I fight to overcome. So I use PF. PMDD has been around since I was 13, but it’s not an all the time thing for me. I have my existential crisis a day or two before my period in addition to a few days of being wickedly depressed, but, to me, this is an affliction not an aspect of who I am. If anything, during those times, I don’t feel very much like myself. So, again, I use PF. Depression and anxiety are things I fight, things I try to recover from, so, for these as well, use PF. 

As you may have figured out, my main criteria for deciding whether or not to us IF or PF language when talking about my own experience is whether or not I view this thing as a part of myself. With my depression, I literally view it as something separate from my mind that grasps hold of me and drags me down into the darkness. It is a monster that catches me off guard and pulls me into the abyss. 

The other thing I consider is whether it is something I am trying to fight or something I am trying to work with. My PTSD, my depression, and my anxiety are all things that I fight. Things I actively try to overcome and defeat. I seek recovery and believe that one day I’ll get there. 

However, I am autistic through and through and that is not something I want to fight or overcome. Rather, I want to learn to live the best autistic life that I can lead by learning coping tools and techniques to help me function better as an autistic person. For me, this means embracing my stims, no matter how weird they may be. It means avoiding settings that I know I can’t handle. It means asking for help with things that are too difficult for me. It means communicating through methods other than using my mouth parts when verbal speech gets difficult for me. 

Similarly, I want to learn to live the best ADHD life that I can. I want to learn coping tools and techniques to work with my ADHD brain rather than against it. Part of living my best ADHD life involves meds for me, and I’m ok with that. But even on meds, I am still ADHD. I still hyperfocus and struggle to follow certain things and can never, ever sit still. The meds help me get the most out of my brain but they don’t erase the ADHD from my brain. 

Schizoaffective disorder has been a big part of my life for a long time now. I first started having mood swings towards the end of middle school and by 15 I was hallucinating. Psychosis and mood swings were a big part of my teen years, as was the search to figure out what was “wrong” with me. During the time when our sense of self is developing, I was caught in a whirlwind of paranoia, delusions, hallucinations, and ever fluctuating moods. As such, this is a large part of who I am. There are many on the schizo-spectrum who do not view their disorder as a part of themselves, and I hypothesize that because I started experiencing things so young, I am inclined to see it as part of myself. 

I do my best to manage my schizoaffective disorder which includes a variety of meds and coping tools and awareness. I am lucky to have a husband who can help me sort through my brain in a way that feels safe for me. We’re able to figure out when I’m getting stuck in paranoia or when I’m becoming delusional. This helps me to better manage my schizoaffective and live with it rather than fighting against it. Do I wish that I didn’t have horrifying hallucinations? Part of me says yes, but another part of me isn’t so sure. My hallucinations have been both a source of terror and comfort. I have seen people who have cared for me through the night when I was lonely and afraid. I’ve seen grotesque monsters that I’ll never unsee. However, writing about these things that forced their way into my mind is what helped me develop my skills as a writer. Would I be the writer I am today if I hadn’t had hallucinations? Perhaps, but I’m not sure. 

I also spent almost 5 years unmedicated. During those years, I learned to live with my hallucinations and delusions. I found ways to cope with the fear and panic and embraced the more eccentric visions. Finally, I had to go back on meds, primarily due to depression, but, now, after a year on an antipsychotic, I am once again off it to see how I do because I didn’t like the side effects. (This is all with the knowledge and approval from my psychiatrist). 

If I could completely get rid of my PTSD I would be ecstatic. PTSD is what leaves me shaking and nonverbal over seemingly nothing. PTSD is why I jump at the slightest things. It’s the nightmares that plague my slumber. It’s having to relive some of the worst moments of my life again and again. Hopefully, one day, with the help of a good therapist, I will be able to work through my trauma and get to a place in life where PTSD is no longer a shadow waiting to engulf me. 

I’ve now gone on far more of a ramble than I think you were expecting, but I have a lot of ~thoughts~ on this subject and, honestly, I processed my experiences in a new way while writing this, so thank you!

-Sabrina