#would i be willing to continue this format or story telling at all when im like 30??

[princeyadon]

im like 80% unhappy w my entire plot outline for ask-andante but ive sunk so much of myself into it that i cant stop now---

ill never reboot a blog. i wouldn't just up and delete 3 years worth of posts and myself learning because im now unhappy the more i learn abt storytelling

id have to start over again anyways and build up everything again, and tbh, i dont even have that kind of time.

im hoping the blog i do after will be better paced, better planned out, and have more substance in the content

and ill be the damn first to gripe on my blog and its content

mini spoilers, most of which will be brought up in canon sometime this week or the next anyways

As much as I wouldn’t rewrite my entire story, nor would I reboot the blog, I’d fucking loooove to retcon specific posts. I’ve gone back and actually edited a few but I still don’t appreciate the way they portrayed characters.

ask-andante’s biggest short-coming is where i decided to start the story (an unfortunate result of planning on just having a comedy blog that id abandon in a week). it’s much later in his life and all the learning and excitement and character development andante’s gone through is already over. i understand this to be a major reason for why the side characters tend to be much more interesting than him, as they’re growing and learning, and are willing to learn. andante’s personality type is kind of hard to play as a main character.

i also know celtia’s sudden turn to be honest is still really.. sudden. it kind of comes from no where when you read it. i really really want to address this w him before i close his arc, so it can at least be explained. i think i might be able to find an opening for it in an ask soon.

andante would especially do better if he had someone to play off of, someone he likes to interact with... but unfortunately w the way ive set everything up, if he did have someone like that on the blog (as in a character of mine and not someone else’s), things would go much differently and i dont feel like rewriting everything.

i could potentially find a way to insert a character like this, but id have to write them out and develop them, along w backstories, motivation, goals, future, and even just a reason to be friends w Andante. Celtia’s reasonings make more sense. He wasn’t aware of what Andante was like, and w him using Aroma Therapy, never got to see that his dangerous side was serious because he would diffuse situations before they could escalate. Save for the DJ post, and attacking him. He did mention he was going to leave if it happened again, I suppose. But that’s who Celtia is, he’s starved for attention and approval, the whole reason he disguised his looks was because he wanted to be perfect and attractive, he wanted that approval from people. He figured Andante was just some edge lord who would come around, and he was so desperate to have that.

A lot of Celtia’s older posts are too edgy and I’d love to rewrite those so he was less like Andante abt the whole thing---to put it one way. It was understandable he was having panic attacks, and was extremely defensive abt his Perfect Presentation being destroyed after he had won friendships and approval from askers. But I just really don’t like the way he comes off in them. I wish he looked more frightened, rather than angry. I also wish I hadn’t supported the fuckin ship so much, i went back and deleted a lot of the boyfriendy tags, but admittedly there was a bit of pressure from the community. Nothing direct, i cant pin this blame on any one person and i never will as it was my fault, but i noticed how many more notes the andanstilbe posts got and how many people liked the ship that i kept forcing it, hoping to receive that approval myself

Back again to a character for Andante to play off of--w his next few major arcs, it’s even harder to get a character in that balances out Andante while also positively interacting w him. Andante’s goals aren’t good goals, and he’ll go through any length of sacrificing others for them, and getting a level headed, down to earth, or positive/upbeat character not to try and stop Andante would be difficult without coming up w some strange reason why they don’t. If anyone tried to stop Andante, he’d kill them as they’d be “betraying” him... you can see why writing Andante’s interactions can be fuckin difficult, because of the way he is from recent events (which will have a portion of an arc dedicated to those events), he is much too quick to cut ties and literally kill people because he’s afraid of betrayal/heartbreak.

Overall, I worry for the content of the blog to be just another boring gore fest or whatever, with no real character development or world development tied into it. Actually, it’s literally just one arc that I’m worried for because of this, but I don’t want this arc to ruin a lot of the “story” I have set up.

I also don’t like how everyone is all talk, and there’s nothing actually going on. I get that it’s because Celtia’s arc is going on rn, and his is just getting into his past before he’s gone... which, it can’be helped too much that it’s all talk since it’s going back into the past and all... but that’s what this whole blog has been.

i guess i could pull a 2yr anni, and instead of just regular flash backs and all talk, we actually go back to those eras and have them as semi interactable. I really need to take into consideration the format i am using to tell this story, the fact it’s an ask blog and interactive and not a comic or whatever. But characters would all need to be like voices or doubts, or generic characters from the time period--depending on where these events take place.

I could always have that happen and then only specific times in the past are interactable, and every now and then it breaks away into something streamlined... As much as I’d like to not create a barrier between plot and asks anymore than I have in the past, I can’t have everything weirdly interactable you know?? If it’s a past event that’s already happened? But it’d be better than the character staring at the floor talking like it’s ask-a-therapist over here

i wish i could rant more abt my own fuckin blog but id be getting too into major spoilers over it.

at this point, im just happy if the blog serves as a fun read rather than anything serious, and is good entertainment value. it’s my first story ive even tried to go through with, and i should respect that a bit more and accept it for what it is, and when i try again i will have put these ideas to better use.

[blorbosondeck]

fic rec masterlist

canon divergent/finale fix its

Anamnesis

THIS! FIC! this fic lives in my head rent FREE it is so good and it makes so much sense in the narrative that the shitty finale concocted, as to why they wouldn't mention cas or anyone else and its just. so good and they write chuck in the most villainous way that i love!!!

"Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be. Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19."

Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven by @adhdeancas

GOD FUCKING CHRIST this is so good and sweet and im such a sucker for team ups and reunions!!! its 3:30 am rn and i just finished it and i love it SO much it made me laugh a lot and the last few chapters i had the stupidest grin just plastered to my face

The Closer the Star, the Greater the Parallax by @rocksalts​

repressed bastard dean submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and receives the rewards of being loved but only after some miscommunication i LOVE this i read it last night and it’s a fast favorite. my interests have overlapped and i am INTO it

“When Dean sits down to watch some bullcrap Discovery Channel episode with Cas, he doesn’t expect to actually learn anything. Except, with Cas explaining, he makes an effort to connect the dots.”

Don't We All Deserve To Be Happy?

VERY sweet and a VERY good pick me up. all around feel good fic!!! 

"Post-canon fix-it, divergent from 15x19 where Jack stays and Dean doesn't die and Cas comes back and everyone is happy. Take a shot every time I'm salty about the finale."

Keep Your Love Alive

okay. okay okay okay this may be my favorite finale fix it just because of how well reasoned it is. like this feels what should have happened i love it SO much

"Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?"

The GoldenRod Revisions by @aethylas​

this is one of the most well written things ive ever read. the script format DID make it feel more real and honestly? this is better writing than this show deserves. the finale that could have been ♥️

“A rewrite of Supernatural’s final two episodes, expanded into a five episode arc - in which Chuck needs to be defeated, Castiel deserves to be saved, and the characters in this story get a very different ending.“

Ascend by @wanderingcas​ 

THEE finale fix it fic!!! written by the AMAZINGLY skilled and talented @wanderingcas !!! it’s 50k of angst and hurt/comfort and pure bliss

“Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?”

Things Happen (They Do, And They Do, And They Do) by THEE @sobsicles

i KNOW everyone has already recommended this and likely you’ve all already read it. but it has to go here bc REPRESSIOOOOOOOOON i LOVE this so much it is one of the most perfect things i’ve read. are you bisexual? did you have a kind of weird relationship with your best friend and not realize that how you felt about them wasn’t necessarily how other people felt about them and you were maybe a little bit in love with them but were too repressed to realize it? you’ll feel seen. maybe a little too seen

Closer (isn't close enough)

are you a sweet and sappy yet horny bastard? do you like cas exploding light bulbs? you will like this.

“the one where they finally talk about what cas said before the empty took him”

You and Your Husband

it is exTRMELY sweet!!! repression dean strikes again <3

"Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to."

Tall Grass

miscommunication and a slowburn! despite being written in 2017 and finished in 2018, it feels like a fix it. ft. plant obsessed cas <3 

Invictus

a LOVELY and short (relatively) finale fix it

“They saved the world. They're free. It's done.

Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.

They still have someone they need to save.”

Unchained Link

post finale- it’s a great case fic and i am compelled i want more!!!

"It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue."

fun and time unspecified

Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion No. 5

very funny and sweet! miscommunication at its finest ♥️

"Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam."

The Way We Were

Y'all. It is so good its a great mix of funny and serious- extremely fun to see dean as like a base bisexual

"Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice. All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic Dean"

While You Were Sleeping

this is basically just the movie but replacing sandra bullock with cas. this is my comfort movie and imo, one of the most perfect rom coms. the fic isn’t finished but i still have the tab open on my phone and i will straight up go back and re read it when i need a pick me up. 

aus/rewrites

The Harvelle Gospels: Offscript

i know everyone ever ( @jewishcharliebradbury ) has recommended this fic. and for good reason go fucking read it

“The Apocalypse is averted, the angels are in Heaven, and Jo is free from the threat of possession. Somehow it couldn't be farther from a happy ending.“

absolute riots

An Ineffably Profound Bond

i honestly would have put this in the finale fix it section! look. i know. i know you've been burned by crossover fics before. but this is Thee good omens/spn fic you want. its funny as hell and immensely satisfying. im weak for everyone working together tropes and that is this

"After Chuck sets 'The End' in motion, the remaining members of TFW make a miraculous escape. Not willing to waste any time, Castiel comes up with a plan to travel to one of the other worlds to try and get help from the angels there, but after a fight with Dean, it's the hunter who gets sent into an alternate universe,with seemingly no hope of return.

When a mysterious human with a heavenly weapon shows up in Aziraphale's shop, he and Crowley learn that their world is not the only one. Now it is up to them to decide whether or not they want to join forces with the human and help him save his world or simply find a way to send him home."

Somebody Up There Likes Me by @lafilleredige

cas is hit with a spell that turns his vessel into a woman, hijinks and sexuality crises ensue etc etc sam is a supportive and bitchy little brother and its all SO fucking funny and also. horny as hell i love it i love it i LOVE it

“’Dean doesn’t want to talk about your breasts, it’s making him uncomfortable because he hasn’t acknowledged the complex fluidity of human sexuality.’“

Stray Cat Strut

a long crack fic that IS one of the funniest things i’ve ever read and i can’t explain why. it’s so ooc but its so funny that i don’t care. if you need a laugh you gotta read this

"Sam and Cas are immediately in love with the adorable kitty they find outside the bunker door, and occupy their time planning how to convince Dean--who they believe is off sulking after a botched hunt--to let them keep their cat. Along the way, Dean learns to use a litter box and hears some confessions he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, all while realizing just how much he loves Castiel.

Now all Dean has to do is convince Cas and Sam their new pet cat is actually him before they do something crazy--like neuter him!"

canon compliant or slight canon divergence

Give

by @doublestuffedimpala post season 7 episode 7, kind of ambiguous ending but truly a cas is happy to bleed for the winchesters fic

Punch Like Bones 

short, post 5x04 homoerotic moment that i wish we’d gotten

[fuckyeahharryhart]

KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE, IN MY AU, HARRY HART WOULD STILL BE A BADASS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S ALIVE. HE’S JUST A BAD ASS WITH NO MEMORY

IN MY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - this is what happened when they found Harry. And Roxy is alive, cause “what the hell?” And basically is an excuse for me to thirst on Colin Firth as Harry Hart, who will always be a badass gentleman spy, memory or no.

Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy survived the explosions that destroyed Kingsman. Following the clues from their doomsday protocol, the three of them traveled to Kentucky to Statesman HQ.

They are confronted by Agent Tequila where they try to explain what they are doing there. Tequila does not believe them. He disarms and disables them. The scene begins in Statesman underground holding room. Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin wake up to find that they are bound and restrained.

(apologies in advance for grammar, spelling, format. First draft, secondish draft. Just did one quick read-through and fixed most of the glaring errors.

PS I kinda nerded out with the amnesia and weapons research) 

-----------------

The room remained vague and shadowy. Eggsy fought against a heaviness that kept his eyes closed. He tried again to blink them open. No such luck. They were uncooperative. Moving on. Assessing what little he could, he tested the restraints that bound him to a cold metal chair both at the wrists and ankles. Zip ties. Cheap and easy, but harder to release from than traditional handcuffs. He tried anyway. And then a second time, only with more force. Nothing. He willed himself to relax. If he couldn’t get free with brute force, it was time to get creative. Switch to strategy and problem solving. At least try to figure out what the hell was going on and why a souped up cowboy was holding them hostage. 

His training, his instincts wanted to kick in regardless of the fact that he was restrained. He ran through his checklist anyway. Scan and clear the room. Assess the threat. Spot entrances and exits. Locate the nearest weapon. It didn’t necessarily need to be a gun. Any object that could possibly disable an enemy would suffice.

It was infuriating that he was unable to proceed with his training. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a moot point anyway, nothing of him seemed to be responding to his commands. His surroundings remained a bleary haze. His brain still foggy, was trying to catch up.

The renegade cowboy that had disarmed and disabled Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin, was waiting rather patiently for them to wake up. That is, until the point he was no longer patient and decided to empty a bottle of perfectly good whiskey on Eggsy and Merlin. As he considered himself a gentleman, he spared Roxy.

 It was unsettling how he took the three of them down so easily. Eggsy reasoned that they certainly weren’t at their best. Shit had gone down in the last 24 hours and they were damn tired.

Eggsy and Merlin sputtered in protest. 

“So good of you to join us.” The cowboy’s tone was relaxed and untroubled.

He took a casual stance and leaned up against the wall like he was just waiting for something interesting to happen.

His head cocked to the right. “Now where was I?”

 Nodding to himself, “Oh yeah”, he said, as if he just remembered something fascinating. His fingers snapped together with a sharp click. “You were just about to tell me who ya’ll were and how the hell you found us.” He mentioned this as if he were waiting for them to describe what they ate for breakfast and whether or not they had enjoyed it.

The disparity between his gregarious tone, his friendly manner, and the slightly hostile glint in his eyes was disconcerting.

He crossed his legs on the other side and tipped his head to the left.

“Anytime ya’ll are ready to start talkin’, Im all ears.”

They had already tried to explain what happened to their headquarters. Well, their tailor shop backstop. How likely was it that generations of tailors had passed down a secret doomsday protocol for survivors in case of complete destruction? Of their tailor shop? Eggsy had to admit, as a story, it positively wreaked implausibility. But it was true, aside from replacing their secret intelligence agency with a bespoke suit business. 

From the cowboys perspective, it would seem kind of insulting that they expected the him to buy their story. Actually, It would seem pretty insulting to expect anyone with the most basic cognitive skills believe it. The problem was that, as ridiculous as story was, it was, in fact, the truth.

Eggsy didn’t have any more to say. Roxy, who would probably take him down if given half the chance, wisely remained quiet. Merlin’s furrowed brow meant that he most likely had a bloody lot to say, but nothing that would improve their situation. 

They had reached an impasse. 

The cowboy regarded them thoughtfully from under his Stetson, wide brimmed hat. 

“We don’t have folks from your neck of the woods in these parts that often.” His lips pursed in thought.

“I would reckon once every year or so, some might pass through here that sound like y’all. Why,” nodding his head confirming his own information. “I think it was just about a year ago, we had someone drop in unexpectedly.” 

He gazed up and to the right, as if recalling a memory. Maybe y’ll know him.” He said, his eyes falling back on them.

Merlin. “I highly doubt that.”

The cowboy drew back slightly, irked by their obstinance. These brits were stubborn as all get out. Did they seriously expect him to believe their doomsday protocol story? What was this? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt?

“I just find it awfully convenient that you just “happened” to find this bottle of whiskey with our name on it. Right after your entire “shop�� exploded with ALL it’s employees and everyone who worked there. Every single person who knows you, gone with it. That would be mighty upsettin’ if I was in ya’lls shoes.” He tried on a little sympathy for size. Nope, didn’t fit. He continued with his slight undertone of sarcasm. 

 “Can’t even make a call to see if anyone can vouch for y’alls.” Such a shame, he thought. Alrightly, he’d just keep talkin’ at ‘em until one of them slipped up or said something interesting.

He could talk into the night for all he cared. “Not even anythin’ left to take with you. Except a couple of watches that can unlock a biometric security system.” Now this was legitimately irritating. 

“Why would some little ole tailors shop need to have a biometric security system? I mean, ya’ll look mighty fine in them suits and spectacles, but sorry to say, not that fine.”

He used this opportunity to break out one of his favourite southern idioms. “You see, that dog don’t hunt.” He amused himself.

“Look.” Said the Scotsman. “We have no idea what you are talking about. The only reason we are here is because we found one of your bottles.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, before pressing his lips together, this time doubtfully twisting them to the side.

“See, here’s the thing. Lots and lots of folks have our bottles. Ain’t none of them ever broken into our maximum security “warehouse” before.”

“You’re looking for the Brit, ain’t ya? “His eyes narrowed. “And now why would that be?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed even deeper. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was reaching the far ends of his exasperation. “We do not know anyone here. Quite sorry to say, but we have never heard of Statesmen before. In our part of the world, we prefer a single malt scotch. No offence.”

“None taken.” He said pleasantly.

The cowboy pushed himself off the wall.

“Well,” he huffed, “It seems we’re at a stalemate.”

The cowboy continued to study them as he spoke.

“Ya’ll telling’ me a story you say is the truth.”

He shook his head in disappointment, feigning sadness. “And I just don’t believe ya. Now we could go round n round like this until we’re all blue in the face. But that sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“If we ain’t getting anywhere like this, might be time to switch things up a bit?”

“Ya’ll say you don’t know the Brit. But I’m thinkin’ y’all should talk to him. Might be able to make some sense out of what’s comin’ out of your mouth ‘cause I just don’t get it.”

Silence from the three of them. Well, weren’t they a stubborn bunch. 

The man sighed dramatically and shrugged his wide shoulders. 

“Well, it appears you wont be cooperatin’ with me. I think it’s about time ya’ll talk to someone else cause I sure aint getting’ nowhere with ya. But I don’t know if you’re gonna wanna talk to him.”  

He regarded them sympathetically. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that table when he’s the one asking questions. Ya’ll might be wish’n to see my pretty face again.”

Three almost identically frustrated faces looked back at him.

“Word is round here, don’t matter what you won’t say to me.” 

He started ambling across in front of them, from wall to wall in slow, measured steps. 

“What matters is what y’all gonna to say to HIM.” He stopped mid-stride, turned toward them. 

“Now, I’ve seen him doin’ his thing, right?  Believe me, he’ll have ya talkin’ in ways you can’t even imagine.” He continued along his thoughtful line, turning away from them.

He began to let the heel of his boots scuff the floor with every step. “You wont even be able to shut up, ya’ll talk so much.” He spoke over his shoulder. “ Tellin’ him things you ain’t even tell your mama.”

No response from the three Kingsman.

He turned toward Roxy. “My apologies little lady, but here at Statesman?  Guys and gals? We’re all on equal footing.” He had the gall to wink at her. “No matter what our name says.” 

He hooked his thumbs under this belt and hitched the whole get up, flask holster and all, up his non existent hips. 

“I hate to see a pretty miss like you have to go down with the likes of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of Merlin and Eggsy. “But, at Statesman, no special treatment for the fillies.”

Roxy proceeded to murder him with her eyes.

Absurdly, he decided it was a good and proper time to dial up the charm.  “Say, you don’t wanna tell me what you and your boys were up to here? I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping these fellas in line.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce. It turned out that Roxy no longer needed to blink. 

“That’s quite a look you’re thrown’ at me.” The cowboy smirked.

“Well, I’m really sorry. I apologise for this, but ya’ll don’t give me no other choice.” 

He turned toward the side and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The lenses were shaded to a dusky gold. He unfolded them, put them on and tapped the side of the lens. 

“Ya there?” He spoke into the air.

Evidently the glasses were a communications device and he received an answer in return. He nodded to himself. “Yep, affirmative.” 

There was another brief pause as he listened to the person on the other side. “Roger that.” He turned off the communication by tapping the side of the lens a second time. 

He looked at them almost sympathetically. “It looks we ARE gonna find out what happens when we change things up a bit.”

He walked over to the frosted panel window and flipped a switch.

Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy were momentary blinded by a brilliant white light. So bright and unexpected that they had to turn away. They squinted against the flare as coloured spots tripped behind their eyelids. They continued to blink until their eyes adjusted to the intensity of the new light. 

What they saw as the opacity of the glass dissolved… Well, to say they were ill prepared would be the understatement to understate all statements.

It couldn’t be.

It was utterly impossible.

But there he was. 

Outlined by a dazzling white light. 

Unmistakable.

It was Harry Hart.

—

The agents tried to gather their collective wits like they were trying to herd cats. It was nearly impossible. Harry disappeared from view. Sharp, tell tale footsteps could be heard walking down the short distance from the viewing area to their holding room. 

Between the three of them, none had taken a single breath from the moment Harry Hart appeared behind the glass.

For Eggsy, a white hot wave surged through his body and seared him from his finger tips to his toes. He could even hear the heat ringing in his ears. It was a high pitched whine that reverberated from one side of his head to the other. He had no control over his physical response. Any authority that he may have had, dissipated with the frosted glass. Apparently, his body knew exactly what to do, because it was doing its own thing, without any input from him. He set his thoughts aside and let his body do whatever it felt the need to. He was fairly certain he was exhibiting the physical signs of shock. He felt pale, his hands were damp and clammy. He felt weirdly mortified. He might as well be naked, for he felt exposed to the deepest, most secret recesses of his soul. Places that had no business being brought to light. 

He felt laughter bubble up through watery eyes he didn’t even know if he could call tears. For joy? Sheer bewilderment? Whatever the reason, his eyes were leaking. The buzzing in his ears wouldn’t stop and he felt sure he was about to pass out. He wanted to drop his head between his legs, but he didn’t dare pull his gaze away from the door he knew Harry Hart would enter from. He didn’t dare blink. Let alone look away. 

His ears burned, his cheeks flamed red and splotchy. It was as if he was caught off guard doing the most embarrassing thing he could think of, just times a billion and witnessed by everyone from his mum to his kindergarten teacher, not to mention every famous person that he had a crush on or looked up to and the whole mortifying episode was being televised live around the world. 

Whatever he was experiencing, it was nearly unbearable. Like suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. Was that even possible? His heart had either stopped or was beating so rapidly that it felt as if it was hardly beating at all. Which seemed feasible as most of his blood had pooled in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Surely, there was none flowing to his brain. It had signed out for the moment. It certainly wasn’t sticking around to see what was coming next. 

 He tried to arrange his face into the shape he thought would be appropriate for when his mentor, who he saw get shot point blank in the face, a man who died over a year ago, who he had spent what felt like a lifetime grieving, materialise as an interrogator for a covert cowboy secret agency in Kentucky. He couldn’t imagine what an acceptable face would look like in that situation, so he assumed that his face had no expression at all. It was the best he could do. 

He didn’t even posses the wherewithal to see how his partners where faring. He hoped that they were in a more presentable state. He moved his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He tried clearing his throat, but it was dry and papery. Apparently, whatever autonomous system that controlled his salivary glands also decided that this whole situation was bullshit and decided to check out, too.

The track of the footsteps, even now so familiar, paused at the door. The handle turned with a weighty click. 

He didn’t have the brain capacity to even imagine what would happen next.

The only thing in his head were three letters. And they weren’t  ABC. 

They were W. T. F.

The door opened. 

They saw the man who had once been the foundation of their agency. 

The man who had once been its living and breathing heart and soul. 

How long had it been since he last thought of Harry Hart? After the initial grief, the denial, the anger, and finally, the acceptance, the loss became a dull ache.  Though tolerable, it never went away. They never found his body, but he didn’t have hope that Harry would ever return. He saw the shot that took his life. Even the best agent had no way of possibly surviving a point blank shot to the face. Harry fell where he had once stood. He didn’t get back up. And like that, Harry Hart was gone.

In the aftermath of V-day, Eggsy and the others didn’t have a chance to even stop and think about what happened to Harry, let alone process the loss. That came after. In the moments when time slowed down, things got quiet, and they no longer had the urgency of missions to distract them from the loss or to use as a vehicle for their anger and rage at the unfairness of it all.  

Eggy’s pain was not only due to the loss of his mentor, but also from the fact that he never got to tell the man just how important he was to him. Their final conversation repeated in his head, over and over, on endless loop. The last words that he had exchanged with Harry were harsh and accusatory. How much he wished that that conversation had not been their last. What wouldn’t he give to say the rest of the words that were caught in his throat. To finally release them. To say he was sorry. But the chance never came and the words clung to him, never to be spoken.

A tall man in a dark pinstripe suit entered the room.

At first glimpse, he was their Harry Hart. As perfect as they imagined and just as they all remembered him. Only on closer inspection did they notice small, but significant details that would indicate otherwise.

He was wearing what looked like the exact same suit he “died” in. But this one didn’t show any of the wear and damage that was sure to have happened in that final, brutal rampage. Either Statesman had an excellent tailor repair the original suit, or more likely, Harry had his suit replicated. 

The details were exacting as they had always been. The tie with the Windsor knot. The pristine white spread collar and crisp pocket square. French cuffs that were still held by the Kingsman cuff links. 

His standard horn rimmed communication glasses had been modified. The left lens was now shaded a solid black. There was an additional piece that covered his peripheral vision from the edge of the lens to the end of the arm on his left side.

How was it possible that he stood before them, as handsome and regal as ever? Hell, the man could even make a blacked out eye look distinguished. It added to his air of gravitas.

A curious pair of black cowboy boots with elaborate stitching, stood out from below the mid-break of his trousers. The footsteps they heard in the hallway didn’t come from his standard oxfords.

Neither did they see the familiar Kingsman standard issue pistol he would always pack without fail. In his right hand, held down by his side, he toted a nickel plated Colt Single Action Army revolver modified with a double barrel. He carried it by its smooth, wooden grip.

But he did walk with the same measured strides, familiar in pace and sound. Harry took his place in front of them as the cowboy found a space off to the side. 

They wore their incredulity in silence.  Words were insignificant compared to this impossible occasion. Words that would adequately express their turmoil did not exist. Merlin looked like he was trying to deconstruct a complex algorithm in his head. Roxy looked, he imagined bizarrely, like she had just been denied an orgasm. Where the hell did that come from? Eggsy fairly certain he looked like a bloody idiot.

And so they waited. 

Familiar, golden brown eyes, well, eye now, gazed over them. Making and then holding eye contact with each of them in the way they had always remembered he would when he required their full attention.

They searched his eyes and face for recognition. To see any kind of dawning realization that he knew who they were. Merely seeing Harry, alive and mostly whole, was something that was unfathomable to them. 

Finally, Harry spoke.

The vibration of his voice was able to resonate through their shocked and dampened senses. It was a deep and calming sound. Smooth, measured tones with an aristocratic accent that clipped his words. Vibrant. It was a voice that was warm, safe and familiar. It was a voice that sounded like home.

What was completely baffling were the words that beautiful voice said. 

“Please excuse my dreadful manners. But I don’t believe we have properly met.”

They turned and glanced at each other in confusion. What the hell? Surely there had to be some part of Harry that recognized them. At least Merlin, with whom he shared a history going back over twenty years. 

“Harry. It’s us.” Merlin implored. “We’re not undercover. Right now, we’re not anything. That’s why we came here.” 

“Harry.” Merlin’s voice was touched with sorrow. “Kingsman is gone.”

Harry’s face remained impassive. The spark of recognition remained unfired. There was no hint of softening, no warmth, no glint that told them, “Not to worry. Everything is under control.”  

Harry confirmed. “Yes, I had the pleasure of hearing your story.” He leaned back against the wall and took a casual stance. Crossing his legs in front of him much like Tequila did.  He placed a hand in a pocket. The other gripped the Colt lightly.

“It’s quite interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “And particularly unfortunate that this Kingsman Tailoring “Agency” that you speak of, was completely and utterly destroyed. How unfortunate that the three of you happen to be the only survivors.” 

Time paused with him as he contemplated this thought for awhile.

“It would seem rather convenient, on the other hand, for that gives us absolutely no way to possibly verify your doomsday scenario.” 

The disappointment on his face hit them with a guilt that was worse than his impassivity. 

“And why, all of a sudden, after a year, would not only one, but three mysterious Brits arrive here at Statesman, of all the places in the world, for no other reason than a bottle telling them to.” 

Beseechingly, Eggsy replied. “Harry, we don’t understand what’s happening. We thought that you had died when Valentine shot you outside the church.”

Harry’s face suddenly hardened. Slowly he pulled himself up to his full height.

“How could you possibly know that?” The air around them became sharp with tension. 

How did they end up on the wrong side of the interrogation table? They had never seen Harry from this perspective. But they had witnessed him work targets before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

As Harry continued, his voice remained very calm and very steady. 

“No one. Pardon me. I should clarify. No one alive except Statesman has that knowledge. Not even I had that knowledge in the beginning.”

Instantly, it was crucial that no one speak out of turn. Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that was flat and affectless.  They had rarely heard it before, but they knew it was dangerous to be on the receiving end of that dull and indifferent voice. 

Harry was walking his edge. And Harry on the edge was not someone you wanted to push. To anyone else, he would have appeared unchanged. But he had the sharp glint in his eye, the set to his jaw, and the steely note to his voice that betrayed he was very, very angry. They only knew this because of their history with him. It was critical to tread very lightly. 

Eggsy words were dressed with caution. 

“Harry, you were at the church, “he emphasised, “on behalf of Kingsman.” He carefully walked through a minefield of words, wary of any misstep that would trigger Harry’s anger in their direction.

“We knew that Richmond Valentine was up to no good. You were assigned the mission to find out exactly what he was planning. You flew to Kentucky. Valentine was testing his SIM card transmitter on the people in the church. You were there as well. Even though you didn’t have a SIM card, the transmission was strong enough to affect everyone, whether they had a SIM card or not.”

 “Merlin and I were on the communication feed. We saw everything…. You were affected by the sound waves, too… You had no control…” He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he definitely didn’t want to mention the number of people Harry had killed.

Merlin spoke on his behalf. “Eggsy’s right. We saw you confront Valentine. We saw him shoot you in the head. We thought that you had died. The bullet destroyed the communication feed or else it would have transmitted…” he paused. “Proof of life, or confirmation of death.” 

Harry reflected. “Yes, I did almost die on that day.”

Eggsy and Merlin flinched.

“It was only through, whatever would like to call it, luck, perhaps fate. Regardless, it was Statesman that located me. They were able to save my life. I owe them. I am a man who honors his debts.”

The room prickled with silence. They dared not say more until they were able to see more of the landscape they were trying to traverse. It was littered with threats.

Harry, now pacing in slow, steady strides, continued. “With all the resources you say this Kingsman agency had, how surprising that it had to be strangers that came to my aid. Otherwise,” he recalled, “I would be, quite dead.” 

The three of them realised they were on eggshells atop a minefield. Never before had they been confronted by Harry in this manner. Never before had they even witnessed Harry in this state. They were uncertain of what to do when faced with this degree of suspicion and mistrust from a man, who in the past, would have given his life to save any of theirs.

When no one spoke, he began to ruminate. “At Statesman, we knew that it was Richmond Valentine who shot me. Confirmed by two of their agents.” He turned back toward them. “Though the question of why still remained unsolved.”

Coming closer. “But you three, now, are here with that answer,” He paused in-between his points for effect. 

“But you are here, completely by chance.” pause 

“Only because of a doomsday protocol scenario.” pause 

“A scenario that led you to Statesman.” pause 

“And I just happen to be here as well.” pause  

“Do you know what the odds are of that happening?” pause  

“Rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” pause  

“I must say, you are quite the interesting trio. Unassuming.  Not quite what one would expect for this sort of operation.  Perhaps that is the point. Disarm me with your improbability, with your accents, so familiar to my own. Here to deliver stories of how I was part of an organization that no longer exists. And you are the only other individuals who know what occurred the day I was shot.” He stopped in front on them. He turned to face them and drew tall once more.

Looking at each other was a dare none of them were willing to take. They knew that the most important thing at that moment was to maintain eye contact with Harry anytime he looked in their direction. If they couldn’t offer him any answers, at least they could show him that they had nothing to hide. Now was not the time to look or act guilty.

No matter how many tactics he used, regardless of how hard he pushed them, their story would be the same because they had no other story. Was there no memory of Kingsman at all? What about Harry’s moral code, that Kingsman only risked a life to save a life. Was that a credo he still followed? The did not know what to expect.

“Regardless. Questions for another time I suppose.” He waved his hand as if brushing them away.

“The pressing issue still remains.” He was firm and unyielding. “Who are you and how did you find us.”

 What could they possibly say at this point? They remained silent.

“We welcome our visitors and our guests. However, we do not take kindly to trespassers. You say you have nothing to protect, but your honor. If the three of you are the only survivors of your organization and you are as close as you say, I would assume that you would, at the very least, protect a third of what remains of your agency.

Eggsy suddenly found himself on the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver. 

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he felt drunk, off balance, like he had fallen into an alternate universe. Where the laws of physics no longer applied. 

“Harry, it’s me.”  The only thing he could think of that could reach Harry was the guilt he had carried with him for over 17 years. The guilt that made him reach out to Eggsy in the first place. 

With self-possession he did not have, he composed himself as well as he could while being threatened by the mentor he once thought was dead.   

“My father saved your life.” He spoke quietly and deliberately and without hesitation.  “But you had made a mistake that cost him his. You were trying to repay him by helping me find purpose, to do something good with my life. You recruited me to Kingsman. You changed everything for me.” 

The look Harry returned for these words was almost kindly. 

“I’ll give you the following three seconds to prove that to me.”

Fuck. Eggsy was drawing a blank.

He could hear Roxy and Merlin, as if they were underwater yelling to Harry anything they could to make him stop.  

What felt like a lifetime later, the door burst open. Apparently, he had lost the ability to count, because that brief passage of time felt like much longer than three seconds. 

“Stop!” a woman yelled urgently. She tossed Harry a black umbrella. He caught it deftly with one hand.

“Their story checks out.” She held her palms out toward Harry. Please stop.

“I checked our doomsday scenario locker.” She explained. “Only to be opened in the case of a catastrophic event that cripples the agency to the point where we cannot rebuild on our own. It was established by a network of international intelligence agencies, forged when they first began. Since autonomy was the goal for each agency, once the protocol was put into place, no agency was to uncover it unless absolutely necessary.” 

“Take a look.” She nodded to the umbrella in his hand. “Kingsman. It has our logo on it.”

Harry paused to inspect the handle. Sure enough, the Statesman logo replaced the “s” in Kingsman.

He handled the umbrella in a way that seemed familiar to him. It almost seemed like he was looking for other recognisable features. Eggsy has seen plenty of Harry handling the umbrella like it was an extension of himself. He had saved Eggy’s life with it. It looked so natural in his hands. Like it completed the final picture of their Harry Hart and he was hopeful that this might be the final piece of the puzzle.  

Harry looked at the umbrella thoughtfully. It was difficult to read his face if he didn’t want it to be read. After a pause, he tossed it lightly back to Ginger. 

“Not good enough.” The gun swung back toward Eggsy.

They froze, unable to move, speak or even breathe. They were at a loss, nothing in their training prepared them for this. Roxy and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Harry cocked the revolver at Eggsy. Was it a live round? Or was it blank?

What kind of FU world would allow something like this to happen? Eggsy thought. He grasped for any hope, any last play that he could make, but the only thing within his reach was empty space. It simply slid through his fingers, without purchase, without substance. There was nothing that he could hold on to.

BUT… his eyes darted towards Harry’s right hand. The gun in his face was blocking his view… Fuck it. He squeezed eyes shut as he opened his mouth. The words ran together and toppled over each other as they spilled out without pause. 

“you wear a gold signet ring on your right little finger gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear the ring on the left hand but you wear yours on your right because a Kingsman always wears it on whatever hand happens to be dominant and you are right handed”

Nothing happened. And it was quiet.

Cautiously, Eggy peered from one eye. He wasn’t dead. He opened the other eye.

Harry regarded him from along the barrel of the revolver. Eggsy flinched away from its deadly mouth.

Harry deliberated. His mind took a step back and a step to the side. He looked at the situation from a different perspective. Because he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand, not on his left, as was the gentlemen’s  tradition. He was wearing it when he was shot. He could not recall where the ring came from, or its significance. Researching the insignia came up with no leads. But he continued to wear the ring, for no other reason than it felt right to him. Like he insisted on wearing his suit, rather than Statesman’s tie and jacket. 

His eyes let go of some of the hardness. Eggsy hoped that he saw a little softening at the edges. 

Harry’s voice, so familiar it made his heart hurt. Not accusatory, but with interest, he asked, “How do you know that?” 

Eggsy, with great effort willed his gaze to leave the barrel of the gun and meet the face that had once meant so much to him. He caught Harry’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said with a calmness and a clarity he did not feel, “because I’m wearing one, too.”

Harry, without breaking eye contact, nodded to Ginger. She hurried to Eggsy’s side. After a quick glance, she confirmed, indeed, he was wearing a signet ring exactly like Harry’s.

Harry lowered his gun. There were three consecutive sighs of relief.

“My apologies.” He said as he holstered his weapon.

“It seems as if we have much to discuss.”

———

They found themselves in a massive great room at Statesman HQ, the top floor of a huge structure the shape of the Statesman signature whiskey bottle. Floor to ceiling windows circled the entire room, providing a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Kentucky from every vantage point.

The centrepiece of the space was a leviathan of a conference table. Elaborately carved, solid hard wood. The trees that created that table must have had lived for years to grow to such a substantial size.  It had space to sit 12, but only few of the spots were occupied.

One of which by a larger than life, genial, vintage cowboy of a man. A little flashy, a little ostentatious, more than a little gregarious, he was the head of the Statesman outfit. With a place at the head of the table, he leaned back in his plush armchair with aplomb. He introduced himself as “Champagne” or Champ as he was known affectionately by his agents.

Roxy wasn’t surprised that, aside from Ginger Ale, she was the only female present. Hell, Ginger was the only other female that she had seen since they had entered Statesman HQ. Well, technically ‘broke in’, but still. They had an invitation, even if it was only in the shape of a whiskey bottle. A bottle that they had emptied while wallowing in self pity. Even Merlin was a bit maudlin, at one point, sobbing into his whiskey and singing Country Roads a little off key. Roxy had side-eyed him until Eggsy spotted the secret message hidden behind the label. She wondered they they had made the clue unnoticeable until the bottle was emptied. They could have quite possibly missed the hint. Being under the influence of, admittedly, very smooth whiskey did not enhance ones ability to spot decades old subtext on the back of whiskey labels. Whose clever idea had that been? 

Once again, she found herself in the odd situation where she wanted to be taken seriously as an agent, but Agent Tequila’s insistence on calling her sweetheart, miss, darling, filly of all things didn’t give her much confidence that Statesman would be any different from the old boys club that was Kingsman.

Even back at HQ, she was often, dear, dearest, or darling. The only person that she tolerated those endearments from where Eggsy, who used them in jest, and surprisingly Harry Hart. But Galahad, and Galahad Sr. calling her dear was much different than a two-bit, over the top, slick cowboy secret agent she had just met calling her something as intimate as “darling”. 

Would it kill him to call her Lancelot? It miffed her that he used Eggsy’s handle and not hers. Looking at the head of their organisation, she didn’t expect him to be much different. 

She took a seat the near end of the table, between Eggsy and Merlin. Agent Tequila walked in with Ginger, followed by Harry. She was surprised when he continued past them and walked around the head of the table to the other side, the Statesman side, and took a seat next to Ginger. He pulled out his chair, as smooth and as graceful as he sat thousands of times at the head of the Kingsman table. Even unbuttoning the last button of his suit so it wouldn’t crease and smoothing the back of his jacket before he leaned into his chair. The crossed legs, the hands folded on the knee. The authoritative, yet relaxed posture. It was all so familiar. What she couldn’t reconcile was the inscrutable, impenetrable expression that fell over his face every time he glanced in their direction. There was no warmth, no familiarity, no flicker of understanding. It made his face look unfamiliar and she did not like it one bit. 

To add insult to injury, Ginger had leaned over and whispered something in his direction. The small hint of a ‘not quite smile’ that pressed his lips together, his mouth just barely turned up at the corners, meant that she had shared an observation that confirmed something in his mind in a bemused sort of way. It was the look Harry had once made, when inquired about Eggsy’s tardiness, she revealed that he was running late because it was JB’s birthday party later and he wanted to get the dog “pupcakes” to celebrate. The memory tugged at her heart.

She didn’t turn her head to see how Eggsy was faring, but she could almost feel his dejection. She hoped it wasn’t so obvious on his face. Sometimes he was a little too earnest for his own good. Not that her other side was an improvement. Merlin was seated directly across from Harry. Only a distance of several feet, but it might as well have been lengths of the world for as distant Harry was from them. The furrow between the Scotsman’s brows had appeared the moment they discovered Harry alive. It took up residence on his face. Harry Hart, the man who was the only person close enough for Merlin to consider a friend, was now a mystery to him. 

The loss, between Eggsy and Merlin, was a cold empty space that Roxy had the unfortunate pleasure to be seated between. She was determined to warm up whatever mood vacuum that had sucked her in. Or at least not make it any worse.             

 And why did she always have to be the mediator? The men had elected Roxy as their spokesperson as neither of them thought that they would be able to speak without laughing, crying, shouting or hitting something. Predictably, she found herself the voice of reason. To be fair, she WAS the one with the least emotional involvement. Not that she hadn’t adored and respected Harry Hart, like everyone that worked under his guidance, but she had to admit, Merlin and Eggsy must be twice as confused and devastated by the recent turn of events. She mentally steeled herself against any additional revelations that might be thrown their way. But at this point, if there was something that could top this most recent turn of events, they might as well just blow up this joint and let it all burn down, too.

After everyone had settled in, and to her amusement, a pour of whiskey was set in front of each of them. She decided to get this “rodeo” started. She nodded in Champs direction. He tipped his chin, tapped his glass with his pen to get everyone’s attention and announced the opening of the meeting. All the Statesman and Harry, emptied their glasses. From her peripheral she saw Merlin and Eggsy follow suit without hesitation. Did all agencies revolve around the consumption of alcohol? She had already developed quite a tolerance from her brief stint at Kingsman so far. Well, if it brought these two agencies on familiar ground, who was she to argue? She tipped her glass back. And the welcomed the warmth after the initial burn, though still much smoother than could be expected. She appreciated the added touch of liquid courage. She cleared her throat. 

“We find ourselves here, under what we,” she gestured to herself and her colleagues, “believed to be the most difficult of circumstances. Only to be faced with another impossible situation. As you can imagine, the revelation that Harry Hart, our Sr. Agent Galahad,” she nodded in his direction, “who we believed had been killed over a year ago by Richmond Valentine, that he is still alive, has been shocking for us.”

In Harry’s direction, she continued, addressing him directly. “Harry. If we had believed there to be even the most infinitesimal chance that you could have survived Valentine’s bullet, we would have not hesitated to garner all the forces of Kingsman to find you and bring you back.”

Harry, respectfully listened to Lancelot, attentive, but without revealing anything aside from simple interest.

She faltered a little under his gaze. And she, too, wished for that little wink, the small tilt of his chin that would encourage her to continue. Just as he first did when she joined Kingsman, nervous over her first debriefing. There was no comfort to be found in his direction. She took a deep breath and continued. 

“Both Eggsy - our current Galahad - and Merlin witnessed the events of what we thought was your death.” She forced herself to face him, eye to eye, without hesitation. After all that he had sacrificed for them, it was the least she could offer him.

Her voice was clear and firm, her words meticulously thought out. “They saw you get shot, point blank, in the face, by no more than a distance of 10 feet, by a 9mm semi-automatic Heckler and Koch P30. The bullet destroyed the communication transmission via the left lens.”

Both Eggsy and Merlin were looking down. Both remembering all too clearly the events from that day. The details were painful for them to hear, especially when the man who they thought had died, was in fact, sitting across the table. Even though they had every right to call time of death, they couldn’t help but feel they had left him behind. 

Roxy continued. “Merlin, our communications and technology strategist and Galahad, who was at the time, your protege, had witnessed all the events up to the point the bullet severed the transmission. We could only deduce, at that point, that a bullet of that caliber, from that distance, would have shattered the lens.” She took a deep breath, “and continued through the left eye and exited the back of the head. Resulting in immediate death.” 

She could sense Eggsy flinch by her side. He had seen the whole thing far too clearly. 

“As much as we wanted to, we were unable to collect the body at the time of death. Due to unforeseen circumstances regarding treachery within the highest ranks of our agency, Merlin, Eggsy and I, had to straight away address both the source of our internal corruption and abort the plans initiated by Richmond Valentine. We were successful in both, but not in time to prevent casualties, both enemy and civilian.”

In speaking so intimately regarding what they thought was his death, she decided to switch identifiers from “the” to “your”. The man was sitting right in front of her. She spoke with a new earnest note in her voice. Rather than distancing herself from her words, she decided to speak from the place that had felt the same grief and loss as Eggsy and Merlin.

Harry’s eyes took on a different note as he heard the emotion in Roxy’s voice. 

“In the immediate aftermath of V-day, after the initial threat was neutralised, we flew to the States in an attempt to find you, identify you, and bring you home for proper internment, but we were unable to locate your body. We tried over weeks, through every channel, every resource, we followed every lead, with no success. We didn’t hope to find you alive.” 

She fought against the wave of emotion that threatened her composure.

“But we hoped that we would be able to properly commemorate your bravery, your integrity, your sacrifice, with the honour, dignity and grace worthy of your life and your legacy.” 

Roxy had stop for a moment, but she did not look away. A small tear rolled down her cheek without her noticing or bothering to wipe it away. It was as if the loss was new again. This pain was fresh. For all of them.

Harry’s eyes finally softened and they caught a glimpse of the man they remembered. But whether it was empathy for Roxy, clearly struggling to continue as her emotions caught in her throat, or understanding how they felt and what they had to do in the most difficult of situations, they did not know. 

And whatever amnesia he was experiencing had to be temporary, right? Surely Melin could devise a plan to help jump start his memory. Now that the were there, they could help him remember.

—

Roxy was determined to continue until the end. 

“After the events of V-Day, we had to recenter and regroup. Our agency had clearly been compromised. We needed to locate and close the leaks and tie up any loose ends.  Our losses were felt across the board. We had to rebuild what we could from the ground up. To recapture the integrity of our organisation. The immediate need to clean up the aftermath was one of the few things that we could focus on to help us come to terms with your loss. We knew, that if you had survived, you would have taken the mantle of Arthur. And that it would be your highest priority to rebuild the agency beyond reproach.”

“After several weeks, in which we continued our search for you, we felt that it would be best for us personally and professionally to move on. We held a private memorial for you, and honoured you as best as we could. After that, we could only move forward. It was a difficult time for all of us.” 

“We found ourselves here, after our organisation was levelled again. This time with only the three of us as survivors. Our HQ, our foundry, our storefront.” Her eyes flared with anger at this point. “And all of our agents worldwide aside from Galahad and I, were all taken down as targets.”

“Merlin was the only surviving handler and tech strategist and the only one of us that had been with the agency long enough know that a Doomsday protocol existed. With all of our resources destroyed, we had no way of protecting ourselves, to find out who had organised and carried out such a coordinated attack. Our last and only option was to see if this protocol existed.”

“We found the Statesman logo. Located your distillery here in Kentucky. At this point, we really had no plan beyond finding your organisation and hoping that you would be able to assist us.”

“We still had some tech in our possession, which I admit, looked suspicious for a group of tailors to have, let alone know how to use. That’s when your agent found us. We meant no ill will, but we had no other way to get into contact with your organization.  We didn’t even know if you existed. We had nothing to lose but to continue to follow any clues that we might come across. We had no protocol for a circumstance like this.”

“You can only imagine our bewilderment to be taken as adversaries when we were looking for help. And then our shock of finding Harry Hart. Finding him, not only alive, but with no memory of the agency he was devoted to over 30 years. It still is an unthinkable situation that we were not prepared for and obviously, are still trying to process.”

She had been speaking for a long time. She paused, took a sip of water, swallowed, before continuing.

She addressed the table. “Everything that we have said is the truth. We were also an independent intelligence agency with headquarters in London.” 

She turned again to Harry. “You were an integral member of this agency for most of your adult life. You know each of us well. Merlin has been your colleague for over 20 years. You knew Eggsy’s father, he saved your life in a mission that had gone sideways. That was seventeen years ago. You had recruited him as a way to repay his fathers sacrifice. My uncle was also a long time colleague of yours and our families go back many years.”

“We are so grateful that you are alive. We are sorry that we left you behind. That would never be our intention. We are forever indebted to Statesman for saving your life and taking care of you. But as you can imagine, we have questions of our own. How did you get here? How did you survive? Do you have no memory of Kingsman at all? What can you remember? Obviously, you have retained your skills, but to what extent? If you honestly don’t remember, then we can see how unbelievable our story is. But I think if you are still a man of honour and integrity, then you have to feel that we are not hostiles or adversaries. We pose no threat to you. Your instincts must tell you we are offering you the truth.”

She could tell that Harry was processing the information, she just couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Roxy concluded. “And that brings us here to the present. I think our most pressing question is “how did you survive?”

Harry nodded to Ginger to answer the question. He seemed to want to observe the conversation. His attention had never wavered from Roxy while she spoke, only widened at times to include Eggsy or Merlin. If he had come to a conclusion, there was nothing that they could see.

Roxy gladly handed off the meeting to Ginger. Harry’s unwavering gaze was getting a little unnerving. Without the added scrutiny, she could get collect her own thoughts and feelings. Kingsman recruitment training had been brutal, but nothing could have prepared them for the last 48hrs. Nothing in the Gentleman’s Guide had a blueprint on how to behave when your agency gets blown up and your dead mentor, comes back to life, has amnesia, and then almost shoots you.

——

Ginger spoke up.

“I would like to confirm that we now have proof that your story is legitimate Which means, Harry, what they are saying about your history with Kingsman is most likely the truth.”

Harry tilted his chin slightly in her direction in acknowledgement. 

She spoke in the direction of the three Kingsman. “We have just received corroboration from several independent sources that the events did occur as described and that your agency was the target of a massive strike against organisations such as ours. We are sorry for your loss. You will have full access to our resources to investigate this adversary and we will provide you with support. This is a threat that affects all of us.”

Merlin spoke up. His voice was rough with concern. 

“Harry, what happened?” 

Harry’s voice, deep and a with familiar, crisp authority, suddenly filled the space.

“At this point, I believe Ginger will be able to recall the events much more clearly than I. I have no recollection of events immediately following the shooting.” He turned to her. “Please, continue.”

Merlin gaze remained fixed on Harry and worried there for several moments, before he turned his attention to Ginger.

“The day prior to V-Day, we detected the transmission of a very low frequency sound wave. Much lower than what is normally used for any legitimate communication. This frequency, for the time and location, was suspicious to say the least and it was imperative that we investigate. Agent Tequila and I helicoptered to the spot, about 10 miles away.”

“The frequency stopped right about the time we were closing in on the location. We had already pinpointed the source so we knew where it originated from. Even though the transmission had stopped, we could still find clues to its origin.” 

“We were just flying into the zone when we witnessed the shooting. We saw Valentine and his accomplices depart. They didn’t confirm death. I expect they thought that shooting someone in the face.. well, there are not many outcomes. Our timing couldn’t have been better planned. We had developed what we call “alpha gel” to use on our own agents in the case of a head shot. Previously, a head shot meant immediate death. Body armour can only protect so much. We’ve lost very good agents.’ 

But depending on where the bullet entered the skull and if there was minimal damage to the actual brain and spinal cord, the gel could potentially save an agents life. 

Harry was still alive when I checked his vitals. I applied the alpha gel immediately. It’s crucial to activate the gel to prevent tissue damage and accelerate the nannites that are used to repair neural pathways. I won’t go further in depth at this point. The main issue at that moment was to preserve life. 

Of course, because of his glasses, we knew that he was intelligence, we just didn’t know whose and we had no way of finding out without compromising Harry’s safety and our anonymity.  

Harry suffers from retrograde amnesia, which could be from the injury. But it can also be a side effect of the alpha gel. However, when life it at risk, the benefits outweigh the possible negative outcomes. This kind of memory loss, you lose existing, previously made memories. This type of amnesia tends to affect recently formed memories first. Older memories, such as memories from childhood, are usually affected more slowly. 

She motioned to Harry, while he listened closely to her explanation.

“So while Harry was whole as a person, personality wise, function wise, cognitive and behavioural skills in place, he had no memory of who he was aside from what could be observed. He had no memory of his past, people, places, events. This was an interesting case because usually with retrograde amnesia, there can be the regression to the younger self. The skill set and knowledge and the growth that occurred during the time of memory loss can also be lost as well. Such as, if you learned French while you were in college, but you lost the memories of this timeframe, in most cases, you would no longer be able to speak French. In fact, the whole memory that you learned it to begin with would be gone. In these cases, the knowledge and skill learned during this time would also be forgotten. However, in some rare cases, the ability to remember the skill remains, while the memory of the past when it was learned is lost. 

“In Harry’s case, it was obviously the later.” 

The slightest shift in the landscape of Harry’s face indicated that we was thoughtful and reflective. How must it be to wake up and not know who you are.

Harry, while still maintaining full concentration on Ginger, set a small part of him free to revisit the day he regained consciousness. Which technically, would not be regaining consciousness, since he had no recollection of losing consciousness to begin with.

——

POV HARRY HART

“My name is Harry Hart.”  It was the first thought that went through his head.

Secondly, “Caucasion male, 6’2”, brown hair, brown eyes, 58 years of age. 13.5 stone” That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

Thirdly, wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling of emptiness. Not as if he was missing something. It did not feel like loss. It did not feel as if he was lacking. That would imply that there was something present to begin with.  It was not a feeling he could identify or that felt familiar or could find a word that was representative. It was unusual for him. He never found his vocabulary lacking. Perhaps if it could be called a non-feeling. He was a vessel. Neither empty, nor full. And no desire to be either or. An interesting sensation. 

When he first woke up, he had not realised that he was suffering from amnesia. Due to the amnesia there were no memories that insisted he should be a certain person. That he had to exist in a certain place. Doing something specific. A curious circumstance. There was no sense of surprise waking up in the condition he found himself to be. He did whatever he would do in a circumstance like this. Assess the situation. 

As he entered a conscious state, his mind automatically shifted into overdrive. But without moving. Without betraying any kind of change. He felt the need to remain unnoticed. He did this from where he rested. He first determined if he had sustained any injury or damage that had caused permanent physical disability or bodily harm. He had full function of all of his appendages. He did not know how long he had been in this state, but he did not notice any signs of muscle atrophy or joint stiffness. They must have a system that stimulated muscle tissue and nerves to prevent deterioration or he had not been in an immobile state for any length of time. Blinking his eyes was like scrapping sandpaper and his throat was a desert of sand. He attempted to make any kind of noise and found it difficult. That meant he had to have been out for at least some meaningful period of time. His head did ache something awful, and he noted a bandage or some other type of patch over his left eye. The use of only one eye would change his perception of depth, and the range of his peripheral vision, but he did not doubt that he would be able to adjust accordingly.

He had no reason to question his cognitive function. He processed information unhesitatingly and with ease. Without a sense of doubt, without faltering, he scanned the room and began to examine his surroundings. He was being held in some kind of hospital or medical ward. Not civilian. It was either private or for research. Maybe military. Hi tech, advanced equipment. Everything was in pristine condition. Two exits on opposing sides. No windows. A complex ventilation and filtration system suggested an underground location. No immediate threat that he could ascertain, but that could change at any moment. No apparent weapons. Some medical instruments that could possibly work. He was not restrained so he was not being held against his will. Or there was no need if he was unconscious the entire time. He did not feel any urgency or sense of immediate danger, but he did not question his need to assess the situation .

He heard two people approach the door to the left. Judging from the echoing quality and the gradual volume and clarity of their foot steps, from a fairly long corridor. 

His eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his heartbeat was slow and rhythmic. He concentrated on the sound. One set of footsteps was clearly male. The stride was longer, more pronounced, in heavy shoes, presumably boots. But an easy pace. Most likely 6’, 13 stone, physically fit. His gait was even, balanced and light. Not the walk of someone that led a sedentary life. The second set of footsteps he concluded were female. Lighter, but not timid. A confident woman. Just a smaller stature. Medium height. Slight frame. Like her partner, fit, alert, competent. 

He did not know why or how he came up with these deductions, but he did not question them. He held the information in his mind so it was easily accessible. The voices, once they became decipherable, were relaxed and easy. Their tone was jovial and non-threatening. Younger than he was. American accent, with a southern drawl. He could be in the US, but anywhere was possible. While he did not expect danger, he still prepared himself for the risk. Mostly, his need was to understand the where he was, how he got there and have leverage over the situation.

The door opened with a heavy swooshing sound. He did not hear the click of a lock being turned, so he was not being held in high security setting.

The two individuals were still conversing, and he could just almost decipher what they were discussing. The man remained on his right hand side while the woman walked around the foot of the bed to inspect the instruments and diagnostics panels to the left. Her back was turned away from him. The man remained at his side. A quick glance in his direction. A holster was slung around his waist, it held a nickelplated SIG-Sauer P226 with wooden grips. A quality weapon. To his advantage, the strap securing the weapon was not snapped in. That would have been a trickier maneuver.

He guessed the woman was in medical, the man, based on the weapon and the fact that he was not actively participating in the tasks, that he was a guard or protection of some sort. With their relaxed tones, and familiar interactions, possibly a friend or colleague. 

Not one to overthink a situation, he decided now was as good a time as any. No use in waiting, expecting a better scenario. Best to address the situation you know rather than wait for one you don’t. Never a guarantee for a better set of circumstances. Only guarantee is time lost.

He waited patiently for the moment to proceed. Just a small distraction was all he needed. It arrived sooner than he anticipated and under better circumstances that he had the right to expect.

“Tequila, would you be able to hand me the print outs right behind you?” 

Harry saw him turn away from the bed, his hips rotated in his direction, the angle ideal for him to grab, cock and point. He only hoped that his deductions regarding his physical state were correct, or it would be a moot point. He might not even be able to sit up, let alone hold a weapon.  Take the out, the told himself. 

These thoughts occurred within fractions of a second. Without hesitation, in one fell swoop, he grabbed the gun, pulled back the slide to load the chamber. Thankfully his body responded without any resistance or weakness and he slid himself back into an upright position. 

He judged the distance between the three of them. The man called Tequila, was close enough by his side to possibly disarm him, so he swung the weapon in the woman’s direction. She was far enough away that the gun was not within her reach. He centered the sight at her chest. It was not the aim of a stop shot. It was the aim for a kill shot. Might as well show them he was not a man to underestimate. He did not want to shoot her, but he did want to make it very clear to them that he was a man to take very seriously. 

Once he guaranteed that he had their attention. Though he had many questions he wanted answers to, he asked them the two questions that were the most urgent.

His voice was gravelly, but still clear enough to understand. 

“Who are you?”

“What am I doing here?”

For having a gun aimed at her chest, the woman was surprisingly relaxed. She held up her palm towards the other man. She would handle this. The man shifted his weight back to a holding posture rather than the offensive stance that prepared him to take action. 

“You have a British accent. That’s helpful to know. How are you feeling?”

“My first two questions still stand.” He regarded them impassively, but kept any notes of aggression from his tone.

—— 

Gingers POV

“My name is Ginger Ale, I’m Head Strategy Executive and Director of Medical here at our outfit.  This is Agent Tequila. Welcome to Statesman, our whiskey distillery. You’re at our HQ in Kentucky.” 

She handed him a cup of water. “Sip. Don’t guzzle.”

She was succinct. “As for what you are doing here, we were waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us. We found you outside of a church about 10 miles from here. You had been shot in the head. You were still alive, so we did everything we could to keep you that way. You’ve been unconscious the entire time here. Your vitals were strong. We were just waiting for you to wake up. We have some questions for you as well.” 

Her voice was gentle, but firm. He did not catch any inflections or hesitations that would indicate she was lying, or with holding information. Her tone was honest, forthright and it put him slightly more at ease. 

“I answered both of yours. Would you be so kind to answer mine?” She asked politely.

He did not refuse, but he didn’t say yes.

“How are you feeling.” she asked again.

“Would you care to clarify?” He asked in return. “There are multiple ways I can respond to your question.”

So he was witty.

“Pick one.”

“At the present moment, tolerable. Though this persistent ache in my head leaves something to be desired” He equivocated. 

“That’s to be expected with a headshot. You did lose your left eye. There will be residual pain/discomfort until the injury is completely healed.”

“What is your name? 

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“Do you feel comfortable enough at the moment to answer some questions for us? Is there anything that you require immediately? 

“More water would be appreciated. Otherwise, feel free. Fire away.” He looked amused. He reached over to return Tequila’s gun. “Perhaps a poor choice of words in my case.” He revised his response. “Very well then, proceed.”

She refilled his water and pulled a chair next to his bed. Tequila found a place strategically viable to intervene if things went sideways. He wasn’t one to get caught off guard twice.

“Now, since we are on a first name basis, can you tell us why you were at the church that day? Why would someone would want to kill you?”

“No.”

“No?” 

“I simply do not know.”

“Why you were there? Or why someone wanted you dead?”

“Neither.”

“Where are you from?”

His face remained blank.

“That may be a little vague.” Ginger specified. “Where do you live? Where is your home?”

No response.

How old are you?

“58” 

“Do you know what you do for a living? Where do you work?”

An almost imperceptible turn of the head.

“Can you remember where you went to school? Secondary or university.”

He squinted his eyes. But no answer.

“Do you know who the current world leader is? President? Prime Minister?”

Her regarded her impassively. She started to form her own understanding of how he was communicating. She could play along. Any form of communication was good for her. It didn’t have to be words. There was more than one way to impart information. It would all get her to the same place. Plus, she would have the chance to read his non-verbal cues. That would be a challenge. His expression was nearly inscrutable.

A slight turn of the head meant I don’t know. His impassive face meant maybe, but he can’t know for sure. The blank disinterested stare meant that he had no idea what she was referring to. She was already intrigued by her patient. She was becoming more fascinated by the moment. 

Changing tactics, she asked. “Can you play the piano?”

A slight tilt of the head. This was new. That meant the question sparked something in his mind. It was a possibility, but he couldn’t know for sure. Interesting. She went further down her tangent.

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?”

Without hesitation, he rattled off. “3.1415926535”

“Parle vous français?”

“Oui”

How many languages can you speak?

“Six ”

“What are they?”

English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic.

Hmmm. Arabic was interesting. She filed that away to look at more closely at a later time.

“Do you know were you learned Arabic or why?”

He was taciturn.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

Impassive.

“Do you own a car?”

Impassive.

“Do you know how to drive.”

“Yes.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought to herself.

“What was your favourite game as a child?”

He furrowed his brow but answered.

“Chess.”

Were you good?

“Yes.”

“Did you compete?

No answer.

Hmm. Retrograde amnesia, she pondered.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

A tilt of the head. Possible, but can’t confirm.

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

“I have no reason to doubt that.”

“Do you know what orange means?”

“The color or the fruit?”

Good. “The fruit, what does it remind you of? 

“Winter. Christmas.”

Excellent. “Do you remember a Christmas from your past?”

Blank stare.

“Do you think you’re attractive? Good looking.”

He huffed, amused. 

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Not to seem chuffed, but I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.”

“Can you remember any specific compliments that you’ve received in the past?”

Thwarted.

Good. “So you know that other people think you are attractive and desirable. But is that how you see yourself?”

 “I was attempting to be modest.” 

She waited for his response.

Reluctantly, “Yes.” He admitted. “I know that I am attractive, handsome, good looking. However you would like to call it.” 

He continued even though he had already answered the question. It was his first moment of revealing information on his own.

“I would go out with myself if I were able, but unfortunately, that is not an option. I am not a narcissist. However, I would say that I regard myself with a healthy and acceptable amount of vanity. “ 

Did Ginger just discern a bit of sarcasm?

His good looks have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she could blame him. She was curious to know how his appearance either hindered him or helped him. She did note that there was no wedding ring when they found him. She couldn’t complain. It didn’t hurt her daily check ups that he was extremely easy on the eyes. Even his hospital issue gown made him look handsome.

Ok. Time to move on. She switched her line of questioning. 

“Where are you right now?” She asked.

His expression was doubtful. Of her, not of his answer. His face asked the question. “Didn’t we just discuss this?” Nevertheless, he answered her with a bemused sigh.

“Kentucky, United States. Apparently 10 miles away from a church where I was shot in the head.”

Ginger nodded. She was encouraged. 

He didn’t see why. It wasn’t difficult to recall. She had only just told him.

“Do you remember our names and what we do?”

He found the helpfulness of these questions debatable, but if it would accelerate his process, he was willing to comply. And participate, if it made this whole interaction a tad more interesting.

“Your name is Ginger Ale. After the beverage, I can only assume. Your colleague, here, is called Tequilla, after the alcohol. I am under the the impression that these are code names that are assigned by the intelligence agency that employs you. Statesman. With a distillery as a backstop. Hence the libation themed code names. 

“Ginger Ale, I gather from your code name’s slight variation, you are in an essential, but supportive role. Whereas Tequila, a right tipple, would be classified as an agent. Of your independent organisation. I would believe, comparable to the CIA, but without the restrictions that often hinder government run spy organisations. And with more interesting code names.”

There was just the slightest hint of cockiness in his tone and in his expression. She found it equally amusing and charming at the same time. Now they were making progress. More than she could have hoped for.

He was obviously intelligent, well mannered, well spoken, though taciturn. Understandable upon waking up with no memory of where he was and why he was there. It was a very promising discovery. He seemed to accept his situation without resistance. He was alert. No hint of confusion. Just a desire to understand the circumstances he found himself in. 

He was emotionally stable, if not a little irritated, by his current state. He took the loss of his eye as a matter of fact. Overall, his ability to acclimate was nothing short of remarkable. 

He folded his hands on his lap, one over the other, tilted his chin in her direction. His posture said. “I’m waiting patiently..” He was throwing shades of a personality she was already warming toward. 

There was a momentary pause. They regarded each other with interest. 

 Finally Harry spoke. “I have amnesia.” He wasn’t asking a question. He was stating it as a fact.

She confirmed. Nodding. 

“I would like to perform some additional CT and MRI scans, and EEG, but judging from the traumatic brain injury you’ve suffered, you most likely have retrograde amnesia. Just based on this conversation alone. To be more specific. Focal retrograde amnesia. 

She continued to explain. “Focal retrograde amnesia, also known as isolated or pure retrograde amnesia, is when someone only experiences the loss of memories that have already been made. Anterograde amnesia, on the other hand, is being unable to form new memories.

He listened to her with a new interest. 

She continued. “So, it appears you have retrograde amnesia, but no anterograde. This means that the ability to form new memories is left intact. You easily recalled information from a short time ago. That is very good news.” She paused, looking for his understanding.

“Please, go on.” He said.

“This kind of isolated memory loss doesn’t affect a person’s intelligence or ability to learn new skills, like playing the piano or affect previously learned skills, like driving a car, speaking different languages. Most likely, if we sat you at a piano, you would be able to play, based on your response to my question.”

“What is the prognosis?”

Ginger, equivocated, a little hesitant “With amnesia, it’s difficult to predict. Retrograde amnesia can result from damage to different parts of the brain responsible for controlling emotions and memories. These include the thalamus, which is deep in the center of the brain, and the hippocampus, which is in the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. There are many variables involved.”

“Thats is all very interesting, but doesn’t quite give me any predictions for my future.” 

“To be completely honest, for the injury you sustained, the amnesia is surprisingly less severe than I would have predicted. Most traumatic brain injuries are mild, resulting in concussion. But a severe injury, like a serious blow to the head, or a bullet for that matter, can damage the memory-storing areas of the brain and lead to anterograde amnesia as well. Depending on the level of damage, the amnesia could be temporary or permanent. I know that’s not very helpful.”

“Ginger, there is no need to “hedge your bets” as they would say. I am quite prepared to accept any answer you provide.”

“The fact that you can remember new information is promising. Your cognitive and behavioural skills are, as far as I can tell, excellent. I would be interested to test your knowledge further. You may have skills that you don’t know you have until you have a need for them.”

“If I were to summarise… “ Ginger concluded. “And please let me know if I go too far off the beaten path as I find this area of research very intriguing.”

She stole a glance at Tequila. “Many would find it boring.” 

Tequila gestured with a shrug of his shoulders..”So what? I think it’s boring.”

Ginger turned back toward Harry.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As much as one could hope.”

“Please understand that I’m generalising here. Just the fact that you are interested in this subject and can process information is extremely promising. The questions I asked you, though random, I asked for very specific reasons.” 

“Our memories” she explained, “can be separated into two groups: Explicit and Implicit. Each of these categories can then be further broken down. If I can use your case as an example?”

Harry nodded.

In the clear and assured tones of a professor, she explained. 

“Explicit memories, or declarative memories, are those we consciously try to remember and recall. When I ask you a question, such as, “Where were you born?” to answer, you would navigate through your explicit memory.

“Explicit memory stores events and facts. This is your conscious memory. You know that you have them and can remember them when you need to. In your case, I asked you to recall a derivative of Pi. You did that easily. That would be an explicit memory. Your knowledge of different languages also taps into your explicit memory.” 

Harry was still, but receptive.

Encouraged by his attentiveness, she broke the concept down further.

“Of these explicit memories, there are three different types. The first two are episodic and semantic memories. Do you know what semantic means?” She asked him.

“Of course. That which is related to language.”  replied Harry.

Ginger was pleased.

“Exactly. Our semantic memory stores knowledge about words, concepts and language-based knowledge and facts. Knowing the definition of “Semantic” is, in fact, a semantic memory. So is your knowledge of Pi in relation to the numerical expression, and the ability to speak different languages. This part of your memory seems to be unaffected.”

She checked in with Harry. She had the tendency to explain way beyond the interest of the listener. He confirmed. Go on.

“The second kind of explicit memory is called episodic memory. This is information about events that you have personally experienced. For example, if something looks or feels familiar, you’re probably trying to pull from your episodic memory. Times in your life, people, places, emotions and context that make up the events in your life. The what, when, where, how and why of your memory.”

“This seems to be a large part of your memory that has been affected and it seems to go back for a very long time. Typically, when you see lapses in episodic memory, it’s usually the more recent memories that can’t be accessed. Memories of childhood are still there.  In your case, your entire past seems to be wiped.

He asked his first question. Well, other than the first two, but that was at gunpoint, so they didn’t really count.“Then how is it that I still have all of this knowledge.”

“Yes, just getting to that. Now we move over to your implicit memories. These memories are not part of your consciousness.”

She took a breath. “These memories are based on behaviours and movements. Memories that are retained through practice and repetition. A learned skill would be part of this memory.”

She had vast knowledge of memory loss due to brain trauma and she welcomed the opportunity to share. “There are two types of implicit memories. Procedural and emotional conditioning.”

“Procedural stores information about how to do things. Why you are able to perform actions without consciously monitoring the sub procedures that need to be pieced together in order to perform the task. Or, more simply, it’s the reason you can brush your teeth without a second thought. It is the memory for skilled actions.”

“This part of the memory is why you can do things without thinking about them. You know how to drive a car. But you don’t know if you own one. You can play chess, but you don’t know if you played competitively. Same with the piano. You can shoot a gun, but you don’t know if you’ve ever killed someone. Even something as simple as brushing your teeth is part of this. You don’t have to consciously think about every sub action you have to make, or the motor skills involved. Probably the same way with a gun. If I asked to take apart and reassemble Tequila’s gun, you could probably do so without knowing how or why you possess that skill.”

“Lastly is Emotional Conditioning.  This can be a little trickier to identify. I would have to ask you more questions to see how this part of your memory was affected. These memories are made through classical conditioning, associations made through stimuli. You know what an orange is. You know what they smell like. It reminds you of Christmas. This is emotional conditioning. But you can’t remember any Christmas that you’ve had. That is your episodic memory.”

Harry looked openly thoughtful. He was no longer guarding his expression. The softness took years off his face. It was hard not to just stare at him. 

“There’s one more category of explicit memories that is important. Autobiographical. This memory system is made up of both episodic and semantic aspects of your memory. It’s a collection of memories specifically related to the self. This could be how you look, your height, specific meaningful points in your life, or the general idea of your concept of self. Which is why I asked you questions not just on how you look, but how you, yourself, viewed your looks.”  

“You know what a gun is. Semantic. You know how to shoot a gun. Procedural. You don’t know if you’ve ever killed anyone. Episodic. Killing someone is only acceptable under certain circumstances. Emotional conditioning. But without knowing whether or not you’ve ever killed anyone, you believe you are a good person. Autobiographical.”

“In regards to the actual landscape of your brain, your cerebellum and prefrontal cortex seem to be the least affected.  In addition to contributions to implicit memory, conditioned responses, fine motor movements, posture and coordination, the cerebellum also maintains internal representations of the external world, which allow you to move in darkness as long as the room or space is familiar to you, and how you would need to position your self to aim a gun and hit a moving target.”

Harry was still engaged, so she went on. 

“It seems the hippocampus was the most affected by your injury. This would make sense based on the entry point of the bullet. This part of the brain processes declarative and episodic memory, people, places, and things as well as recognition memory.” 

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’d like you to rest in the meantime. You’ve only just woken up, in well, less than ideal circumstances. Even though you say you feel “acceptable” you are still recovering from a major injury.  We’ll follow up with you more frequently, now that you are awake.” She wasn’t asking.

Harry, for the first time, addressed Tequila. “I take it that she is always the voice of reason.”

“Without fail.”

“And I assume there is no sense in arguing.”

“None at all.”

——

For simplicity’s sake, they assumed that he was from the UK as many of his mannerism and idiosyncrasies were quintessentially British. Tequila had gotten into the habit of calling him Hart, or The Brit for short. Harry, who was not one for such informalities, was amused. He did, however, recognise that Americans, as well as Statesman, were more easy going and relaxed in their word, dress and interactions with each other, overall. 

——

“Was there anything, physically, or possessions that I had on my body when you found me, that would offer any clues to my identity.”

Ginger paused. “Well, Harry, we found you in quite a unique state.”

They had already been over the event numerous times. But Harry knew that little details were often overlooked the first time around and could surface after a spell.  Ironic, since his own memory wouldn’t be surfacing in any amount of time. He would have rather used a more elegant metaphor, but he was like a top notch computer with nothing to process. All of his files were wiped. Who knew if they were recoverable. No use in wondering. 

When Ginger Ale and Agent Tequila found Harry, he had made quite the impression. As the helicopter descended, Ginger and Tequila saw him closely for the first time. He was splayed out, flat on his back, unconscious, with a bullet through his eye, wearing of all things, an impeccably tailored, navy pinstripe double breasted suit. He was fully decked out with all the details. Spread collar, tie with a Windsor knot, suspenders, oxfords, even a tie pin, cufflinks, a pocket square, and a signet ring. It was a sight not often seen in their part of Kentucky.

While Ginger attended to the man, Tequila checked the church. It was the site of a bloodbath. This was no mass shooting. A mass shooting would be clean and simple compared to what he found inside.  These people had been slaughtered. Creatively. Luckily, whatever or whoever the threat was that had massacred the congregation, had departed. 

Harry had definitely been involved in the bloodshed, but to what extent, they did not know. The tell tale signs were on his suit. It hard to see the bloodstains against the dark wool, but there were unmistakable splashes of red on the crisp whiteness of his cuffs and collar. It was torn in places, whether from a weapon or some other object, one couldn’t tell. But mostly, the proof was on his hands. They were stained with blood and gunpowder residue up to his wrists. He did not have any weapons on his person when they found him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one inside. Nevertheless, a person doesn’t get that much blood on themselves from using a gun. Even at close range, the blood spatter would spray backward. 

Whatever he had been involved in, it was up close and personal. Rage sound waves plus the expert skill and killer instinct of a veteran assassin could definitely equal the carnage that was left behind. He was fitted with a shoulder holster, but no weapon. They didn’t have enough time to search for identifying evidence in the church. The object that they found the most interesting were his glasses. Handsome, squared off, dark tortoiseshell horn rimmed frames. But it was the lenses that revealed the most about him. The glasses told them he was intelligence. They just didn’t know whose.

Intelligence agents, as a rule, never carry anything that can identify them. Harry was no exception. His clothing, even his shoes, though exceptionally well made and no doubt very expensive, bore no labels. It was all bespoke, custom made to fit him, and him alone and as a result, no identifying markers.

They tried to reverse engineer the communications transmitter from the remaining lens. They also attempted to disassemble his watch, but both were designed to withstand and prevent external tampering. Whoever designed them was talented and had the foresight to put anti-tampering mechanisms in place. 

Of course, they had run a facial recognition and prints through their international database, but as they expected, there were no matches to be found. They couldn’t investigate thoroughly without compromising his safety. Obviously someone wanted him dead. It could even be his own agency. More than once, had an agent been removed by their own employer. The threat might still exist. Nor could they risk the anonymity of their own agency. 

They scanned news for anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, any unusual occurrences that happened at the same time, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if a fellow agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer. While Harry was recovering, they also put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description in the civilian world. Even if he was an intelligence agent, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a cover in place, a backstop that could possible lead to his identity.

His accent immediately suggested he was from the UK. However, his lack of a specific regional dialect, made it difficult to narrow their search criteria. Harry’s accent was that of the Queens English, or RP Received Pronunciation. Which might mean he was from Great Britain, or any of the commonwealth countries. Their contacts at MI6 and MI5 received a little exchange of information to see if they had any leads, of which there were none. Whatever agency that he was with, was not government funded. Of course there was the brotherhood of clandestine intelligence agencies across the globe. But in this circumstance, they did not want to broadcast that they were potentially sheltering an agent that could have possibly blown his cover, been burned, or been compromised in any fashion. The safest avenue for both Statesman and Harry was to remain inconspicuous until a tangible lead was discovered.

Because, at the very least, he was intelligence, and so were they, they were curious as to his specialty, his area of expertise. Handling a gun was part of every agents training, no matter where their loyalties lie. It was no surprise that he was comfortable shooting a weapon. All agents were. It was possible that he could be a clandestine officer, or focus on espionage, recruiting assets. He could be an interrogator. He was intelligent, well spoken, articulate. Psych-ops, psychological warfare or diplomacy could be just as likely.  His fastidious appearance, polite manner and gentlemanly demeanour would certainly lend itself to international relations. Certainly a man with his physical attributes wouldn’t be secluded to a desk in analysis. With his charming personality he could possibly be a raven, a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes. That would be effortless on his part. He would just have to show up. There were many ladies that had taken notice of the handsome figure who was a mysterious presence at Statesman’s HQ.

 It was also feasible that he had cross specialties. Some of the specialties would be more challenging than others to assess. Weapons were straightforward. You were either good or you weren’t. Once he felt both physically and mentally up to task, they brought him to their version of Hogan’s Ally or the Farm, the FBI and the CIA’s, respectively, tactical training facilities. 

When Harry’s health improved, they discovered the true extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected.  As Harry’s strength and coordination returned, complex tasks became second nature again. His body began to respond to the stimulus and he gravitated toward the physical challenges that Statesman tested him with. What they learned on the shooting range, then in the Statesman tactical training facility and Special Operations Division, they did not expect and were not prepared for.

Harry found the whole process amusing. If not outright entertaining. Losing ones memory had its advantages. One need not worry about expectations, preconceived notions or judgement. He would either be good, or he would not be. Either outcome would be acceptable to him. No one, not even he, would know the outcome until after the fact. And he knew how useless it was to wish for one scenario or the other when anything was possible.

What did happen, was that the challenges of their tactical installation were not capable of quantifying his ability. His skills far surpassed the most advanced exercise they had.

He proceeded to excel at every exercise, drill, and challenge they placed in front of him. He performed without thought, without hesitation, with the grace and composure they had come to equate him with. First, on the shooting range and then finally on their full scale replicated “warehouse” where they would simulate real life combat situations, including the use of live rounds.

The first test was for speed and accuracy and his knowledge of different firearms.  At the shooting range, they laid out a variety of weapons in front of him. The guns were unloaded. He was tasked with loading the ammunition in to the proper clip or magazine and then loading the weapon. He was to discharge the all the rounds at the target at the end of the range. Aiming for a kill shot either at the head or chest, release the clip and return the weapon and then move onto the next weapon he was familiar with. 

Statesman didn’t know what to expect, but the certainly didn’t anticipate what they witnessed. 

Harry had insisted on wearing his full suit as he did every day. The Brit was calm, cool and composed. He was neither excited nor concerned regarding the proceedings. More than anything, he seemed relaxed, but slightly more interested in the tactical challenges than the cognitive behavioural tests that they had him perform. They explained to him what the task was. One by one, load the clip, load the matching weapon, discharge all the rounds, release and repeat. 

Without any visible effort on his part, Harry loaded the first clip, loaded the weapon, and then seemingly without aiming, pulled the trigger.  The first several shots landed off mark. He adjusted and then fired the entire clip, alternating between two chest shots, followed by one round to the head of the target at the end of the range, chambering each bullet between shots if there was a slide. It did not go unnoticed that his method was the one used by assassins. They all knew, when eliminating a target, it was without fail, two to the chest, one to the head. He was still completing his follow through on the previous round, while reaching for the next clip, before releasing the clip of the weapon in his hand and switching to the next. He did this smoothly, with ease, dexterity and without hesitation with the entire set of weapons. One after the other, shot after shot, hitting mark after mark without effort. No fancy moves, no showy stance, just incredibly efficient, accurate, skill and technique. With the reverb of gunshots echoing through their ears, Harry laid down the last gun in line with the rest, turned toward the observing Statesman. His precision was astounding. 

 There was no perceptible change in his demeanour. He could have been doing a crossword puzzle for all the exertion that was evident on his face. 

“Does this suffice?” His face was pleasant. There could have also been the tiniest hint of amusement. 

It was Ginger that spoke up first. “I do believe, yes, that will suffice.”

Tequila regarded him not only like he was from a different country, but a different species of man all together.

 “How the hell ’dya do that?”

Harry gave him a good natured smile. 

“Knowledge of the weapons.” He continued plainly while smoothing out the front of his suit and adjusting his cuffs to their proper length.

“One must possess an understanding of the moving variables involved when discharging handguns, especially for a significant number of rounds. One must focus on accuracy, which involves trigger pull pressure and control, proper stance, a secure but consistent grip, taking in to account grip tension and fatigue. Excessive trigger pull weight will cause muscle fatigue of the index finger and can ultimately lead to task failure during pistol marksmanship.”  

While opening and closing his shooting hand, he massaged the base of his trigger finger. 

“With the variety of weapons that were included in this drill, one must locate the front site alignment based on the make and model and identify the site picture, either combat, center, 6 o’clock hold, if adopting a classic stance. However, front site becomes irrelevant in situations where the target is not in front of you.”

The Statesman were surreptitiously glancing at one anther. Was this man for real?

“And then one must consider breath control, trigger press and reset, and naturally, follow through.  Of course, one must account for situational awareness. Needless to say, it is far less complicated aiming at a static bullseye in a controlled environment,” He gestured to the range. “rather than at a moving target under enemy fire.”       

He spoke with an easy nonchalance, as if he were describing how to serve tea. Incidentally, last week, Harry had already instructed them on the official rules of how to prepare a proper cup of tea. He had looked vaguely insulted when he inquired about tea and Tequila handed him a cold bottle of sweet tea from a nearby cooler. Following this incident he educated them on the finer points of afternoon tea.

“First and most importantly,” he informed them.” Select the appropriate English tea.”

Harry recommended Earl Grey, Breakfast Blend, or Traditional 100’s black teas. Slightly more bitter than American teas, he informed them.

“Always use freshwater for individual steeping. Boil water between 180-200 degrees.”

Harry stated that it was imperative that the water is at boiling point to properly release the flavours of the tea.

“Slowly pour into a teapot over a single tea bag or loose leaf diffuser. Let it steep for six minutes. Remove the tea bag. Do not squeeze the tea bag. Pour the tea into a proper tea cup, not a coffee mug. At this time, one can add milk, not sugar, unless you want to disrupt the flavour of the tea.” 

He was firm on the following point. “Only milk, if you are looking to make a proper cup. The color of the tea with milk should have a dark orange-brown hue, similar to American coffee. Once the milk is stirred, the tea should be at the perfect temperature to enjoy. If feeling especially British, one can pair with scones and clotted cream.” 

With the same casual, relaxed ease, he continued. “Naturally, it helps if one is familiar with muzzle velocity, air resistance, barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed. The quantity and quality of propellant used in the firearm as well as projectile mass and length of the barrel.”

He saw the blank stares of the Statesman agents. He equivocated, “Or in more simple terms, front site, trigger press, and follow through.”

If he was this level on the shooting range, they were eager to see what surprises he had in store for the simulation. If his performance on the shooting rage was any indication of his abilities, his proficiency on the full scale replica could very possibly be stupefying. 

Word traveled with the wind on Statesman grounds. The following day, allowing his shooting hand appropriate time to recover, Harry prepared for the real life simulation.  A variety of curious onlookers, from fellow agents, handlers and operations support began to gather in small, inconspicuous groups at the control center where anyone watching would have full audio and visual of Harry the entire time. 

The immersive course was situated in two enormous warehouses with an open courtyard area in between.  It was devised to test Harry’s technical and tactical skill. So far, he had shown exemplary marksmanship. But like he had mentioned, it was much less complicated to shoot with accuracy in a range under a controlled environment. The ability to perform with the same accuracy and precision under pressure is what separated a good agent from an exceptional one. They were going to find out which category Harry fell into.

Harry, as an operator, would have to perform under the following conditions; unknown target distances that vary from close to extended ranges, identifying threats and non-threats prior to engagement, making decisions under pressure, speed vs. precision shots, tactical movements, utilising different types of cover and tactical shooting positions to accomplish the mission, which was to come out clean on the other side. Firearms ranged from pistol, rifle, shotgun, carbine rifle, AK -47, as well as improvised munitions. There could be an active shooter scenario. A hostage situation. Anything was possible.

The Statesman insisted that he didn’t have to wear his suit during the engagement and offered him combat gear. His suit was certain to interfere with his maneuverability. He showed up to the course, fully attired in his classic pinstripes, down to the cuff links. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt completely natural and at ease. 

“One should always be able to engage in life threatening situations while properly attired.”  He explained. 

 Call it vanity, call it pride, but he only felt comfortable in suits when he was in a professional role. Wearing anything else seemed sacrilegious. He wasn’t going to wear any less for an evaluation, no matter what the evaluation entailed. And he was very particular. About his suit specifically. He had several suits tailor made by a firm of Statesman’s recommendation. 

The one concession that he did make regarding his attire was to replace his Oxfords with the Statesman issue cowboy boots. Cowboy boots, of all things. But he had to confess, they felt good on his feet. It was easier to cover the unfamiliar terrain of the Statesman property, which included dirt, gravel, hay, barns, and stables and various other interesting outbuildings. At least the boots still made a familiar sound on hard surfaces. He particularly enjoyed the hollow, rounded quality his footsteps made when he crossed Statesman’s many hardwood floors. Particularly in the large storage areas the housed the enormous barrels of whiskey while they aged. 

He was also pragmatic. The boots were definitely more appropriate on the occasions they went horse riding, or other “outdoor activities” that his new keepers might engage in. While he might be fastidious in regards to his appearance, he still valued practicality.  For the landscape of Kentucky, the boots were more appropriate. And they did indeed, have a satisfying click that was comfortingly familiar. 

While the course was being finalised, he tested his right hand by creating a fist and then opening his palm wide. He repeated this several times. There was residual soreness from the prior days drill, but nothing that caused him concern. In the simulation, there would be a wide variety of firearms and weapons available in the course. Not every weapon would be a handgun. A shotgun or a riffle could be braced on the shoulder. Different weapons would require a different set of muscle and therefore prevent repetitive fatigue.

His shooting hand didn’t concern him, he was fairly certain he could fire from his weak hand as well. He was curious to find out. He decided to try even if the opportunity didn’t present itself. 

As he entered the course, the Statesman gathered around the monitors.

Even in a suit, he manoeuvred like an elite operator. His movement was refined, graceful, efficient. He held himself tall when he needed to check and clear areas, keeping his spine in alignment. His footing was sure and stable as he maintained a mid-foot drive with every step he took, balancing his weight between the ball of his foot and the heel.

He was not one to peacock. His skills and technique always had a specific goal and end result in mind. Ego had no place in life and death scenarios. But on the course, after he completed a task successfully, he could’t help but push the level of his abilities. Explore his edge. He began following up his kill shots with a second maneuver from a trickier vantage point, or with a more demanding technique, adopting more and more challenging strategies and unlikely scenarios. Each time, giving a little bit more than was necessary. He wanted to discover the full capacity of his skill. 

On the course, he felt a new vitality. Whether it be due to the physical exertion of being in the field, or the mental challenges that sharpened the edges of his mind, he did not question. He simply allowed it to flow.

He attempted to fire from his non-dominant hand when the weapon and the cover required it. He adopted a canted shooting stance, firing the gun from a 45 degree angle, aiming for a target that would be impossible in his position with a right hand grip. Well, that was confirmation he could shoot with both hands. When he needed to reload, he also did so with one hand, just to see if he could. He could. With the slide locked to the rear, he placed the gun between his knees with the grip facing upwards. He slid the magazine and then locked it into place and removed the gun from between his knees. His hand hit the slide release and he got back into the fight in a matter of seconds. Some of those watching hadn’t been noticed. His technique and execution was flawless.

He fired on the run at a moving target who was using a “civilian” as cover and hit his mark.

He shot two weapons at a time.

He shot from behind his back. 

He could shoot through things and still hit his target on the other side. 

He could shoot away from a target, knowing that the force and angle of the ricochet would hit its intended target.

He used bullets as a tool, shooting items into place, to remove barriers, open doors.

He used bullets to adjust a reflective surface so he could see around a blind corner.

It was as if he was mapping the entire course and picturing it in his head while he moved. Once he scanned an area, he was immediately able to place the location in relation to his position and the rest of the course. 

Not only was he expert at weaponry, a top notch marksman, his physical capabilities far exceeded their expectations. He was physically fit, but it was beyond that. He was evolved. He had a body awareness, not only in control of his physical actions, but the awareness of his own body moving through space. (He would be one hell of a lover) At times his movements were economical, not wasting a single iota of energy on a motion that was unnecessary.

But the movements that he did come up with were impressive. One motion would seamlessly flow into the next like a dance. A dance with bullets and weapons, but a dance nonetheless. 

He could shoulder roll while aiming and discharging a weapon.

He could knee slide to dodge obstacles.

He could position himself to make a defensive position into an offensive one. 

He could use a target as a cover, while taking out the target at the same time.

He could practice hand to hand combat for close quarter contact, simultaneously hit targets on the periphery with his weapon. 

At one point he threw his gun forward in the air, while on the move, used both hands to catapult himself over a low wall while the gun was still traveling through space. He caught the gun, landed and then swung it around in his hand and used it as a cudgel to incapacitate a target before he had a chance to reload. 

Agent Tequila leaned in.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Ginger replied.

If they hadn’t witnessed it on the monitors, they would not have believed it. 

It seemed like the further he got into the course, the better he performed.

He moved faster, with more precision, solved problems more quickly, took out more targets.

His most valuable asset, even more than his marksmanship and his physical and tactical expertise, would be his sheer creativity and his ability to improvise on the fly. It was as if, when faced with a problem, there was always a solution. You could almost hear him say, “Well, let’s find out.” The methodology that he used could be seen as unorthodox. It often purposely put him in harms way, but that same method enabled him to open a door to a solution that previously had not been possible. It wasn’t that the proposed solution was not feasible. The solution did not even exist until he created it.  He was confident enough to trust his own judgement and took risks in only the most challenging situations.

Agent Tequila, “If there was a soundtrack to go with this, that would be some kickass music”. 

Ginger nodded. She had to agree. Watching Harry move the way he did in his suit? It might seem silly or old fashioned or traditional to think what she did. He looked noble, gallant, honourable even.

Harry Hart was never one to disappoint. When he was expected to deliver, he delivered and then some. He completed the course while beating Statesman’s record time. To the observers, it felt like he had been in the warehouse for a lifetime. Hadn’t he been moving in slow motion? Some of them even forgot to breathe. 

He burst through the exit on the other side. The doors opened to the sound of cheers and applause. The breeze was cool on his skin, while the sun provided an inviting warmth. The air was fresh and crisp. It was a beautiful day to feel accomplished. He left any residual stress or tension behind. He felt light.

This was not a sight that Statesman was accustomed to seeing after a course was completed. More often than not, the agent would appear dazed, distressed, a little shell-shocked, a little traumatised, perhaps even rethinking his chosen career. Not many were cut out for this kind of work. Rarely did you ever see one, not just capable of the work, but made for it, thrive on it. Harry Hart was the latter.

Harry was exhilarated in a way that he hadn’t felt since he regained consciousness. The calm, cool, collected, focused, deadly Harry Hart from the warehouse gave way and a new man took his place. His expression opened up with a vibrant laugh that changed the very structure of his face. Hell, it changed him into a different person. Whatever, walls, barriers he built had fallen aside, revealing his true authentic nature. He was a man who enjoyed being alive. When he grinned, it was easy to imagine that he would have no problem winning hearts. Certainly most of the females that had watched him take the course were left a little breathless, a little enchanted. And actually, the men didn’t look that much different. 

Why did he seem so attractive at that moment?  

Why did he look so charismatic as he stood, tall and confident in his pinstripe suit, outside the warehouse with an easy smile and warm brown eyes? What had changed from the time he entered the course on the other side? 

The man who started the course had been handsome. The man that came out at the end? It would be easy to fall in love with him. That man was beautiful.

They were seeing a man in his element.  

They were witnessing a man finding his identity.

He seemed more present, more there, more alive. 

He finally felt like he had a place and a purpose. 

When he woke up in the medical ward, his first thought had been:  “My name is Harry Hart.” 

It was different now. There was a connection, a new realization. 

Now he was awakening outside the warehouse.

This time around, he thought to himself.

“I am Harry Hart.”

His brown eyes appeared even more golden in the sunlight. They were warm and inviting. No longer cold. No longer closed off. The light wind tossed a lock over his forehead. In a rare gesture he ran his hand through his hair.

He slung the communication headset around his neck, but not before jesting.

“All right.” He said definitively.   He paused for a moment.

He grinned. “Would you like to see that again?” 

——

What they discovered when Harry completed the course. …Whatever past Harry had come from, he had advanced tactical and technical skills that had muscle memory and strategy so ingrained into every fiber of his being that he didn’t need to think–he simply acted. In the face of immediate life threatening danger, he didn’t merely react to a situation. He took charge. He didn’t make decisions to survive. He made decisions to win.

They had to assume an agent of his caliber would be missed by his organisation. His talent, skill and expertise, if found in an agent, you very well make sure that agent stays in your employ. It was even likely that he was a senior agent or a director. They could certainly imagine him in a leadership role. A complicating factor could be that he was presumed deceased, and therefore, there was no chatter on the wire where you could find information, if only you knew what to look for. 

——

After Harry had literally triumphed over the course, there was a new aura about him. Before the trials, though he was always the perfect gentleman, he was reticent, distant, not quite aloof, but definitely keeping himself an arms length away. Both physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t one to participate in any activities that weren’t directly related to him. He certainly didn’t spend time in the lounge, conversing with the others or stopping in for a cocktail. He didn’t socialise with any of the others. He would politely participate in conversations that happened around him. Could be quite engaging when immersed in a topic he was intrigued with. There was an unspoken invitation that he was always welcome. In addition, one of the Statesman usually asked him to join directly. Harry would always politely decline. Not offering a reason or excuse, but simply turning down the offer in his quiet, but firm way.

He answered questions that were directed to him, but when the conversation took a turn away from work and into more personal areas, he would offer his apologies and depart for a quiet location. He could often be seen a little aways from campus, sitting in the sun, an open book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. 

He never spoke of his past unless he was questioning Ginger or Tequila for any information that they may have overlooked when they initially found him. By all appearances, he seemed to be handling himself well. Especially under the circumstances. But since they didn’t have a frame of reference, they didn’t know if he was usually so reserved, or if this was a result of the situation he found himself in. 

They found that he could horse ride. Once he brushed up on tacking and the most basic fundamentals of horsemanship, he was able to recall the rest on his own. He only rode alone. He never left the campus unless it was required by Statesman. He wouldn’t have anywhere to go besides. The only time he was away, was when he was on horseback. 

He did make an exception regarding his attire when it came to this activity. The Statesman all rode western style. A suit wasn’t the most appropriate. If they rode English, he would have requested a riding habit. His compromise? A pair of trousers, and a button down shirt. No suit, no jacket, no tie. Regardless, he did make a striking figure on horseback. Once he was, quite literally, back in the saddle, he handled himself gracefully. He was both firm and gentle with the animals and they responded to him in turn. He seemed more at ease and communicate more with the horses than with people. It was auspicious, though, seeing a cowboy hat perched on this head. 

They kept an eye on him, at least from a distance. Making sure that they caught any signs of undue stress, mental or emotional problems, disassociation, anhedonia, or displacement. The side effects of amnesia were hard to predict. If a person is unable to reclaim their lost memories, they would have to start rebuilding their history from scratch. This was easier for some than others. The older the person was when they suffered memory loss, the more difficult it became to let go of a past they no longer remembered.

With Harry being older than most of the Statesman, he may be having a harder time assimilating. Even though upon waking, he was coherent, intelligent, adaptive, accepting of his situation, once the realisation sets in that their condition is permanent, there may be a later period of denial that was similar to grief. Suffering the loss of their identity. 

Looking at the person that he was before the physical trials was like looking through a window that was covered with a thick film of dust. You might be able to discern that there was something significant, meaningful, worthwhile on other side of the glass, but it would always be a shadowy, vague, dim suggestion of what it actually was.

The tests had cleared away the dust and debris until the glass was clear, crystalline, perfectly see-through. And what had been behind the glass suddenly shone through. That person was the real Harry. Not the shadow form that you would occasionally see, always crossing from one place to the next. Hardly ever still. Never comfortable to remain in one place for long.

After the trials, he was more open, quicker to smile and engage in conversation. Though he would still refuse invitations on occasion, he would be more willing to accept with equal frequency. They discovered he could be quite the conversationalist. His dry wit and biting sense of humour was a welcome change to the often crass or juvenile comments from the male agents. 

If he wanted to, he could easily hold court. His accent and his deep voice were as captivating as his words. But never did he dominate a conversation. He always made a conscious effort to include everyone’s remarks and would even ask the opinion of those who looked like they wanted to say something, but were hesitant for one reason or another. He was more than willing to have someone else take the lead in a conversation, but if the conversation veered in an uncomfortable or inappropriate direction, he always managed to guide it back to civility. Not that he was opposed to a healthy debate, but he did believe that some words should be either said in private or not at all.

He was just as expert at navigating social situations as he was the field. This was a surprise to them since he was so withdrawn at first. They discovered that he was just someone who never wasted words. 

Not only did he become an increasing part of the fabric of Statesman’s front, he also participated more in the intelligence side of the agency. His insight was valuable, his strategies were sometimes unexpected but always effective, and his analysis sharp and concise. He didn’t go out into the field on operations, but he often assisted handlers and their agents with more demanding, complicated missions. Many times he was able to foresee an obstacle that they could avoid, or lead them out of an operation that had gone sideways. At first, the teams were hesitant to request his assistance, whether they were averse, intimidated or just nervous to approach him. But as he led teams into more successful missions, with less loss, less injury, less risk, he was often sought out, his time claimed in advance.

If he missed the field, it didn’t show. They still didn’t feel comfortable sending Harry out on assignment and he never requested a mission. They feared that the lack of direct action, the kind that he had participated in during his test course, would revert him back to the state where he was listless, closed off, removed. But he did not regress. If anything, he become more. It was difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know him during his transition. But with every passing day, with every new interaction, with every mission that he assisted, with every training session he held for advanced weapon and tactical skills, which he did have to admit, he particularly enjoyed, he just become more himself. 

By the end of the year, he was The Brit. Everyone knew him. Everyone adored him. He was free with his smile, his laughter, with a kind or encouraging word. His pinstripe suit was now a common site on campus. He had his own group of women that would pine after him, though he remained firmly unattached. His opinion was respected, his advice valued, his critiques, though sometimes harsh, were always considered constructive. 

He was not exactly gregarious, but he was a very skilled conversationalist. He could exchange witty repartee, as well as engage in topics with depth and you could trust that there was always something interesting on his mind. When he excused himself for any reason, you were left knowing more, feeling more, thinking more. However, by nature, they learned, he was a reserved and private person. But whatever walls or fences that he had constructed at the beginning of his stay, had slowly but consistently been deconstructed. On that bedrock, he wasn’t rebuilding his history. Without even thinking about it, he was fashioning a completely new one. 

The last year had been spent laying down the foundation for his new life, accumulating building blocks, each experience a new row of brick and mortar. He had let go, completely, of who he might have been in the past. The exercises that he and Ginger went through to try to recover his memory, from hypnosis, light therapy, trauma induced memory retrieval, did not work. After not even a modicum of success, felt that he spent an appropriate amount of time trying to regain his memory. He accepted the fact that his memory was gone. That he would be best to move forward. Not to look back. It was simple really. There wasn’t anything to look back on. So he began his life at Statesman.

—-

His awareness circled back to Statesman HQ, to their stateroom and fully to the present moment.  Ginger was explaining the last of the progress he had made during his year at Statesman.  He had finally reached a point of satisfaction with what was his life. Was he looking for more? Perhaps. Contentment wasn’t a natural state for him. There was always room for growth, for learning new things, and having new experiences.

However, ironically, not just because of the amnesia, he was not one for looking back. He felt that he had always been this way. Now, here were three individuals who were asking him to do just that. Asking him very earnestly, sincerely, and genuinely. 

Like the girl had said, his instincts would be triggered if they were being dishonest or withholding information.  He believed they were telling the truth and had nothing to hide. But for once, he was at a loss.  What was he to do with this information?  Was it even possible to be the person they wanted him to be? He was looking for an answer, but could find none.

He tested the weight of his questions. Was this a burden that he wanted to carry? Does a past that you can’t remember even matter? Should it even? Perhaps the only reason would be to recognise the relationships with those who still remembered you. Where was the honesty in that situation? Wouldn’t faking a past that you can’t remember be just as bad as pretending that you are the person that you used to be. While organising these questions in the folders of his mind, he kept his face calm and neutral. He didn’t have to decide anything at this moment. But he did need to establish boundaries.

He couldn’t give an answer to these three individuals. But what he could do was help them in their current situation. Help them find out who had destroyed their agency, what they were planning and how to stop them. At least, that he could offer. That, he could do. The rest would still be there. Problems, if ignored, only became more vexing. He would look at them later. Perhaps the answer would come to him.

“My sincere apologies.” He started. 

“Ginger is correct. I suffer from amnesia and I recall nothing about my history. Nothing prior to my time recovering here at Statesman. While I retain the skills and knowledge that I possessed in the past, I do not have any memory as to how or why I have them.

“We have tried every means available to recover my memories, with no success.” 

“But we are here now.” Merlin interrupted, encouraged. “We can remind you. Perhaps trigger something that makes you remember.”

“We can help. He’s right. “ Eggsy added. “Who knows more about you, than Merlin?”

Roxy nodded in agreement.

It was probably the first time the group looked somewhat enthusiastic.

Ginger interrupted. She was worried about this. She would have to be the one to grab their hopes and tether them back to reality. 

“Not to discredit your suggestion. If this were a different case, then yes, there is the possibility that it would work. But when someone is suffering from retrograde amnesia, unfortunately, their memory cannot be recovered by simply being informed about their personal experiences and their identity. What you are referring to is called the reminder effect. This would consist of re-exposing the patient to past personal information. This can work for other types of amnesia, but simply giving Harry details of his life won’t help him retrieve memories.”

Eggsy eyes narrowed. He was dubious. He was convinced something they said or told him could surely open up the gates to Harry’s memory. They just needed to try.  They just needed a chance. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to say anything to him at all. They looked toward Harry, imploringly.

Harry was his usual respectful, attentive self. But his expression was guarded and he was quiet.

Their frustration limped across the table in his direction. Ginger needed to redirect.

These people had been through hell and back. But Harry was her patient. And he was Statesman now, regardless of his pinstripe suit, his accent, or his British mannerisms. As much as she sympathised with their situation, there was the risk that Harry’s progress would stall or that he could relapse. The worst thing they could do would be to insist Harry be someone he no longer was under the misguided notion that they were helping him. Harry would be trapped, defeated and they would only face disappointment.  Ginger arranged the words carefully before she spoke.

“Memories are exceedingly intricate. But to simplify, making a memory involves storing information in the brain as a specific pattern of electrical activity.” she explained.

While avoiding excess jargon, she wanted to emphasise the complexity of Harry’s memory loss. If only it were as simple as forgetting something and not being able to remember.

“When we recall a memory, we recreate the pattern of electrical activity that formed it in the first place. This information is then distributed across different regions in the brain to retrieve the memory.  Injury in any part of this circuit can fracture memory function.  It’s not that the synapses, the path, necessary to make these connections, is blocked. It’s much more than that. There’s nothing at the end of the path. There’s nothing to retrieve. It is as if the memory was never made. It’s not hidden. It’s not in the subconscious. It’s not filed somewhere deep in his psyche. It simply does not exist.”

Disheartened. Dejected. Depressed. The three of them were the dictionary definitions. Ginger sighed. Being the bearer of bad news was never a party, but this was less than enjoyable.  However, she wanted to explain as much as she could so Harry wouldn’t have to. He had made so much progress in the past year. It had to be unsettling to face an unknown past, when you had made so much effort to be in the present.

Getting to her point. “Unfortunately, there is no established cure for retrograde amnesia memory loss. There’s no magic drug or deep-brain stimulation that jolts memories back into the mind. I wish there were. If recovery does happen, it largely occurs on its own.  With amnesia as a result of brain trauma, If you're really lucky, new pathways form among the remaining brain cells, like in stroke victims, or other parts of the brain take over from the damaged areas in what we call neural plasticity. But that is very rare.”

“Sometimes, the reminder treatment is more than ineffective, it can also be harmful. Too often, the stories people tell amnesiacs sound like someone else's life and it can be unsettling to them. Witnessing the disappointment of past friends, colleagues, and family when they can’t remember, or be the person who they used to to be, can be emotionally damaging. Having people tell you how to think and feel, or that you’re not who you are supposed to be can be distressing.”  

 “I don’t mean to be discouraging or unsympathetic. It’s crucial for us, for our own sakes, but most of all, for Harry’s,” she placed her hand on his forearm for emphasis, “ that we are realistic.” She wanted to be very clear as she drew her hand back and made her final, essential point “Do not make expectations that can only result in disappointment.”

As Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy discussed Harry’s future with the other Statesmen, Harry claimed this time to examine the three faces across the table. He set aside any of their mannerisms, agitations, conflicts that were due to the current circumstance and concentrated on what he believed to be their true and natural state. He didn’t try to analyse them, judge them or question what he saw. He tried to feel them. To feel the look in their eyes, to feel the expressions on their faces, to feel the quality of their movements.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened, not to their words, but to hear the sound of their voices. He felt their vibration.  Not only to see if anything sparked in his mind, but viscerally. A reflex, an intuition, a sensation that stirred something deep rooted in his bones. 

But his mind and his body were quiet and still.

It was time for him to speak up. Before he addressed them directly, sat up even straighter. Tall and silent. He did not make any of the usual gestures he did when preparing to take over a conversation. Familiar movements of brushing something non-existent off his suit, adjusting his cuffs, running his hand along the back of his hair, adjusting his glasses. He was still. His hands were clasped and rested on the table. 

Only seconds ticked by until everyone quieted along with him. Their heads all turned in the same direction. Harry could always pull attention to him without saying a word. 

He was also not one to hold back words that needed to be said. Time would be lost and nothing would be gained.  He did not want them to get their hopes up. He did not want to them to expect something from him that he could not deliver. 

For the second time, he opened with an apology. “I’m very sorry.” His eyes were sympathetic. 

They had the feeling he was preparing them for bad news.

His words were sure and resolute. There was no hesitation. No wavering. When Harry made a decision, he was firm.

“I do not remember Kingsman.” 

He shifted his weight forward in his chair, resting his elbows and forearms on the table and folded his hands together. It was a gesture of familiarity. He spoke directly to them, as if they were having a conversation. It wasn’t just reciting a statement. He knew, full well, they would be affected by his words. He knew that they would not be the words they wanted to hear. He knew it would be painful for them to be on the receiving end of his words, not matter how gently and honestly he delivered them. He would serve them by being unguarded, unreserved and up front.

He paused so they could process what he was telling them. 

“Prior to your arrival, I was not even aware of its existence.” He added frankly.

“I do not recall any relationships I may have had currently or in the past.” He spoke plainly.

“As much as you may want me to, and I recognise that you do, and I understand where that need comes from, I cannot say, in all honesty, that I know you.” 

Harry was nothing if not direct. 

His eyes held each of theirs. He saw the dejection in their faces. He could not help but feel empathetic. It was obvious that, whoever he was in the past, these people cared for him very deeply. Perhaps even loved. But for Harry, he was never this person and he was never one to fake an emotion he didn’t feel. 

He was compassionate, but firm. "I’m unable to say I even recognise you. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the man you used to know. I may look like him, I may sound like him, at times I may even act like him. But I am not him.” His voice was kind now. His face was gentle. His expression no longer guarded. 

“However meaningful your relationship was, no matter how strong the connection, I am unable to reciprocate in a way that would honor that bond.”

With an honesty and an openheartedness that touched all their raw wounds, he offered.

“It’s not that I can’t remember the Harry I used to be. Or that I do not care. It’s obvious that your relationship with this man was very important, very meaningful, to all of you.” 

He softened both his voice and his manner.  

“It is, that this person you used to know, in my eyes, he never existed.” His face gentled. Became grave and solemn, almost tender. 

“Do you understand?” 

And for Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin, that perhaps was the most painful moment of all. Because with the kindness they heard in his voice, and the softness they saw in his eyes, the way he held his concern for them, on his sleeve where they could see it, he was in that moment, everything that they knew and loved. He was their Harry Hart. He was their Galahad. 

-----

Whew! If you got this far thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, good, bad, funny, dumb, sad, WTF? Whatever.  

Always feel free to reblog, share with someone else who thought TGC had sooo much more potential. Or was pissed that they killed off Roxy. And don’t even get me started on Merlin....

[unproduciblesmackdown]

@uberoll-oystercrackers putting this PT convo on blast just for the sake of switching to this format where u don’t have to break everything up via replies because [comically deep inhale]

honestly like idc idc i guess ppl are just like “uhh mytho’s got nothing going on b/c he has no feelings!!” like Yeah Correct, that’s a premise / inciting factor for this series and everything everyone’s doing lol, it’s only Boring if you don’t think about the character at all lmfao which i guess some ppl don’t, but like, there’s only 4 of them.....it’s Wildly Interesting that he literally has no feelings at first, like, for one thing it’s cool how there’s always the Idea of characters who don’t have emotions or act on them, but this is like the rare “realistic” situation where having no feelings means he needs someone to steer him around and make choices for him (and how Vulnerable that leaves him lmfao like episode 2 is wild but also that ppl just haven’t really realized that they Could just pick mytho up and pitch him into a wall, and fakir and rue are sort of careful neutral alliance keeping tabs on him) and you know, the whole s1 structure of mytho regaining both Capacity For / Experience of An Emotion and his sense of identity and by extent of all this his agency, and how like, Thematic everything surrounding this character is that’s reflected in the overall series like. trying to control someone for your own benefit vs being willing to sacrifice your own interests (and then some...) for their freedom & the Protecting Someone (And/Or Wanting To) As A Love Language that all the characters show for each other at various points & hope vs despair.......and like No Shit he’s dispassionate & passive b/c he can’t Feel Feelings & resultantly can’t make decisions or feel motivations but obviously he’s still Motivating other characters to act on his behalf, & there’s so much mystery & drama already in “yeah this guy you think is just a neat handsome guy is also an actual prince from a story who’s Real & sacrificed his heart in the fight with an evil giant raven monster that eats people & so he can’t feel anything or remember who he is” like damn!!! epic of him even if right now he can’t do much of anything on his own. i’m interested, and then i’m Interested every time in the Drama & Mystery of this person regaining parts of himself and completely rediscovering An Emotional Experience and how that is totally recontextualizing his entire existence for him.....

plus also even though “person literally lost heart via magic and doesn’t know what Feeling Things is” isn’t a We’ve All Been There situation i was like oh and you know it’s not like what mytho’s got going on isn’t potentially Relatable....can get into a side essay about dapressione and trauma and other types of stuff that can make it seem like someone can’t/shouldn’t have full access to their feelings / self / agency &/or it’s Dangerous if they try.....whew

but continuing on YEAH ugh just completely fascinated with mytho the Entire Time actually lol like, i’ve tended to lose steam in early s2 b/c he’s sort of Less involved beyond the [hehe time to cause some trouble in this particular ep] role lol but even so it’s like well it’s kinda fun when at least somebody’s being a bitch who lives for drama lmfaooooo & we get mytho Struggling Internally & sometimes punching through that way but again it’s like yeah oops the guy was basically autonomous but zwoop here’s a problem where that doesn’t mean shit anymore lol b/c he’s got this alternate evil self steering the ship all the time now lol got em.....the Peak of that i guess is where we get to have an epic swordfight between raven!mytho and fakir like you know what fuck yes!!! the intrinsic drama of that lmfao!!!! and then it’s like “oh no :/ loving the drama? that’s just what drosselmeyer wants” except Not b/c actually what makes it totally rule is that it’s this chance for Real Mytho to come through for the sake of protecting fakir (tbt “i wonder what i think of you, fakir”...) and really like that being what prompts fakir’s “you know what, even though before i was afraid my role as a knight would kill Me and i’m afraid my coincidental(?) role as a guy who can Reality Write could kill Anyone Else, i gotta try b/c that’s the only thing i could possibly do here and i want to try protecting everyone else b/c everyone else including mytho is protecting Me” and like augh everyone is so Thoughtful about how to try to help mytho out even as like, they can’t hardly interact with him or undo the situation lol.....as you’re getting into the series finale and everyone’s just outright Voicing things and you get “i/we want to protect mytho” like 32x and it’s beautiful each time ;___; like and well sorry but him & his heart/lack of are also the heart of the whole story here.....

and you know what *i* want to protect mytho, sympathizing with all the characters like fuck yes you’re so right, this guy rules, episode 6 aka The Fear Episode is SO good, like, you’ve gotten kinda used to the episodic format here, ep 5 did sure also make it obvious that things are Building on what’s happening prior here & that there’s stakes and stuff but it’s such a shakeup, like, that maybe just kinda sneakily dipping in and out of the arena giving back a piece of his heart until it’s done with, no problem, Isn’t Gonna Happen, and again, the Drama of it all......that the heart shards are yeah kind of their own People who are these fractions of mytho’s self and the way you interact with them is gonna like, affect things, since tutu didn’t like “resolve” things with that heart shard and just kinda got him on a technicality there lmfao so it’s like, yeah not only does mytho have a more general / abstract cause to be afraid of tutu & her bringing all these Unknowns & completely new things to him / changing things up and apparently introducing conflict, but you’ve gone and gotten his capacity for fear all recently riled up and specifically afraid of his interaction with You from 5 sec ago, and how could anyone know this mysterious magical being giving you Negative Feelings is like, Safe......and i’m sure it’s all compounding here, like, it’s Wild to be suddenly experiencing A Feeling for the (seeming) first time, and that in itself sure could be Scary, he just hasn’t had the proper emotion available with with to Be Afraid, now he’s gotten back a freshly stoked (capacity for) Fear and how off the shits it must be to be afraid for the first time anyways, or to be feeling the other stuff for the first time, and who knows what Unfun Feelings could come next, there’s a lot to freak out about.......and not like it’s trying That hard to never suggest like oh fakir's not that bad even though he’s technically an antagonist at the start b/c of being at odds with / against the protagonist, it’s pretty telling there lol like he’s unhappy with mytho having feelings again at all and has already been getting mad about it but is just being Helpful here and trying to comfort him, like aw that’s neat i think it’s nice, and again throwing it back to “I Wonder What I Think Of You, Fakir” you get fakir reassuring mytho that nobody but him is around, and mytho having this capacity for Fear is choosing to confide in fakir re: what he’s dealing with here (not that this would on it’s own be some guarantee that mytho’s Right to be unafraid of fakir, but, knowing all we eventually know...) like again lol it’s funny that drosselmeyer’s loving the Drama of mytho only having regained Negative Feelings like, i mean i’m soaking it in as well but it’s like, that guy’s all about Angst and it’s like no im here all about the Hurt/Comfort more like, thank you lmfao

it’s also SO good how it’s like, the next episode is turning around & giving the story a way forward not by like, oh let’s just counteract this Fear mytho’s struggling with by returning the....emotion of Courage i guess, but rather by giving him back Curiosity to ultimately lead to him actually seeking a conversation with tutu.......and it’s like AUGH it’s soooo fun that he goes to that river and has a conversation with his own heart shard lmfao like that’s you!!! and that You does not realize you’re them!!! that’s wild and i love it......wait i took low res screenshots when i rewatched this a few weeks ago lmfao

i Love it lmfao like it’s Such a good choice to have him not only have lost his Emotions but also memories / knowledge of who he, himself, even is.....like yeah man it was all on you to fight this heart eating raven monster!!!!!!!!! which you know, it’s also Fun that earlier in that episode when he and fakir are hanging out in the secret Problems Mill (which....fakir is hilarious like that lmfao. whole other tangent here like ppl are not only rolling with Animals As People but stuff like “yeah fakir might just be like ‘oops gotta go!’ and whisk mytho away to various out of the way Locations” like lmfao these teens have some free rein, but it’s nothing compared to s2 where it’s like “They Were Roommates but ig fakir tried to kill mytho who’s now being really dramatic and weird which is v different from before and maybe he’s in love with that one random dude who’s around now, which sucks for everyone else, oops now he’s just like Vanishing for god knows how long at a time it’s fine!!!!” lmfao like god. ballet school just is like that sometimes...) anyways Yeah that mytho’s been having nightmares about the raven and fakir is just going like IT’S FINE JUST DON’T THINK ABOUT IT lol and knowing fakir is also being pretty driven / restricted by fear, reasonably, as he thinks (well. and is correct) that he’s The Knight and his fate is literally written as “yeah if the story gets going and you’re a part of it you’ll just be killed” like yeah, oof......Wonder What I Think Of You Fakir like yeah AND he is that knight you actually did know who was suddenly killed trying to protect you and he’s sorta accepted that role again except he’s not really a fan of that Being Killed thing so here we’re having some issues in his misguided approach here re: Mytho Should Not Get His Heart Back, but he’s also trying to protect them Both from the story, and he’s only So Willing to act Against mytho, like, well hey thanks for apologizing after you hit him and then like, not doing that anymore lol, v reasonable how he’s struggling here lol where he’s trying to Protect mytho but the story a) wants to invite tragedy and b) has already said that The Knight has been / will be killed and can’t actually protect the prince within the story, also c) he’s just like one random high school guy out here......and also that it must just be kinda hard to adapt to this changing situation where mytho Is regaining this sense of self and motivation, but for like the past decade or whatever he Has needed fakir to just be in charge and tell him what to do all the time and, if he had the sense of what it was to trust someone, trust fakir to just always be acting in his best interest, but then mytho’s idea of his own best interest a) starts to Exist and b) is at odds w/fakir’s b/c also c) he doesn’t have All his feelings yet, Or all his memories, while fakir is like “noooo i know the story”.....like there was never any need to just like tell him he sucks at random times lol but it’s also kind of funny that’s just part of fakir’s shtick, calling mytho a dumbass one more time when he’s just fully himself as The Prince again lmfaooo. but prior to that, surely fakir could wonder what mytho thinks of him (or potentially Could think of him) too.......it’s just soooo good when mytho is like, expressing things verbally while trying to work through / figure out Feelings and even ones that he doesn’t have back yet, and it’s always fun how that inevitably throws off whatever character he’s musing about this to......including whenever ahiru’s just like “oh fuck yes he can do this b/c he has more feelings back now, that rules” and/or “aw :( he’s struggling w/this b/c he only has Some of his heart back”

and also that reminds me it’s SO good when the characters just kinda get to Do Something together lmfao like. ahiru and rue hanging out when looking for mytho that one time, iconic stuff, mytho and ahiru hanging out in the previous episode, iconic, maybe it kills me that in the first ep of s2 you have mytho saying ahiru’s his friend and the only person he feels like he can tell anything (and ahiru feeling bad she hasn’t Told Him Everything lol) and then he basically never gets to interact with her again knowing and as himself like Scream it’s fine ;v; !!!!!! let these people spend more than 3 seconds together Interacting lmfao it’s soooo good when they do :’0

and THEN you get into how there’s all this stuff re: The Story, like, fakir is the reincarnated knight, ahiru is the duck given tutu’s abilities Via a piece of mytho’s heart, but we had the original knight and tutu in the story as these actual ppl who we only hear a Little bit of lore about, but mytho actually knew / knows, and like, the original genesis for tutu only being on 1 Page of the story and apparently drosselmeyer doesn’t even really put any thought into what her motivations could be lol like yeah idk whatever she wants to marry the prince or whatever so that’s why she loves him and Says It and disappears......and like we have almost No direct info about her but uh nbd at least some of her actual essence is actually now an intrinsic part of mytho’s actual heart and specifically embedded in the heart shard of Hope, like damn!!!! you Know there was something more Real and Complex going on there and i love it so much.......and the original Knight, lohengrin.....might have been doomed to be unable to protect mytho with his sword, but there’s other ways to protect that guy and Someone needed to be doing it.......i’m just like wow mytho’s gf and bf!!!! and they both sort of died but hey. there’s still a lot to think about

so yeah lmfao love that you can originally see this series like, a decade ago and here it is like damn still lying down / yelling / generally riled up about mytho and just having So Much to think about / appreciate from this series like. it’s so Singular and has so much going on.......cherish it and i’m just still anytime like [epcot vine voice] Mytho...........

[astro-break]

Thoughts on the third ep of Hypmic Rhythm Anima (as always, spoilers beware but not only for the anime itself but for future things covered in the Drama CD and the Manga. If you’re an anime only, those are marked with a *)

Right off the bat. Super disappointed that it isn’t a MTC episode. I wanted an MTC episode. :((((

Still got my MTC crumbs this week tho and I think I can hold out until next week which hopefully will give me the MTC episode I so desperately want (Yes, i have a division bias and i’m not afraid to show it)

Jakurai entertaining kids are just so cute. I think its very very precious.

* Also. What kind of doctor is Jakurai anyways? So far we know that he’s a councilor/therapist (helps Doppo w/ his anxiety), a pediatrician (he helped a kid), a family doctor (I think i might be wrong on this one), a surgeon (In the FP vs MTC manga he’s shown preforming surgery), a hitman/assassin (:/ yeah evil line records seems intent on retconning this one), a battle field medic (he’s state to be one during WWIII) and now he’s getting called into the orthopedic (things concerning the musculoskeletal system) and gastroenterology (working w. the digestive system) department, two things that have nothing in common with each other. And I’m sure I’m missing some. There is no way in hell this man can do all that he’s 35 for fucks sake. You’d be old and grey before you could learn and complete the credentials needed to work half of these jobs

Nice to now that theres some hints of jakurai’s past. I have a feeling that we’ll be seeing more of the detective later in the story, esp for Matenrou

Doppo being overworked as usual *sigh*. When will the man ever rest? Never... Though im a bit skeptical as to why one of his co-workers calls him doppo. this is a work environment, usually he’d be called “Kanonzaka” for the least amount of informality. seems sus to me. Though his depiction of his insecurities is nice

I love how his first reaction is to call Hifumi and as him if he’s killed anyone. Peak bromance guys. 

Honestly Doppo’s method of trying to calm down is nice but not at all effective. He has the right mindset of calming down and letting his body breath, but the way he goes about it is... eh. 

Tom and Iris’ argument is hilarious and I really want to see more of them and Rex! Can’t wait to see what happens with these three new characters

Iasdgfjsd;flkasjdflkasdjfkasdlvn ajsdk, MTCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

MY BPOYS OH MY GOD RIOU NEVER CHANGE

fsajghasdf i love them asdhfoiksldjfasdfj riou’s food looks so so so so so good omgggggg

Samatoki respecting the fuck outta Jakurai is amazing and I never get tired of their father-child kind of relationship (yes jakurai is a dad to TDD fight me.)

The Riou and Samatoki interactionnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ah my heart!! they know each other so well and play off each others strengths. its so cute and I love how Samatoki knows his teammates well enough to know when to play each of his pieces. He isn’t just some brute who speaks through his fists, but he does use his head too. I think this is one of the reasons why he’s also high up on the Yakuza ladder since he’s not only brawny but also brainy

EAT RIOUS FOOD SAMATOKI

ah yes, Jyuto kneeing a bitch. just what I needed to see on a stressful friday thank you for feeding me

I love MTC, im very happy with the MTC crumbs. Since MTR showed up in BB’s ep last week, i really really hope that next week’s ep will be MTC

There it is. Jakurai’s “Jitsuni Kyoumibukai” line

lolololololol the sound effects for MTR is hilarious. Though please give Doppo a break, man deserves it

Jaku’s hair man. its beautiful

Again, please give Doppo a break, he deserves with the 4 joints that they attacked

They say 3 times, but they attacked 4 places?? Did they not report one of them?

Ahhhhh the DoHifu interaction on the temple grounds is both hilarious and cute. Though I can’t help but feel bad for Doppo

* Huh, Jaku did you get that from your hitman days loll

Oh man host mode. Though I like how Doppo recognizes when Host Mode is  a legitimate shield that Hifumi needs and is willing to give him that shield when he needs it. God I love their dynamic]

wow... yet another female stalker for Hifumi... very original. This is pretty similar to the stalker girl from the manga and CD

Lol callback to when Doppo was in the toilet and trying to calm down. 

pffft the girl is so weird. I can’t stand her or Uwabami. 

The plot is so convoluted holy shit. Is this a drama now? (I’ve never watched any c-dramas or k-dramas so I’m the furthest thing from a voice of authority but this seems like a drama show plot lmao.)

This is just a drama at this point lol. Misunderstandings, plot twists and cheesy shit all over the place. Its a badly written and hilarious drama thats for sure

Someone please write a fic where instead of the hypmic universe, the boys are all in a tv drama show plot and their hijinks bc it would fit perfectly. please

Ah, Doppochin snapped~ He’s very interesting once he gets fired up and thats when I really really like MTR. Don’t get me wrong, I love them normally but its when they get down to it that really makes me squeal in delight

Oh! So i think each character gets their own personalized intro w/ their speakers, not just the leaders. Thats honestly so so so cool. The 3D didn’t get in the way of the sequence and was really flashy and smooth. I love how they show the transformation and reveal of the mic and speaker. Honestly the Anime has so many good takes on thigs that aren’t touched on often in the franchise.

The rap was honestly fire this time around. I love it and have replayed it almost 20 times. According to the ending credits its called Welcome U which is so cute for such a funny and badass song. The strong base beat and imagery were so strong and included a lot of homages to things that really matches both Shinjuku, Matenrou and the lyric’s themes and they’re really small but important details! The humor was on point without sacrificing any of the amazingly cool elements and the three distinct styles of rap were integrated in such a catchy melody!

EG) the verse All Year Round features a quick shot of the four seasons and the things most prominently associated with each season. Spring has cherry blossoms and flower viewing, Summer has festivals, Fall and Winter have food that corresponds to events that happen in those seasons.

Doppo’s line of “The flea counters w/ a bite” is so so so cute bc he’s got a little w at the end and thats jp chatspeak for a laugh and skjdfhsdjfkslad adorable

Hifumi picking up right after and asking if Doppo is okay is just. Goals. And his gratutious english works really well and is super smooth! Very very good

Also the small homage to The Champions with Hifumi’s “Jump around” line and the format where Hifumi takes separate lines than Jaku and Doppo. Its a brilliant way to sneak these references in and they’ve kept that theme going from last episode

Foreshadowing with “We’re the true leader, Matenro!” Nice touch there lol.

Lol of course its attempted murder. Still gotta keep this PG 13 even though theres swearing abound

The ending w/ mimimi..... leaves me kind of torn since i don’t like how it ended but they did provide some nice advice. i guess

lsdf;jsalkdfjsldf Hifumi please you’ve known Doppo for over 25 years, you should know better than anyone what his charm points are. and shouldn’t you be the one who understands Doppo’s appeal? smh

SCREEEEEEE THAT TITLE OF THE NEXT EP. if its an MTC ep i will scream even more bc asudhfsdkjflasd A friend in need is a friend indeed this is just pushing my Poly!MTC agenda isn’t it

Final thoughts:

Please please please let next week be MTC please please please

DoHifu are goals, both romantically and platonically

The rap was fire and I’m going to keep listening to it on repeat. First ep was a bit of a disappointment in terms of CGI and raps but these latest two eps are really picking up the slack! I really hope they continue this for the next two!

JAKURAI WHAT KIND OF DOCTOR ARE YOU PLEASE TELL ME

[whumpsideblog]

 Trope: Empty Shell  Character: Silas  Fandom: Original Work

 Okay, so I was trying to do these prompts in the order I got them, but this one was actually perfect to bridge the last part and the next part of the Silas and Alastair story together, so I’m adding it as an official part! Therefore I’m formatting it the way I do the rest of them oops. I’m going to consider the last prompt I did for him a more side thing since it doesn’t fit in exactly to this timeline

 ***

 Previous Parts

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***

Something was wrong with Silas. Alastair wasn’t quite sure what, but something was horribly wrong with his pet. It had only been a day since he’d turned him, and this wasn’t a normal reaction for a newly turned vampire. Even after Alastair got up, after he kept ordering him to get up, get dressed, just move, he still hadn’t. It was unlike him to be so quietly defiant, and he felt like something was off.

 “Really love, you should get up now.” He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Silas hadn’t moved from his spot, laying on his side and staring out the window. Alastair thought that opening the curtains and letting some moonlight in might help him, but he didn’t seem to care. “Would you like to go outside today…?” He offered. The man still didn’t move. 

 He grabbed his shoulder and pulled him on to his back, but Silas just stared blankly up at him, no trace of emotion on his face or in his eyes. Somehow those bright ruby eyes had dulled in only a day. 

 “Are you feeling alright? You can’t be sick, you’re a vampire. What’s wrong?” He asked, gently brushing his hair from his face. Silas remained silent though, only glancing away from him. Even though he wasn’t particularly angry, mostly confused, he raised his hand and slapped him hard across the face, hoping to snap him out of it. Silas flinched, but otherwise didn’t react.

 He tried to get into his mind, figure out what was going on in there and see if he could ease him into talking about it. He may not have been able to read his thoughts, but he could read his emotions quite well, twist and manipulate them to fit his needs. What shocked him though was the realization that nothing was there. He couldn’t manipulate his feelings if there weren’t any, and he’d never encountered someone this empty before. Even his most broken pets, even those right before death, there had been something, not just a horrible numbness. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

 He gave up after a while, allowing Silas to just lay in bed as long as he wanted. He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t sure how to handle it. When being kind and gentle didn’t work usually pain did, but he hardly reacted to that. He wasn’t quite sure what to do now.

 He spent most of the evening pondering it, and finally he figured he should ask the girl. He didn’t like her at the best of times, she was even more difficult than Silas had been, and he’d never met a lady as crude as she was. Still, he had to admit that she knew him far better than he did, if he couldn’t figure this out, then maybe she could.

 ***

  “What’s wrong with him?” 

 Dahlia looked between Alastair and Silas, not even sure how to answer. She’d been dragged out of her cage for this, Alastair insisted she could help. She had no idea what was wrong either though.

 “I’m not sure… you said he’s been like this since he woke up?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, but Silas only glanced at her, before looking back to the ceiling. She’d never seen him like this before either, and it was incredibly worrying. “Silas? Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of his eyes but again, he hardly reacted at all. “Um… I’m going to touch you okay, and I’m sorry for this.” She raised her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could, but he just flinched and turned away from her.

 “I already tried that, he barely even flinched.” Alastair sighed.

 “Then why did you let me do it?!” She snapped.

 “Partially because I thought it would be amusing.” He grinned, and she glared at him. “But I also thought it might shock him more if you hit him since I’ve already done that and worse.” She sighed, standing up.

 “Maybe he wants to be alone? Silas doesn’t like other people at the best of times, and if he’s acting like… this, then something is wrong, and the last thing he needs for us to be crowding around him. Maybe if we come back later he’ll be willing to talk.”

 “But… I want him to talk now.” The disappointment in his voice just made her angry but she tried to keep from lashing out. She was worried about Silas and if she wanted to see him again she knew she shouldn’t piss him off.

 “If you push him now he may just shut down further. Just leave him alone and see if he comes around, Okay?” The vampire clearly wasn’t happy about it but with an exasperated sigh he gave in. There was something satisfying about having the tiniest amount of control over him. 

 As she was led from the room she glanced back at Silas, curled up in bed, a blank look on his face. She prayed he’d be okay soon.

 ***

 He was relieved when they left him alone. He didn’t even want Dahlia there, not after what he did the night before.

 He wasn’t sick, and he wasn’t refusing just to be stubborn, he just didn’t have the want or will to force himself out of bed. He didn’t have the desire to speak to anyone, he didn’t want to even look at another person, he’d rather just be alone with himself. Even then, he didn’t really want to be himself right now.

 He didn’t want to get up and exist as a vampire. He didn’t want to see his reflection and those horrible red eyes. He didn’t want to drink blood, sleep through the day, live forever. He just wanted to be human. 

 At some point Elise came in the room, she brought a cup with her and set it on the bedside table, telling him that Dahlia had asked her to give it to him. He turned away from her, pulling the blankets up over his head. He knew what was in it, he could smell it from there, and it turned his stomach to know that she had to hurt herself to provide for him. He was hungry, incredibly so, but if he continued to accept her blood then he wouldn’t be any better than the vampires he hunted. 

 Hours passed before he had no choice but to sit up, reaching for the glass. He tried not to think too hard about it, just drink it quick and get it over with. Once he set the glass down he pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. He stared out the window, the room overlooked the forest that surrounded the mansion. 

 This whole time he’d been here all he wanted was to escape. He wanted his freedom back, he wanted to go home, he wanted fresh air. It suddenly struck him that he’d never see sunlight again. He’d never sit outside on a sunny day, he’d never feel the heat of the sun beating down on his back while he worked with Dahlia outside, he’d never spend a few hours outside in the summer and come back in two shades darker than he already was. He’d never feel the warmth of the sun again and he never even realized that the day he came here would be his last day in the sunlight. 

 It suddenly didn’t matter to him anymore, whether he escaped or not. Even if he got free he would /never/ have his old life back. Dahlia May accept him, but that didn’t mean that other people would, it didn’t mean other /hunters/ would. The people in town already knew him to be asocial and reclusive, they’d never question it, but they had to encounter other hunters all the time, they were raised by them. These people loved them like their own children, but how could they love a vampire? And how could he justify killing vampires when he was one himself? He was no better than them, he was a /monster/.

 He felt like this realization should’ve left him heartbroken, but he just felt numb. He didn’t want to fight and struggle anymore, he couldn’t die unless intentionally killed so he didn’t see a reason to fear Alastair anymore, and if he was a vampire then Dahlia was better off without him anyway, if she could be set free then he had nothing to worry about. This feeling, or lack thereof, this complete numbness, this “relationship” with Alastair, this mansion, this could be his eternity. He would be obedient, fawned over, grabbed and kissed and caressed. It made him sick. This was his eternity.

 ***

 When they came back at the end of the night he didn’t even move when they entered the room. It scared her a little bit. He’d at least moved from laying down, sitting up and hugging his knees to the chest, head turned towards the window. She was relieved to see he’d drank the blood she’d sent for him.

 Alastair stayed near the door while she went around the bed, stepping into Silas’ field of view. He didn’t move though, his eyes glanced to her, then back out the window. 

 “Silas… do you feel any better…?” She asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t respond, he didn’t even acknowledge that she said anything. She studied his face, but even after nearly a lifetime together she couldn’t see a single emotion. His eyes were blank, even when she put her face in front of his he seemed to just look through her. 

 Silas’ body was sitting there on the bed, hugging himself protectively, staring outside. Silas himself wasn’t though, he’d locked himself up somewhere else and she didn’t know if she could bring him back. She didn’t know if he even wanted to come back. After all he’d been through, she found that she couldn’t even blame him for that. 

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 8 - Meat Page 41

==>

Okay, Dirk’s gonna monologue about, like... acknowledging his villainy without realizing it I guess?

And if I didn’t bother pursuing those goals, and thereby tacitly accepting the untold suffering that resulted from my inaction, wouldn’t that make me a bad person? If I try and succeed, I’m a hero, right? And if I try and fail, at least I made things interesting on my way to the grave. There would be a tragic nobility in that. And the way I see it, settling for anything less from my arc would be, frankly, pathetic.

So yeah, of course I know I “have to be stopped.” It’s part of the contract. What you sign up for when you assume the burdens of this sort of power. Where there is that which must be subdued and suborned for the greater good, there is that which will instinctively resist. That which intuits that whatever’s going on here is “wrong.” Otherwise, intervention wouldn’t even be necessary, would it?

Yeah, the Heroic and Just death parameters I outlined in the Ultimate Riddle post pretty clearly line up here that he’s fucking shit over in a way he refuses to truly believe is going to end up in his Just demise even if he knows it on some level.  Fucking over everyone’s wills like that?  Fuck you.

Only worthless people permit themselves the great luxury of a valorous sacrifice. 

JUST.  FUCKING.  DEATH.

Mhmm, he knows he’s going to get fucking owned.  Just a little sooner than he thought, I’d reckon.

...geez, I’m going to forget to fucking EAT again today if this epilogue goes on much longer.  Maybe I’ll have to blog the Candy part, like, tomorrow or something.  If I can convince myself to SLEEP instead of reading more, that is.

==>

Thank God all the manipulation is reversing itself.  Keep playing into it and letting it happen you pompous ass, Dirk, it was inevitable.

Couldn’t pay me to be in that room right now. Not for all the agency in the world.

Yeah, agency is the word.  Dirk is aiming for infinite agency at the expense of everyone else’s.  His God-Tier powers crush others’ individuality and let him puppeteer them instead, and it’s what he’s been using all along to manipulate the situation in this story.

they will know what to do, when they are ready.

On the one hand, thanks alt!Callie.  On the other, seriously fuck you alt!Callie for taking Jade out of the story AAAAGAAAAAIN.  D:<

neither she nor her friends will have to worry about him anymore, so long as they remain on this planet and under my protection.

Um, that was phrased ominously potentially.

huddled on the floor, she repeats this pledge to herself. theoretically, he could be stopped before he leaves, if they hurried. they would need to know what to do, where to go, and to have the motivation to do it, but time is short. i could push them to, with a certain degree of intervention, but i will not. my unwillingness to do so is what separates me from him. and what corporeal life needs now is someone presiding over them who is nothing like him at all.

FUCK YES, PRESERVE THE WILL OF THE CHARACTERS INSTEAD OF TURNING IT ALL INTO YOUR OWN FANFIC YOU BEAUTIFUL CHERUB

Also, thought that occurred to me at the end of this page... did Dirk potentially arrange John’s death here to keep his retcon powers from being able to stop him?

==>

Epilogue Eight

Okay I’m churning through this all pretty quickly now that there isn’t a bunch of hyperdense prose in the way.  Excellent conversation between characters, furthering the plot along while engaging in very understandable hilarity.

KARKAT: TELL HER TO REGISTER MY HEAVING BULGE AS A PRIORITY!!!!!

Wonk

I don’t THINK I’m reading this any faster than usual, but it FEELS like I am? Maybe because of the format, or maybe I really AM reading it faster to get to Dirk’s fucking comeuppance as fast as goddamn possible.

Pfff, cosplaying as Dave.

KARKAT: WOW! THE WOKEMASTER IS ON FUCKING FIRE FOLKS! HE’LL BE HERE ALL NIGHT!!!

I love this whole conversation

ROXY: awwwwwww ROXY: u boys cute :)

<3

Alright, Jane doesn’t kno-- wait, you’re not looping her in on this?  I thought she’d join in and get, like, a redemptive character arc.  Oh well, lesstimespentonthatthebetterhurryupandkickDirk’sass

Wait, so Roxy didn’t know John wasn’t coming back?  Calliope did though???

Is the only reason Dirk took Terezi along to keep her from giving them info, or... no, he said MORE of them would eventually come, what the fuck is he even planning?

they will believe they are on a quest to retrieve a wife and rescue a friend. but they will discover their true mission is of much greater cosmic significance than they imagined. the seer is firmly in the thrall of the prince and will not easily be pried away. and as regards the heir, though resuscitation remains a theoretical possibility for those still striving for it, the truth of his role is it has reached a greater sense of narrative finality than any of his allies will bring themselves to admit. his influence over canon has come to an end, as has this particular story. his ultimate sacrifice was made to put the missing keystone in place and avert the supreme dissipation of all that shall be considered to hold truth, relevance, and essentiality.

...Huh.

Okay, so they MIGHT have to accidentally create Paradox Space, and regardless by stopping Dirk they’ll be guaranteeing agency as a right to those who live both within and without the confines of... whatever existence even is anymore.

......This ship chase through Paradox Space of cosmic significance sounds disturbingly familiar to old pictures I used to verbally paint about the endgame, and I refuse to think about that idea further.

And we’re returning to black text, from the sound of what alt!Callie is saying.  Let’s do that.

==>

POSTSCRIPT?!?????

POSTSCRIPT?  P O S T S C R I P T?!??!?!??!?!??

IS THIS FUCKING OVER OR SOMETHING? IS THIS NOT GETTING RESOLVED WHAT THE FLYING FUCK AAA OKAY CALM DOWN CALM DOWN BOOTS AND READ

fuck my stomach’s clenching up again oh god

artillery what the fuck

aradia okay

WWWWHAT THE FUCK SIXTEEN YEAR OLD JADE WHAT

JADE FROM THE BLACK HOLE GOT SPIT OUT HERE OR

OKAY WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN GOING ON HERE BLACK EYES AND SHE’S A MURDER MACHINE OKAY WHAT

WHAT IS ALL THIS BULLSHIT WHY IS AN ANGSTY DARKJADE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE ALTCALLIE CONTROLLED DOING FLASHY BULLSHIT

“no being has ever commanded before” WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEA-- OH SHIT IS IT LIKE BLACK HOLE ABILITIES

LIKE, FUCKING, BLACK HOLE INSTEAD OF THE GREEN SUN ABILITIES NOW TIED TO HER AND SHES BEEN CONTROLLED BY ALT!CALLIE LONG ENOUGH TO GET HERE OR WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO JADE YOU FUCKING STORY GET OUT OF HERE

davebot.  why a davebot?  davebot.

I’m feeling fucking sick.  Okay what’s about to happen.

Okay so this Dave is like from some other timeline split and got botsaved or something sure whatever

okay some of the others are going off into this... “OTHER UNIVERSE???” too???? or other paradox space or some fucking bullshit???

also scrolling up i missed “Jade was sixteen years old when she showed up, and she doesn’t look a day older now, though many hundreds of days have passed” o kay are these ghosts???

Oh FUCK I CAN BREATHE

i can breathe again

fuck, these are like

im guessing these are... other ghosts or former-ghosts or basically everyone that huddled into the black hole, and aradias there because of course or something, this isnt dirk having won and reached his place or whatever

this is the jade alt who fell into the black hole and must have died hence her perpetually-young look, and now that shes in the black hole she has access to black hole powers

REAL JADE is FUCKING FINE

breathe boots breathe god damnit

okay reading, uh

a-all the action that matters f fuck i dsee the end of the page what thej fuck s how oculd it enduhyere kanaya has an enddless chase for her ff-fucking wife or while she’s being mind-raped by dirk orasdf jklfdk adn dshes gonan be in a stupdi metal body or

im really

really gonna need that candy after this

reading that last few paragraphs SHIT

yeah aradias going to go where all the exciting shit is happening in this new... black... hole... adox space or whatever, or wherever this is or

Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

And... that’s the final line between Canon and Non-Canon.  Or whatever terms.

Andrew’s done.  The story’s done.  Everything else about their journey is for the imagination alone.  Did they save Rose from Dirk taking her through a portal or whatever to whichever Dirkverse he was conjuring up or whatever theory bullshit i REALLY DONT WANT TO THINK OF OR THEORIZE ABOUT EVEN EVER about what the fuck dirk was trying to pull with all this SHHHHITT!!!!!!!??//?

I... christ.  I need that Candy section.  And I need a drink.  Fuck this I was gonna break for dinner but I’m continuing once I get a beer.  I’m sweating and unhappy.  Like I should be after eating this many pages of raw meat, shouldn’t I?

Next post will be Candy 1 once I confirm that there’s nothing else I’m missing, no other part of this portion to save me from wanting to vomit in an entirely anxious and non-beer-related way.

Fuck.

[birthshidden-blog]

Mun:

   Name: Tara   Age: 24+

Muse:  

   Name: Hunter & Veronica Bellows    FC:  Freddie Stroma & Allie Gonino

Rules:

NO GODMODDING: A little bit is okay here and there but please. Nothing big. If it moves the story along and your muse is simply flowing, go for it. But these are my characters and I would prefer to play them how I see fit. That sound fair right?

MUTUALS ONLY: I really hate to say it, but as it tends to make me uncomfortable when people jump into my inbox or IM’s with things when I’m not following them, its gotta be said? I usually look through my followers every so often though so if I’m going to follow you back, it should be fairly quickly.

REBLOG KARMA: I do not participate in this. If you do not want to send something in, by no means do you have to. That being said, I will also not re-read rules each and every time I see a meme on the dash just to check for this in other peoples rules. I’m sorry but? That’s a lot of extra steps? If I do it and it bugs you, feel free to softblock me unless we have threads together or something and then just tell me. I’m not gonna lie. I’m more likely to remember the rule if I actually know you, otherwise telling me once isn’t gonna do any good. It’s stupid I know, but so am I.

VERSES: Unless otherwise requested, I will place my muses in whichever verse I deem fitting. I would be more than willing to plot something out before hand with you though so all you need to do is slip me a message and we will figure something out! You have no idea how much I love to plot things. That goes for AU’s as well. I love them to pieces.

SHIPS: I ship Chemistry. I will not force a ship on you and if you are feeling as though I am, please come and tell me. I will change whatever it is that is making you uncomfortable though I do expect the same from you. And as for smut, I am of legal age (as listed above) so I am able/willing to participate, though I will not be engaging in any such threads if you are under 18. Sorry! That’s the general rule though so, I’m sure you’re all used to it by now ha.

SHIPS CONTINUED: Just in case this ever comes up, I am more than willing to discuss ships with the other 43 children whether they be adopted into the Academy or not. As they never grew up with any of them and therefore is in no way related by any bond. This should be obvious, but … like I said, just in case!

FORMATTING: I do not mind how you format to be honest. Although I DO prefer small text paired with icons (gif icons are okay as well, though just know I ONLY use icons), if that isn’t something you do, it’s okay! You CAN copy my formatting if you wish, but it is unnecessary, as I will NOT do the same in return. I’ve grown used to my formatting. I realize that this seems to be a large topic of discussion around here, but it’s all good to me haha.

OC’s: I’m open to the idea of OC’s as long as they make sense. Though I usually love all OC’s as long as there is some obvious effort in the creation process.

[yenni19]

Chapter 12

(This scene contains sexual language)

Phara looks down at her feet embarrassed as her own mate is right in front of her

Iroku(grabbing her hand): come with me you will be staying at my place from here on out....don't worry about the elders they are judgemental with everyone

Phara(nervous): but we are told to never stay in the mates home only at the communal house set up by the elders

Iroku: well if they want a promising shinobi child...they would have to abide by my rules....no questions asked....and besides I'm the one empregnating you

Phara(turning red): I don't think it's proper to talk vulgar in that way...

Iroku stops and turns to her, he notices through her thin veil she's embarrassed

Iroku: I always talk this way.....besides its not vulgar I'm just straight forward with words

Phara(bowing): My apologies sir...I didn't mean to upset you I'm any way....

Iroku(irritated): stop bowing and apologizing...I'm no king just a strong shinobi...taking on this task was not easy for me either

Phara: we were taught to apologize first even if we did no wrong.....

Iroku: don't treat me as a duty because of who you are....just treat me as a normal person...like a friend

Phara: ok.....I'll try my best

They arrive at Iroku's home, as she enters inside she is shocked at how organized and tidy everything looks

Phara: wow....its so clean....

Iroku: what did you expect a mess....if you didn't know I'm very high maintenance...I've been that way ever since childhood...thanks to my mother

Phara: sorry again.......I've heard stories by the other birthers that men were messy....and lacked any sense of cleaning up after themselves

Iroku: sorry to bust your bubble...but I was raised by a very strict woman....she taught me everything I know....and didn't like lazy children...productive children who knew housework was better than a rebellious messy one...or so I was told

Phara(looking around): oh you have books....but there nothing like the ones we read (walks over to pick one up) there more detailed and vibrant in color

Iroku(behind her): yeah they are stories or folktales passed down in paper formats....we like to keep occupied even though we are at war at the moment

Phara(turning to face him): your so tall....and very broad shouldered...(touches his chest) were you always tall even as a kid?

Iroku(nervous): yeah as a twelve year old I look fourteen and when I hit the seventeen mark I looked twenty after that I stopped growing

Phara(taking off her head covering): well...you said to take my head covering off once we were alone....

Iroku(mesmerized): you....look.......beautiful.....your hair is a dirty dark blue with blond tips halfway down (cups her face) your eyes are a refined Grey like the clouds on a rainy day....you even have a beautiful figure......

She kisses him and he receives her kiss, he picks her up and takes her to the bedroom, she takes off his shirt once placed on the edge of the bed

Phara: your chest is so big (grabs his hand) and your hands are larger than mine

Iroku: is that a problem?

Phara(embarrassed): no I was always told that men with large hands.....had a way with women

Iroku(smiling): well let me undress you and you'll find out...I can't hold back any longer

Iroku undresses Phara, she stands there nervous as he undresses himself, she blushes as she stares at his shaft

Phara(tomato red): you are so big how will.....

Iroku: not yet I have to please you first....

He kisses her as she is in a sitting position, Phara moans as he is strumming her insides with his large fingers careful not to make her lose her virginity

Phara(aroused): what are you doing......ahhhh....nnnnoooo....not there

Iroku: let me help you relax Phara....its the only way I'll enter you

Phara(out of breath): ok.....ahhhhhh......I can't take it I feel a tingling sensation

Iroku(stopping himself): good your pulsating against my fingers....time to enter you

Phara(aroused): ok....enter me I can't hold myself back anymore.....

Iroku enters his shaft inside Phara, she stiffens just a little but lossens up as he starts moving inside her, Phara moans as he moves faster causing them both to climax

Iroku(tired): I never expected sex to be this exciting....what about you?

Phara(nervous): it was the loviest time of my life....you had me speachless and you were amazing....I don't want it to end

Iroku(grabbing her and sitting her up): fine I guess we continue where we left off....

He kisses her as he softly pinches her nipples, Phara moans and he chuckles as she enjoys his sexual affection towards her

Phara(moaning): Iroku I feel that funny feeling again....

Iroku: just lose yourself to that pleasurable feeling....trust me it's better than the first....

Phara turns to him kissing him fiercely on his lips, she sits on his lap as she positions his shaft inside her, she moans as she sits on top of his shaft rubbing against it

Phara: I'm pulsating again Iroku....I can't stop moving on top of you....I feel like I'll lose it....

Iroku: it's ok just finish.....keep going I'm almost there.....

They climax for the second time....Phara and Iroku hold eachother as they lay down on the bed

Phara: it was the best the second time around...Iroku....I think I'm falling for you

Iroku: it's ok....I think I love you Phara....

They spend the rest of the evening together in bed with one another

------------------------------

The Uzumakis and Uchihas are in the living room hearing Phara's story

Phara(smiling): for the first time in my life I experienced love so pure and honest. Iroku Minato's father was everything I wanted in a man....honest pure with his emotions....always willing to lend a hand.....and very protective of me....even if it was going to be a short time with the Namikaze clan I wanted to cherish moments like the ones I had with Iroku....but everything changed once I had Minato and Iroku was forced into taking in a wife he never loved....and after that I was forced to leave the clan and sent back to the birthing temple....leaving the product of our love with him.....and his new wife....then a year later I met Rozu my second mate....we didn't see eye to eye but he showed me love in a different manner....by small gestures or small compliments he was a hard shell to crack

Phara goes back to the time she and Rozu met under dire consequences, Phara was with the elders of the Uchiha clan as she witnessed the hier of the clan argue with his father

Rozu(angry): I will lead the clan but with no hier....I don't need a woman telling me what to do father!

Uchiha elder: you need an hier....and the birthers are the up most respected women....she can give you a strong Uchiha child...

Rozu: I said I don't want one so send her away.....for all I know under that head covering she might be ugly....

Irritated Phara took off her head covering, Rozu who wouldn't shut up, stood there in silence as the crowd gasped to see her face

Phara(angry as she approaches Rozu): does this face look ugly to you....because the only ugly thing i see in this room is your attitude...so if I were you I would make a change starting with that attitude of yours

Rozu(mesmerized): you....how dare you....do you know who......

Phara: no I don't know who you are.....but I know one thing....I don't think this arrangement will work out (walking out of the communal home) I'm leaving and going home.......because I'm too ugly for the new leader of this clan

Uchiha elder: please you are our last chance....don't turn us down like every birther has.....we need you to produce an hier....I know my son is rough around the edges but just stay a week....just one week to prove he has a soft side

Phara: alright....a week....but if nothing changes...I'm going home

The elders leave and she is stuck with Rozu....the roughest of the group....but Phara wasn't that innocent girl anymore...after what happened she became cold as well and tougher than most birthers

Phara(walking to her room): I'm going to bed...see you...

Rozu(grabs her hand): why would you even want to....I'm liberating you from your duties as a birther...you don't have to be here

Phara: even if i was sent away....another of my sisters would be brought here....and I wouldn't live with myself if you treated them wrong....so id rather stay and play it out to see where this goes

Rozu: why do you care for them....and those stupid head maidens....they obligate you to have sexual relations with strangers like a whore in a brothel....

Phara(turns around and slaps him): we are not whores.....we are birthers made to give birth to children of the clans since we are no longer useful to the Otsutsuki (pulls her arm away) how dare you disrespect our culture

She runs into her room and shuts the door, she sits there crying the rest of the night, she wakes up and makes breakfast only to find a meal ready for her by Rozu

Phara(picking up the note): I'll be back.....had clan meetings...don't wait up for me...your allowed to roam town if you like....with or without your head covering....I won't force you to wear it (sighs and she puts down the note) so he does care....he's such a troublemaker

She heads out to see the town, she was amazed of how many stands there were and how lively the people were

Phara: so where to start.....oh I know the fruit stand

She goes to the fruit stand and picks out mango, strawberries, and kiwi she pays for them and walks around town before heading home, once she gets there she cuts up the fruit and places it neatly on the plate and writes 'thank you' on the note Rozu already wrote on with a smiley face

Phara(smiling): hope he likes it.....

Rozu(behind her as he enters the house): hope who likes it?

Phara picks up the plate and walks over to him, as she gets close she slips and Rozu tries catching her, but instead he ends up on top of her

Phara: sorry for the mess......

Rozu: its fine....I'm not upset

Phara: Rozu your staring at me

Rozu: I know...I can't stop looking...because I want you Phara....right here and now

Phara(admitting): so do I....Rozu....now take me and deflower me.....

Rozu kisses her intently and she kisses back wanting more of him. She moans as he undresses her on the very floor and touches her intimate spot she screams

Phara: oh Rozu...not there im sensitive right now!

Rozu: I want to kiss every part of you....

Phara(gasping): then do it....take me and fulfill my desires

He licks her clitoris making Phara scream in pleasure he lifts her up on his waist and carries her to the room continuing the foreplay

Rozu: why do u captivate me Phara?

Phara(heavily breathing): because Uchiha boy....I'm different from other women...I don't submit easily

He continues by stroking her and she moans at the sensation of it, building up the climax she moans louder as he strokes faster

Phara(on top of him): I can't take it anymore....fill me with your shaft

Rozu(sitting up): then have your fill....I'll enjoy it too

She starts moving as she is already on top of him his shaft hard enough going deep inside her, within minutes they climax as they finish laying together

Rozu(out of breath): Phara.....I want you to run away with me....before you give birth.....I heard about you and the Namikaze guy.....I want to save you from a heartbreak.....I want a life with you Phara.....a family filled with happiness....when I saw you take off your covering I saw a rare beauty like never before....Phara I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you

Phara(facing Rozu): really....you want a life with me....a birther....

Rozu: yes....I won't stand it if you had to go through falling in love again if it's not me.....then you can run away with me and we start fresh

Phara(crying): thank you Rozu....thank you for loving me eventhough we just met

[askmadampresident]

((This is a mild PSA about some recent drama, If you’re honestly sick of it, trying to avoid it or don’t want to hear it go ahead and skim right by this, otherwise I personally don’t want to just ignore this, but after this post, this ask blog shall move on resume as usual, continuing with the latest M!A with Prez getting slapped for every stupid idea :3))

((for those wanting to read on it’s all under the cut, and all of it is ooc))

I’m going to be honest. I’ve thought about this for awhile and I legitimately do not know how to phrase this no matter how much I think about it so, I’m just going to ramble and share my thoughts and hopefully not offend anyone.

Alright, heeere we go, moment of truth, moment I’ve been dreading for two days

alright for those of you going what the hell lemme give you a breif rundown of the situation: As brief as I can put it, this recent thread sparked quite a bit of controversy in the discord under the accusations (none of which I deny, let me make this clear) of unnecessary angst and lack of proper tagging.

I don’t know why but my brain is going into speech and debate mode so I guess i’m formatting this like an LD round argument now, but essentially I’m going to go over my defense, the counterarguments against my defense, and finally a summary to conclude

welp defense time. In my defense, I’ll address unnecessary angst first and foremost, while I do admit that thread was going overboard the way I RP is I am given a situation, or some sort of stimulus essentially, be that an ask, a thread, an M!A, an IM, etc, and what I do is I react as the character to said stimulus. The argument can also be made that I did not need to reply to said thread, that at the sight of it going overboard I could have stopped, BUT you see, the thing is I honestly can’t not reply. I have 4 prominent mental disorders, one of which being OCD, which I was very recently diagnosed with. Whenever there is a thread or a message or something and it doesn’t feel complete and it’s my turn to respond, I HAVE to respond, otherwise it can sometimes bother me for weeks on end. I don’t mean to use my mental disorder as an excuse, since that is just honestly a dick move and because either way I am still at fault, I still made the choice, even if my mental disorder caused my decision to lean toward one side more so than another. The argument could also be made that I did not have to write out that scenario and that I could have had Prez do something else, but you see, doing that would actually bother me more than not replying. Because it really, really rEALLY bothers me when I don’t play a character as accurately as I can, and it just feels so ooc and I just cannot stand that feeling at all, so I suppose yeah I made my decisions, and yeah, in retrospect they were wrong, but I honestly wouldn’t have done anything different now because it would really bother me, call me selfish, but that is how I feel.

Okay I’m just re reading this and whoops looks like I’m doing the counterarguments on the way oh well, it works

As for lack of tagging… I have no excuse, I completely forgot and that’s all there is to it. I mean I have the classic defense of “You could’ve just not read it” But that’s just dickish and shifting the blame on others which I will NOT do after a lot of people have thrown blame around ann it just… it disgusts me, all are at fault in an argument, it’s not just ever one person and if you disagree with me on that then please do not talk to me. We will never see things eye to eye if that is the case, and I would rather not have all that conflict in my life. Anyway, that defense is really just rude and I do not have any excuse to defend myself with so yeah I just outright forgot and I apologize. In the coming days I’ll be getting to work trying to tag what I can but please if you want me to tag you triggers please tell me what they are so I can tag them, otherwise I honestly won’t know.

On that topic please allow me to at least explain why I space about triggers since I believe everyone at least deserves the chance to see a story from both sides, but if you don’t want to hear it just skip over the next paragraph.

I’ve got two things here to address, my lack of triggers and my accidental habit of spacing about tagging things. As for my unfortunate habit, remember how I said I had 4 prominent mental disorders? One of which is bipolarity. I’m currently having a passive manic episode, and for those who aren’t familiar, having bipolar means having episodes of mania or depression that can last months on end, it’s not just a thing that happens and is gone in a day or two. As for why it’s important that I’m in a manic episode, for me this manifests on inability to focus on one thing at once, I have to be doing 10 things at a time or I can’t focus and get extremely bored extremely quickly and make extremely stupid and impulsive decisions, essentially I cope by doing too much at once, and unfortunately, that translates to me missing small details and sometimes large ones, and in this case that translates to forgetting to tag things, then remembering I forgot later, only to get completely distracted before I can, repeat. Then my lack of triggers… yeah this is ‘fun’, and well my manic episodes also come with minor suppression of empathy, so I at the moment cannot understand people who get triggered easily (in my depressive episodes I understand all too well and it affects me greatly then, but during a manic episode all that empathy boils down into sympathy which is something else and not completely synonymous with empathy, especially when talking in psychological terms) as well as a second factor here which is that a third mental disorder I have is severe anxiety. What does that have to do with it? Well you see I’m extremely strong willed by nature and well over the years I got reprimanded so often that I wound up sealing myself off, I made it so that nothing got to me that way I wouldn’t be anxious anymore, and as such the lack of triggers, or at least that’s the theory my therapist has. Nonetheless there are a few things that still make me breakdown in terrible panic attacks, where I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t anything and I get violent if anyone tries to touch me. Such an attack nearly occurred when this discourse initially started, due to one of those few things being reprimanded by not one but many people I respect. I spent the next two days off of social media and trying to not fall apart, and only just succeeding.

AGAIN the fact that I have mental disorders in NOT to me a valid excuse for my actions! I still chose to do it and I accept full responsibility for any pain I’ve unintentionally inflicted, and I hope to do all I can to prevent it next time. If there is a next time, I do hope not.

All in all, I’ve spent two of my evening writing this, part of me being angry and upset about how this went down and because of the respect that I have now lost for some of the people whom were involved, part of me wishing preventative measures had been taken such as alerting us that we were going wrong beforehand or getting on our case about taggs early on, and part of me, the logical part, is jut ready for this to be over, but also knows that if I don’t publicly address it I’m pretty much digging my own grave, and seeming like I do not care or am a coward for not getting to this, of which I am NOT.

I thank those of you whom have read this far and listened to my little unorthodox part apology part summary part rant, because honestly it means a lot that you’re putting the time in to look at something as long as this since I believe that everyone should be allowed to know the full story before continuing on.

Well that and the fact that this is literally the blog of the biggest politician in gloomverse I’m surprised people actually care so much about it.

So thank you once again, get ready for more content momentarily~!

[heromanvasco]

☣ Have you ever rp'd with someone you knew for a fact was abusive but tried to give them a chance/to make up your own opinion on the roleplayer? Did they change or did you understand what people were talking about?

Taken from meme: [x] ||No longer accepting||

Warning: This will get long and I will be very mad as I recount this story. Sorry for me getting really riled up about it, but ughhhhhhhhh I just can't. I have to tell the full story to really get the point across.

OKAY SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT A PERSON. This person literallybecame the bane of my existence even though I didn't actually interact withthem in the truest sense.

Even though I wish for nothing more than for them to trip over arock and land on a pointy rock, I am still a bit grateful towards them. I'llget on that a lil later down the line.

Let's start with how I know them. As we may probably know, I'vestarted Tumblr rp'ing as an indie, with Haru Miura as my muse. A lot of theissues I have with tumblr rp'ing came about on her blog mainly. Ahahahathere were some hard times, but I stuck with it. I love Haru too much to justditch her, in other words. I'm a stubborn mule, what can I say?

Anyways, she's from the series: Katekyoushi Hitman Reborn! andthere are a lot of attractive male charas in the series. This fandom is justnotorious for the yaoi shipping. Like it's very hardcore. There are sometimeshetero ships too but not a lot of it.

Let's put it this way: I've been turned away many times with the'but my muse is gay' excuse. Like---- okay? Did I ask to get in their pants?No. Canonically, Haru is die-hard in love with 'Tsuna-san' so what now? Don'tuse that against me. B[

Again, lots of very attractive male charas... and these musesattracted a certain muse from the DNangel series. (yes the same one I mentionedin a different ask if you read that one) Daisuke has forever been ruined and Irefuse to even try to read the series because the situation just gave me somuch stress.

So the muse was set to a very young age, most probably the canonage. I forget if that meant he was 16 or younger. I don't know the series so Idon't know the age. Let me tell you, I have so many issues with the person. SO.MANY.

Where to start? There is the fact that even without eveninteracting with the muses to start, they'd instantly try to form relationswith them. Sending some suggestive memes or asks. You cannot just go to aGokudera and have Daisuke glomp him. It doesn't work that way? If you knowGokudera, you should know that he does NOT take kindly to people who act toofamiliar.

The mun could NOT understand for the life of her that mun=/=muse. They kept sending anons about why are they so mean? Be nice to that'Daisuke kid'. Um... no? How about you calm down a bit and actually try tointeract rather than jumping the gun? It was in their rules they wantCHEMISTRY. They want to take things slow and not jump the gun. You broke so manyof their rules. You kept sending in anon asks and even if they tried to talk toyou on im, you'd try to play all the pity cards.

I will NEVER EVER live down the fact that you told someone: I'mtaking medication because of you. It's because of you that I'm depressed so I'mtaking pills.

EXCUSE MOI!?!?!?!?!??!?? What is wrong withyou??????????????????? SHE ACTUALLY LEFT TUMBLR RP BECAUSE OF YOU. I LOST AFRIEND BECAUSE OF YOU. Then you have the gall to say that you never said it?I've seen the screenshots, don't mess with me.

I do NOT condone underaged things at all. Your muse is 16 andthere is no indication as to whether or not you (the mun) were underaged aswell. Of course people will be nervous about the way you kept trying to force18+ content on them. If you are underaged, that's illegal and that can makethings very complicated. People kept telling you they were uncomfortable withit, but all you'd say is: "Age is only a number!~"

YEAH? WELL, JAIL IS JAIL!

Now, I can think of at least 5 muses that I know were heavilyaffected by this person. I know for a FACT that at least 2 left because of themand their constant harassment. A very close friend of mine had to constantlytoggle between enabling and disabling anon asks because they'd send so many.

We don't understand how much anger and stress this caused me. Ireally detest seeing my friends bothered. Having two of them leave the rp sceneforever makes me so angry. They didn't really ever rp with any female muses.Only one that I saw and she was a space sheep alien... I'd show proof but theblogs have long since been deleted---.

Now, it isn't to say that they only targeted KHR muses. Therewere others too from DBZ, Jack Frost, Pitch, a final fantasy character (who Ican't remember), and many... many more.

If you didn't reply to them quickly enough, they would get madat you in im. They'd try to guilt trip you into answering quicker by sayingthings like they felt hated, why don't you like them? Are you avoiding them?Things of that nature. I've seen things of that nature from various people Italked to. I talked to a lot of people about their experiences with this mun.

You could see their ooc posts talking about how they felt and itsounded like this person just had a lot of self-confidence and perhaps trustissues. I know how that is. I felt maybe they were just misunderstood orsomething. IDK. I felt they could be given a chance to talk if someone tried toapproach them slowly. (more on this later)

Though I would look around and see all kinds of interactionswith other characters. Muns getting the same kind of harassments. It was evenWORSE when any of these muses interacted with a certain muse from the KHRfandom. Apparently the muses were dating? idk. Either way, Daisuke washorrendously jealous and territorial.

If you so much as interacted with that KHR muse or had anythingremotely flirty in thread, an anon was sure to tell you to back off. They'dgrill you with questions about 'how do you feel about them?' 'are you datingthem?' things like that. It's annoying. I saw those messages so much. That KHRmuse is sort of a main character so it's hard to NOT interact with them if youare in the KHR fandom?

Like what do you want? Chill out, boo.

I've seen many friends of mine just being harassed by anonsbecause they interacted with them. Hilariously enough that other mun didnothing about it. Even if people asked them to talk to that person. Make themstop harassing people. She apparently doesn't like drama and that's fine--- butif you are the REASON because a lot of the drama because your friend refuses tochill--- That is quite literally your problem.

I do not believe you are being a good friend if you allow suchbehavior to continue. Even if she had a reason to acting that horribly topeople, you could always try to explain to people so they understand. Whenpeople understand, they may be more willing to forgive. The fact that she didabsolutely nothing did absolutely nothing to help either of their case. In theend many people tried to avoid both muns.

I played a female muse so it was fine for me to continueinteracting with them though. I never got hassled by them. I unfollowed thatKHR muse the moment I saw that she went along with doing 18+ stuff with thatunderage muse. I personally couldn't do it. It made me think of something in myown past and it made me feel horrible. I still interact with them, but I don'tfollow em.

So I saw their condescending attitude on many blogs. This onepitch in particular kept getting hounded over why they wouldn't be kind to Daisuke.(We realize this is PITCH, yes?) They were getting hounded by anons over whythey wouldn't give Daisuke (a kid) a chance. Like, it's illegal, that's why.

They weren't replying quickly enough to the threads they onlydid in ask format. The person was getting upset with how 'slow' they werebeing. They had time for 'other people' so why were you avoiding their threads?Why can't you reply already? Then it happened: "I'll give you one morechance to thread with me."

Yes, that is what was sent. I'm dead serious. I got sent thattoo so I mean, yeah.

Let's move away from other people and let's talk about ME. As Isaid, they don't interact with male muses. The only muse that I could possiblyplay as (and was super duper attractive) was Shugarl. I had a lot of caps in mycomputer because I like his face.

I sort of rp'ed as him 2 years prior to that but it didn'treally last as the only friend I interacted with left tumblr rp because ofdrama. So I shelved Shugarl and the Knights from the 'Legend of the Sun Knight'series. So I was like okay why not.

They do know of me from Haru's blog, so I had to make analterego mun. I named them Jay. This version acts like Neo when she's justtired and done with the world. I had to pretend to be a new person. Iinteracted with a close friend who was hassled by Daisuke a ton, and then Iinteracted with the KHR muse that Daisuke apparently is shipping with. That'show Daisuke took the bait and contacted me.

It didn't take long. I mean if you look at how attractiveShugarl is, wouldn't you also bite? lol

Anyways, I tried to talk to them, but unfortunately at the timeI was really sick. I was on a lot of medication because of my gastritis. It wasmost probably stress induced but also because of my diet? When I'm stressed, Icrave spicy food. If you know those super hot fire noodles... let's say I livedon that for a while lol. So yeah it got bad. Just drinking water had methrowing up everything in my stomach. I lost 15+ pounds in under a month.

It was bad. My one medication had a side effect of extremedrowsiness. Let me tell you, EXTREME was right. I was constantly just passingout. So I wasn't around much to talk or thread. Let's say that started gettingthem mad.

Why wasn't I responding? Did I hate them? Stop ignoring them. Ikept having to sorta apologize for being 'busy' aka I was super sick but Ididn't want to admit that. I'm stupid like that, okay?

So I kept asking them how they wanted to interact. I didn't knowa thing about their muse so I asked for their about page. Or even a rules page.They didn't have one. Too much work. Okay no, they had an about page but it wasliterally like their url, the name, age, and gender or something. A very simplebio.

They told me to read wiki to learn about the muse. Are youkidding me? No rules because why do they need one? Mistake number 1. They keptsaying they read rules of many blogs but we know they didn't. They keptbreaking them. It was in Jay's rules to not pester them too much about activitybecause he was a busy college student.

Did that stop them? Nope. //squint

Now let me tell you, even if I was sick, I still visited tumblrevery day. So making them wait for 3-5 hours was too long. I was going to begraduating and I had finals. YEAH, I'M BUSY. I was also super duper sick. Iwon't be online every waking moment, please. Did that stop them from getting somad at me about it? Nope.

I told them that I felt that they were guilt tripping me becausethey kept lamenting over how people don't want to interact with them. They keepgetting 'bullied' by people. I told them that I felt they were guilt trippingme at the moment. They kept saying that they weren't before they blocked me.Then a week passed and they talked to me like 'sorry I accidentally blockedyou!'

Sure. okay.

So I was like 'okay we can thread but I want to talk to youabout how I felt you were guilt tripping me.'

INSTA-BLOCKED.

I'm not kidding. I got blocked by just that. Do you understandhow much my animosity spiked because of that? My blood was curdling I was somad.

So another like half a week passed and they say something alongthe lines of:

"I'll give you another chance, do you want to thread with meor not?"

"I already told you that I want to thread with you. Youkeep asking me this. This is the 5th time you asked me. How many times do Ihave to tell you yes? Do you not understand that I'm busy? I'm a collegestudent. I'm not always online. I also told you saying things like that isreally guilt trippy."

Insta-blocked. I was mad, so I went off so I can understand theblock.

Still.

After being blocked for the THIRD time, I soft-blocked them.They tried to follow me again and sent a message: hi! :) This time Iinsta-blocked them. Not about that life.

I love how they always started and talked with cat emojis. Bylove, I MEAN I HATE IT WITH A DIE HARD PASSION. It was like they cared fornothing that other people felt. It was their way or the high way. They couldn'tbother to learn to do anything for other people.

Don't get me started on the fact that they didn't tag anythingand they NEVER EVER CUT THREADS. NEVER. Do you know how hard it was for me tofind anything on that blog? One thread was over 100 notes long and it wasn'tcut. Let that sink in.

It was long.

I had them followed on Shugarl's first blog. Do you know what mydash looked like? It was one-liner 100+ note uncut thread HELL.

So in other words, I wanted to talk to them and be a friend.Someone that they could talk to. I tried to talk to them many times but theykept saying 'I'm feeling uncomfortable so I don't want to talk about thisanymore'.

Dude, one time all I said was: "I think you should tryputting up a rules page. A lot of people like seeing one."

"I feel uncomfortable so I want to talk about somethingelse."

.... wut. Like, WHAT? I was just... giving you advice? It wasthe start of our interactions too. I just-- what?

I kept asking them if they wanted me to write the starter andthey kept holding back like 'I want to talk it out first' because they didn'tknow my muse. So I explained to them and they kept asking stupid questions.

"So he's an angry human?" "I just told you he's a demon. Like, he’s a real demon." "Oh okay! :) So he's got special powers. He's got angelic powers?""No... I just told you he's a demon." "What powers does he have?" "He makes use of mathematical equations to summon blades and otherthings." "Oh okay."

5 mins later."Can you tell me more about his fire powers?" "... He doesn't have fire powers??? Are you even reading any of what I'msaying? You are the one who asked me to tell you about my muse. It's rude foryou to not be properly reading." "I don't feel comfortable anymore, so I'm going to go to bed. Bye! =^.^="

I legit felt like I got cancer from this person.

I'm so serious. I forever laugh how they tried to make mepromise to be nice to Daisuke.

"I can't promise that. Shugarl is a demon. He's not nice,but he can be nice towards kids sometimes. You need to make Daisukebehave."

"I can make him glomp him and have marshmallows!"

"He will literally kick Daisuke if you do that. I told youhe's not nice."

"He's such a meanie!"

"He's a literal demon."

It was like talking to a 5 year old.

So in the end, I tried to interact with them but they drove meso insane we didn't even get that far before I finally blocked them forever.

---

TLDR: I tried to give them a chance but I couldn't do it. Mypatience reached it's limit and I blocked them. This is the first and only rpblog I ever blocked to truly block them and not to softblock. All because ofthis person, the name 'Daisuke' makes me feel unjust rage, and I'll never everlook at DNangel the same way. I'll never even attempt to touch the serieseither.

[thehighnote-blog1]

unexpected green grass

oh boy, here we go again. this time i feel like i’ve found a glitch. this girl moves on her own, she does what she wants when she wants. she’s forward with her feelings and thoughts and opinions and is only sometimes passive aggressive about things, but clears up problems as soon as they arise. Things have been a little stressful so far, but I feel like the origin of the problem starts sooner than i even met her, but to get there i have to start with where im at, and how i got here.

right now, im at an intersection. i can turn two ways. left is home, the safe option, telling her im not ready for a relationship because lets be real, theres no way i am. going right means i go all in, i guess. she’d be my girlfriend. id be her boyfriend. there’s no way that’s possible right? it feels like it has been so long since anyone has acknowledged my presence like this, or felt this way about me. we have problems and she talks to me about them, and how to fix them. normally girls would just dip as soon as i did something weird, right? isn’t that how it’s supposed to go? normally i say some basic thing about how i feel or what i believe and they would just be turned off and dip right? anyways, this isn’t a path i imagined would happen. i went into all my previous dating whatevers trying to chase and chase because i thought the person was hella dope, and they did exactly what im doing to this awesome girl right now. i came to her with the intention of ending it before things got started, because she would get freaked out by something i did, because that’s what always happens. i had the intent on waiting for her to come to me when she wanted something serious, but in the back of my mind i was always sure that there was no way that that would happen, so i kept myself from getting too close. she points out that i remain distant, that i don’t open up, that i freak out when anything about my past comes up, and she’s right. that’s exactly what i’m doing, i cannot get over the fact that there is no WAY she could possibly want to be in a relationship with me because for the last two and a half years it’s been the same cycle over and over again of the same shitty ending every time. but clearly, this time, it’s not the same as those times. she has told me, to my face, that she likes me, and that she wants to be in a relationship with me. when i hear the words, they sound fake. my mind feels like its been trained to hear those words as lies or imposters or something that had no real truth behind it. but she said the words without any prompting from me, like it had been on her mind for some time, and like she was waiting for me to reciprocate. and hearing the words as the way i do with the thoughts of it not being possible eating away at me, i can’t reciprocate, because there’s no pathway i’ve seen or predicted or thought out where this actually happens, and what i say, and what happens next. i don’t know what happens next. 

*geez i need to start formatting*

i have this romanticized idea of my friends relationships and their social media appearances but when i hear from them its always shitty. they talk about doing nothing, and how miserable it is. i love being single. doing whatever i want, when i want, hanging with whoever until whenever, flirting with cute girls left and right, flicking them the smirk or the eye and giving them the tone in my words and movin on with my day and a mini confidence boost. my friends get straight up depressed when shit in their relationship isn’t going well. they are completely dependent on the other person it seems. when i’m chillin by myself i can get over whatever is bothering me by doing whatever the fuck i want about it. i don’t have to worry about it when i go to sleep, or when i wake up, or when i want a day to myself. like today, yeah i fucked up my plans and her plans but we resolved the issue, so we both took a day to recoup, and we were both cool with the plans dissolving. i still feel shitty about it and i don’t know how she can’t be salty about it she has to be hiding it from me i guarantee i’ll hear about it again this is what i mean it’s eating me alive that she can’t be salty about this but- today, i was chillin, we facetimed, everything was fine, we talked about cute shit and normal fun shit and then it dissolved into the crossroad. i tried to just get one, day, of not having to stress about her. or school. or friends. or anything. and i had that, until she brought all of this up. this is what i’m trying to talk about with relationships in general. i wouldn’t have this stress at all without getting into a relationship, continuing my single life. 

but this girl is sooooo fuckin dope. we listen to the same shit, she watches anime, cooks, has cats, is cute as FUCK, has a suuper nice booty, she cares about me, and her people, and she is such a good person at heart that has had the roughest of goes in this world and i want to jump in and spoil her and spend all of my time with her but after all of this shit i’ve been through, each time i’ve felt like this, each time i’ve come to this exact crossroad, everything goes to shit.

my body’s intuition, my gut, my subconscious, pulls me back. it tells me there’s no way you could do this. this isn’t a good idea, you’ve been here before and look where you ended up last time. 

this time is different. this girl has no connection to me. she’s from a completely different sample. all my past samples and experiences have come from the sample of gcu, or my high school, or something relating back to vegas. this is nothing like any of the previous samples, she’s from a completely different environment. a completely different upbringing. a different state, a different school, a different high school, two schools but college was the first one thx. 

the point is, this is a complete stranger. someone who doesn’t know anything about me from before the first time she met me. everyone else has a connection to my past. has seen or heard about some other side of me, or seen me in some other situation, how i act or how i behave. this girl has seen me for me, one on one, with her friends, with her friends friends, in public, etc, and still likes me. she’s seen my ex, has heard about my friends, my interests, my parents, my upbringing, my extended family, my school, etc, and is still around. today she told me she wants to hear even more about the things i like. 

i don’t know how, or why, this is happening. logically, this validates my inner question of am i even that cool of a person. am i that enjoyable to be around. this girl is the perfect control sample, to see me as i am right now, how i want to be seen, and she likes what she sees. that is all i could ever ask for. and she has verbally expressed that, clear as day. and she is cool as FUCK. i love spending time with her. she cuddles rlly nicely and she’s funny to listen to, i really like keeping her on track when she tries to tell stories bc shes a crackhead. 

i can’t shake the fact that it’s all gonna fall apart. i feel like i’ll do something to fuck things up, and i’ll have wasted her time. i’ve already done so many things that she should have left for, but she’s still here. i have been so shitty, yet she still asks me about what my interests are. i feel like i’m talking to a bot that won’t go away, that’s been assigned to me. like the universe has seen my struggle and as soon as i wanted to turn my relationship button off they put her in front of me, willing to come back every time i fucked up, trying to find out more about me or check on me after we fight due to my fuck up. 

how is this POSSIBLE. if i make this a relationship, am i taking advantage of her? how does she know she likes me that much? i feel like she barely knows anything about me. what if she realizes in a month that i’m really as boring and lame as i think i am, and she only likes me because i’m a boring but kind heart, nice to cuddle with and talk to about her problems. she dips and its right after i decided that she really was there for me, and that she was into me like that. 

as soon as i accept that what she’s saying is true, and i open up, i jump in, i make it public, i post some shit on social media, something goes wrong. something goes to shit. it ends. its gone sooner before i even realized we called it something. it happens every time. every time i believe someone else feels some way about me, they feel the opposite. here lies the conundrum. the paradox. the crossroad. 

do i accept that she likes me? believe that she means the truth, and that it won’t change at least for a while? risk that it might? or do i keep from being cut down by the cycle, hurt her feelings sooner just a little rather than my own a significant amount later.. how could she want something with me... i don’t understand

[omgshesbpd-blog]

TGIM (Thank god it’s Monday)

Can I tell you a secret? 

I hate the weekends, I really do. 

Every week I mentally prepare myself for those two days of freedom but I am always left feeling unprepared. 

I need to work.

I need a routine. 

I need a schedule.

A sense of purpose. 

Something to live for. 

Something to distract me from myself otherwise I just go into a full existential crisis.

Yesterday was a complete disaster, I was ill prepared for my two days of “tranquillity”, my “break”. I woke up after a lovely sleep, only to be hit with “Oh F**K. What am I going to do today??” 

I tried to be normal and just live in the moment but ended up catastrophising myself into a panic attack. 

I reached out to this poor guy who I have only seen a handful of times to come round, just for an hour just so I didn’t feel alone, scaring him away completely with my desperate “this is literally life or death for me, you don’t understand”.

See, he made the mistake of being there for me. He told me after I shared stories of my scars and he had witnessed a low, that I could talk to him anytime and he would be there. 

Boy, did I cling to that.

I am going to share with you the desperate messages I sent him, that humiliate me because I believe it is important for anyone with or dating someone with BPD to know how desperate BPD can be, how intense the emotions feel and how they take over, but also so you can see what someone without BPD goes through when the BPD’er is having an episode. 

When formatting my messages, each time I start a new line represents a new message I sent after he saw my messages and didn’t write back. I have also left all the spelling and gramatical errors in there so you can see how the desperation came accross in my messages, just getting it out as quickly as I could while he was still willing to listen. 

Context: I had had a rough Tuesday and we were meant to see each other on Thursday so I was holding out for it to relieve myself of my shit feelings as he became my chosen comfort person. Only thing is, he canceled, so not only did I not have my release, I started getting intense paranoia about being abandoned and... Well... I got weird. Then I would try and backtrack and not be weird, but it was weird. That weirdness fed my paranoia even more, so I was more concerned about being abandoned, and so on, so forth. 

FUN TIMES!!

The messages are intense, I know I sound crazy, and please, please don’t judge me; I’m hard enough on myself as it is hah. 😬

Here we go...

Me: this whole awkwardness is really annoying me but you won't let me see you to sort it out and reset haha so its just going to get worse until it gets to the point you legit just don't want to see me again which would be such a shame  you can't spare an hour at all this weekend? Just an hour, is all I need

Him: What awkwardness lol

M: the awkwardness I am feeling that is making me desperately want to see you so I can reset. Its manifested for me and I legit just need to see your face to reset and then I will be fine but atm I'm verging on playing push-pull games to get reactions because this situation that you might not feel is fucking with my head a little haha. Its only an hour of your time but would help me heaps

H: I just don't know where all this is coming from. You can play push pull games but it won't work. What's the situation??

M: yea because you can't understand it, honestly it is weird, I know. If you want to be friends and ease me of this, it would be really nice if you could please see me super quick. It would just alleviate so much of this crap I have built up inside that I can't put into words and would mean a lot to me. Please?

H: Just say to me now what you're feeling ill out you at ease

M: I told you tho it needs to be face to face, it doesn't work when i am reading my interoperation of you, it needs to be from you. if it is my interpretation of you than that is sculpted by my bias and insecurities because there is no tone in your words through text.

H: You're scared that I'm  going to disappear and because we haven't seen each other/ don't know when were going to see each other you feel lost and abandoned? Is that it?

M: yea but not in a because I have feelings for you and want to be with you kind of way, in a because you have in-printed on me kind of way and you matter. Your reply can be as reassuring as you can possibly make it but in my head, you not being willing to sacrifice an hour of your time to reassure me with actions in a way that words cant is just reconfirming that shit negative feeling for me. It's a tiny little action for you but a massive result for me, please?

You don't understand what it feels like, either. It is constantly on my mind and it actually hurts in my chest because of the anxiety I get and I am so wound up and fritzing out and it is driving my nuts that I want to just cut ties so I don't have to think about it, but I can't cut ties, all I can do is drive you away but I don't want to do that

I'm really trying here to change my behaviours. its so hard tho

H: I'm just heading out. I'll call you later?

M: my pulse is 103, I think I am about to have a panic attack. Usually an attack is an outlet for me so hopefully it will all figure itself out and I will just deal with it myself

I can't keep doing this forever, I can't keep working this hard. I just don't have the energy or resilience for it

You said you were my friend and always had time for people that needed it. I trusted you and I asked for your time and help, but you are making me go through it alone

H: Sorry I can't be there right now! Are you ok??

M: No

Im not. 

Im so tired of fighting myself

It's over now, my pulse is back down to 65. Fuck that is hard to go through, I have so much pain in my chest that I want to turn it into a physical pain that I can understand. I picture getting a knife and cutting deep into my flesh, watching the skin open up and the blood come out and if fills me with relief, tranquility. I don't want to tell people this because I don't want them to call the cops on me, but I am too scared to be by myself when I feel like that becasue I'm afraid oneday I will be too exhausted to stop myself from doing it, it is so taxing, it really drains me. I used to hit myself with a hammer so it would bruise and then poke the bruises when I was winding down so it would hurt, but not as much as when I first did it, which was beautifully inline with how my emotions felt; strong, but not as strong as when it first happened. I talked to my dr about it and he said to grab ice and hold it in my hands until it hurts as a safer alternative. I did it just then and it worked but now my hands are warm again and the feeling is bubbling up, there is no bruise to poke and I feel a bit lost. I guess I will just try holding onto ice for lesser periods? Sorry if that is TMI, but that is what it is like. It is that powerful.

I am still feeling really vulnerable and I need you to see me today please if you can make it happen because I am splitting a little bit with you, which is where the way I feel has changed. Justified or not, I feel really let down that I went through that just before and you hadn't heard me over the past few days when I said I wanted to see you. If this is all too much for you, then this is a good time for it to naturally end, the way I see you will change and that could be your exit? but if you don't want to tap out, then I do need to see you because I am hurt and it is legit the only way I can dissociate you from the pain I just had. Like I said, it is only an hour and substitutes wont work. I hope you are willing to do it

H: I think this is all a bit too much for me I'm sorry! But I feel really had for you as you're obviously fighting a rough battle But it's something I find hard to be a part of at the moment

M: That is really dissapointing.

H: But I will happily talk and try to help you feel better as i feel bad for how shit you're feeling!

M: I hope you never have to experience this sort of pain, and I hope if you do, the people you talk to about it don't ditch you because of it.

I told you I need to see you, it is one hour. I can't talk to you if you're not even willing to do that. It feels dirty to me

One hour, I really just can't believe it isn't something you are willing to give.

You say that inner pain is harmless because it doesn't affect other people, but then I tell you what true inner pain feels like and you ostracise me for it and make me feel like I am mental or you think I am going to hurt you or something.

Im so shocked

H: I'm out with friends at the moment. I feel trapped honestly

M: there is 11.5 more hours left of the day.

H: I feel that if I see you this is continue and will be a vicious circle

M: this is a wway more vicious way to leave things than seeing me for an hour to part amacably would be. do you know how scarred I am going to feel for this? I am embarrased and ashamed that I shared smething so personal and this is the consequenc. I feel sick about it, I will have to carry this wih me because you are too scared to face the uncomfortablity of feeling trapped enough to just come say goodbye and part on good terms.

H: You're jumping to conclusions

M: No, I am telling you how I feel. You don't want to see me today to give me the reasurance i need because the way I have acted has made you feel trapped. your decision is a consequence to my actions.

H: I would like to come and make you feel better but how you're acting comes across to me  as  manipulative

M: You just said that you don't want to come over because this is too much for you? I am not being manipulative, I am saying it honestly from my perspective. I am being bias because I know that you coming over would make me feel better going forward than you not coming over, so I am really fighting for it, but I am not being manipulative or using trickery to do so, I am trying to be completely honest and open with why I feel so strongly to the point where I feel like I need you to come over

I am not trying to get my way because I want to win and I hate not getting my way. I am trying to encourage you to come over because I am aware of what you have to lose by coming over is a lot less to lose than what I would if you don't come over. I want you to take that risk and I am trying to convey exactly what it is that I feel so you are able to have the full considerations of both sides when you are weighing up if you come over or not. That is not manipulative, it is my reality.

What time can you please come around?

please?

Please please

Pleeeeeeeeeeeese

It is really important to me

H: I may be able to pop round later. But don't hold out on plans. Is your friend coming over tonight?

M: I haven't heard from them but this is important to me so I can fit it in before or after they come over. It's my old flatmate and we are doing some coding so he will be gone by 7ish anyways

you think it would be before or after 7?

H: I think I'm going to struggle to make it today tbh

M: Why? You're in control of your own life, right? So can't you just fit an hour in somewhere?

H: Can we just talk on the phone and then have a proper chat next week

M: I told you, that won't work for me. Honestly I really can't grasp why you won't be able to make it? You have deemed something else more important, that's fine, but that's what it is

H: As it's a lot of change in just 24hrs. One minute you're happy to go and hang out and sleep with someone else (which is cool) and the next you're saying we have to meet today. If you're feeling really shitty I will take time out of my day to help you and speak to you on the phone as want to do that. What can I possibly do in an hour that'll settle you?

M: Its not really much change in 24hours, I have been telling you since weds how rough I was finding things, then you cancelled on Thursday, and then fri i tried to find something else to distract me, and today was just to much. I can't explain what would happen but I know myself to know it will help, please don't try and convince me it won't.

H: Your emotions seem to be really affected by me and it's freaking me out

M: they are not about you. if you want to be freked out and turn this into something about you, that is fine. I told you going in who I am, how I think, I sent you videos that explain why It think how I do, why it's not personal, and how it can be confusing. I have been completely honest and you told me I could trust you, now when it actually matters, you bail. That is really weak, I feel. I am weak within myself, but I try hard to be strong. I don't feel like you are trying at all to be strong for someone else and I am gutted I believed you

I know you want me to give you an out, to say something that goes a little too far so you can justify saying no to me, but I'm not going to do that. If you don't want to come round, that isn't because of me, it is because you don't want to

H: I don't want you  to say that

M: Don't want me to say what?

H: Say something harsh so I have an excuse

M: So tell me that you don't want to come round, or come round? i don't understand why it is complicated?

H: I wanted to come round. But I feel if I come round you will want me to help you and calm you down a lot. I don't think I can be that person to be relied on, I'm finding it tough now as it is. I don't think I can help you on the long runI think you need someone better than me and more well suited. And I know you're going to say we're just friends and I just need to calm down but why out of all your friends do you want me specifically to come over and help? I don't want you to feel shitty and I genuinely do want to help but I think I've already done more damage than I even meant to

M: Can you just trust me please and come round. You are making assumptions on how you think I am but honestly your assumptions are wrong. please, please just take a chance, trust me, and come around. Please Name. I don't have other friends I can talk to because I talk to people and they freak out and I lose them, so I don't talk to them - I thought you were different because you could handle what I was telling you, you didn't take it personally, you were mindful about it. I am getting help, you know I am, so you aren;t going to be my long term fix but you need to understand that if you are making the choice to not come around, it is for you, to look after yourself, not me. You aren't allowed to make decisions for me, I don't need "looking after", I need the benefit of the doubt that I do know what is best for me.

H: What is up that you seriously need to talk about? I will come if you just tell me

M: I just need the human connection, Name. Fuck, I can't explain it, I don't want you to have to convince you, I just need a person so I am not alone, just for one hour I just want to feel safe

I want to feel like I matter, that someone wants to be around me. I want a physical person being the evidence that my thoughts about myself and where I stand on this earth are a lie, I dont know how to put it in words, I just need it.

H: I don't understand as your friend is coming around in like an hour or two

M: Theyre not, I haven't heard from them, and its not the same. You said if I told you the truth, that you would come around, I told you the truth. 

Are you coming around or was my truth not a good enough reason for you?

"I will come if you just tell me"

And I told you.

Please?

H: I said I'll come if you tell me, so I’ll come over.

And he did. Poor guy, amirite? I feel so embarrassed and gross about this all, it is exactly why I am getting treatment because it is too much for me and the people around me to have to live with. 

This is me with some sense of awareness, you can only imagine how bad it used to be when I was completely ignorant to myself. A wake of distruction, I have just had so many incomprehensible actions and reactions in my past that will make you want to shake me and yell “WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU??”

With time, I hope to cover them all. 

The worst thing about BPD is feeling alone, I don’t want anyone else to feel alone, so if you can identify with me, please follow me and also share any resources you have that can help point me in the right direction for a happy life.

To prevent this from happening again, I think I am going to write a list of “crisis activities” as things I can do when I feel like I have nothing to do, but right now it is 12.40pm Sunday, I only have to be awake for 7 more hours until I can go to sleep for Monday and I don’t want to have to keep working on it. So, I think I am going to get day drunk.