#i have a System for doing things. and that involves filling in individual squares in an excel sheet

[elprupneerg]

the worst part of any creative project is when someone else sees what you're doing and goes "hey, i know a better way to do that, using this tool that will make it easier for you!" and they're so excited to help, and they take a bunch of time to show you the tool and how to use it to make things easier, and you sit there and nod and smile and try it out for yourself. and wait for them to go away and get distracted so that you can go back to doing it the original way because the tool did not make things easier and maybe is even more difficult due to not having a feature of whatever original tool you were using that helped with your personal process. and you don't wanna hurt their feelings about not using whatever method they spent all that time out of their day showing you

[onion-souls]

Radiant Citadel sets up this utopian refugee millet state with this very open-minded system of justice (and vigilantism) that also relies on terrifyingly vague rituals and banishment, so nice progressive system there

It's also an interdimensional refugee-absorbing port with a progressive tax system that relies on tarriffs and no productive hinterland (there's a magic crystal thing keeping the lights on and the vegitation alive, but that's not producing anything a trader would need or the city could give away)- maybe they have a "ritual" that lets you know a foreigner's assets back home. Transient caravan cultures trade what they have with them and would avoid a place that drains this much of their assets and has no wealthy buyers like a quarantined gnoll hive.

They also have this dumb fantasy bursking system that is absolutely not going keep the planar refugees fed and only going to lead to a population boom when bards swarm in.

Also I like the euphemistic way they lay out that a wealthy trader entering this port system will absolutely be shaken down by the cops. Who have a ritual that will keep them from making that mistake again, involving a truncheon and a sock filled with coppers

Yeah, really sensing a scary edge on this pro-"major trading companies" but anti- "individual sellers or producers" racket they have set up here.

The fossil layer that forms the foundation of the city also only seems to be less than a square mile, not counting the unlivable crystal and portal to the spirit plane? It's so sparse and without, say, a Manhattan style verticality? I mean, Vatican City is only 109 Acres (.19 square miles), but they're only supporting 900 or so people funded by the Church and its global reach. How is this a city featuring 27 well-established cultural communities and tons of planar refugees and traders?

Oh, I thought I'd be proven wrong and there's dozens of layers along that crystal, but no, just one even smaller ring below the main one. Maybe 1.5 square miles in total.

And the big thing that should make this place a hotspot in every planar war imaginable is kind of glossed over- resurrection spells do not need diamond components on this plane.

There's something really creepy and dystopian happening here, and you start to wonder about who's getting exiled and to where

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 1

Description: The local mafia has served Y/n well previously, but with the way things are going now, enough is enough. Instead of getting out, why not take everything down? So she makes a few calls, but things don’t always go to plan.

Word count: 2,205

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: fake dating

Warnings: none this chapter

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Remaining parts will be in the Bingo Masterlist

A/n: This is for @girl-next-door-writes‘s Make Me Feel Bingo. I wanted to write a specific scene and then made a whole AU in order for this to work and it became infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Enjoy! 

“Tell me a story.”

Chuck was a dangerous man. He didn’t look it, but he had an eye and a leash where you would never expect it all over the city. No one knew what he wanted, what his end goal was, maybe that was what made him dangerous.

Those words made me nervous. Chuck loved a good story and if the man next to me didn’t tell one up to his standard, then it wouldn’t end well for either of us.

This was all my idea. It was me who got the cops involved. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sam, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but-”

“What do you need?”

“The Fallen isn’t doing too hot right now.”

“I can help you get out Y-”

“It’s not as simple as when you slipped between the cracks Sam,” I hissed at him through the phone. I don’t know why I even tracked him down, he had a good life now, but I needed to do something.

“Simple? You know it wasn’t simple.” Sam sounded offended.

“Exactly. It wasn’t when you did it, and like Hell is it simple now. It’s a thousand times worse in every way since you left. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks- Someone’s coming, don’t contact me in any way for at least four days. You know the drill.” I hung up the phone and went on my daily business.

Four days later I received a text with a phone number in it, “He’s clean. He’ll help.”

I saved the number in my phone and deleted the conversation. I had to tread lightly.

I tried to control my anxiety. If I was found out I wouldn’t be surprised if Chuck burned the whole city to the ground.

So needless to say I did a fantastic job of hiding my anxiety.

Eventually, when I was sure that I was alone I pulled up the number Sam gave me. I guess it was now or never.

The phone rang a couple of times before a man picked up and rattled off his law enforcement credentials and his name. Okay, maybe this guy could help me.

I took a deep breath and spoke out loud the sentence I had been practicing in my head for the last few days which was a risk in and of itself, “I’m a high ranking member of The Fallen and would like to be of assistance in taking down the current, highly wanted, leader of said… organization.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, “Pardon?”

I sighed, my anxiety creeping back in, but what came out was an annoyed clip, “I said I’d like to snitch on my boss, a highly wanted individual, now can you help me get rid of him, or did Sam lie to me?”

“You know Sam?”

“Well, no der.” I tried to calm my beating heart, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, this was a mistake.”

“No no, wait.” I heard him swallow, “I’m going to talk to some people, let me see what I can do okay?”

My voice cracked, “Okay.”

The call ended, and all I could think was, Well there’s no backing out now.

Never before had I felt like I was in a dystopian novel more than this chapter of my life. I was nervous, like even the TVs were watching my every move to see if I was thinking traitorous thoughts, straight out of “1984.”

Every meeting, every glance in my direction, every moment of silence, and I swore everyone there already knew what I had done. But I kept a straight face in the serious moments, laughed when it was polite, and I wasn’t dead yet.

The day came when I met him in person. The safest place I could think of was my apartment. I paced back and forth for the whole afternoon constantly watching the clock, then it seemed like ten minutes after four it was six o’clock already. He was due to my doorstep any minute now.

A knock came to the door and I felt stone cold.

Slow steps took me to the sound. I opened the door a crack to see who it was. A tall man stood on the other side, in casual clothes thank goodness. He was casually looking around, but to the trained eye, I could tell he was watching to see if anyone was paying special attention.

“Yes?” Don’t give too much away, don’t volunteer any information. Yet.

He finally focused on me and I took into account the strong structure to his face, one could either call him intimidating or handsome, depending on his mood. Right now he was walking the line while leaning towards the former.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” he spoke quietly, his voice sounded very similar to the one I heard on the phone, but one could never be too careful.

“Oh? And what’s the connection between us?” I hoped my face was perfect innocence, but I knew my eyes were calculating and cautious.

“Sam.”

I closed the door to unlock the chain. I quickly let him in.

“I assume it’s safe here?” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be a problem.

I locked the door behind him, “As safe a place as any. I personally had soundproofing installed. Not many people come here, less chance for bugs. Neighbors are friendly, mostly elderly couples.”

“I was going to say, pretty small apartment for someone in the mob,” he extended a hand for me to shake, “Dean Winchester.”

I huffed, “Yeah, it’s kinda my job to blend in. Not all of us have Hollywood mansions. I glanced at him from the kitchen as I grabbed two glasses, “I see height runs in the family.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean sat on the couch in the living room.

I handed him a drink, “So...”

“So indeed,” he swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it on the side table, “I’m currently being transferred from the my current department a couple hours away to the local PD. Once that’s done I will be going under cover. You will be my in. Does that work?”

I drained my own drink, “Swimmingly.” I set my own glass on the floor by the feet of the chair I was sitting in, “I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.” I spoke it mostly to myself, but he heard it all the same.

“Yeah, why are you doing this? What made you join in the first place only to try and tear it all down?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. I guess I should have seen the question coming. “I joined The Fallen when I was a lot younger. Why does anyone join the mafia?”

“Protection, a safe place to do illegal things, they’re desperate?”

I chuckled, “And usually somewhere to belong, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head. I was desperate. Nowhere to go. And let’s leave it at that.” I started cleaning my fingernails, my hands needing something to do. “It was a classic mafia back then. Don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with you. If you do, you better watch your back. It was okay. It was safe. That was under this guy named Nick. He’s in prison now, but you probably knew that already.”

Dean nodded his head.

“In the power vacuum he left behind, I helped get your brother out. Covered his tracks, but there wasn’t anyone to follow them. Sounds like he’s got a nice life now.”

“Why didn’t you get out with him?”

“Still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sam, he’s smart. Got back into school, had a nice girl waiting for him on the other side. I didn’t have any of that.  The Fallen was all I had, figured this was better than being on the run from myself.” I sighed, “Anyway, Crowley comes in. He’s a businessman at heart. He  made the community safer. Kept local businesses afloat. It felt like we were doing something good.”

I smiled to myself. Happier times.

“I guess I got soft.” I looked up from my hands into his serious face, “Now Chuck has the whole city wrapped around his twisted finger. No one knows what he wants. He’s got no honor system-”

Dean scoffed.

“Hey, it might not have been much, but Crowley and Nick? They had their own code that if you knew what it was, then nothing surprised you. Chuck’s a wild card. He’s destroying everything good about this place, and like it or not, I don’t. And if I can do something about it, I’m going to. Okay?”

Dean set his jaw and nodded.

“So how do you wanna play this mister hot shot cop?”

“That’s a good question, one that you are gonna answer.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh?”

He shifted to a more relaxed position on the couch, “Yup. You’re the expert, so how are you gonna bring me in? I’ve got to observe, gather information and evidence, and hopefully set him up so we can catch him in the act of doing something ‘life in prison’ worthy.”

“Can we get a death sentence?”

Dean slowly gained a more guarded posture, “And why would you want that?” As Dean relaxed he seemed more personable, but with that one statement he looked suspicious of me and my motives. His eyes gained that hard look that could break steel and I was terrified to see him angry.

I curled in on myself, “Past experience.”

“I’m gonna need to know this kind of stuff sweetheart.”

“Look, we both know life in prison isn’t a guarantee. Nick was supposed to get a life sentence, but he got out. Now Crowley’s dead and Chuck is in power.” There was a pause where neither of us spoke. “There’s always something. You’re in law enforcement. You should know that.”

He sighed before nodding once again, “Fine, we’ll see what we can do and what we can get, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you going to get me in?”

I rubbed my temples. How was I going to get him in? “I think our best option is for me to just bring you in as a new recruit. No deals, tell him the least information possible. Whoever brings someone new in becomes their mentor so that’ll work out...” This was going to be hard. Chuck was a difficult target. “We’ll say you’re new in town. You desperately need some extra cash, so you’re willing to join. You don’t really care what you have to do. The trick is to lie the least amount as possible. Chuck doesn’t like liars, and he can always find out information. So I hope there aren’t many people who know you’re doing this.” I locked eyes with him.

“No, not many at all.”

“I hope you’re right, or we’re both dead.”

This conversation ran through my head as we stood in front of Chuck. It was the monthly meeting, where everything you could think of was discussed, including new members.

“So, there’s a new face.” Chuck was looking at the pair of us, a passive invitation.

I stepped forward with as much confidence as I could muster, “Yes, this is new recruit-”

“Officer Dean Winchester, yes I know.”

I nearly choked as my eyes widened in fear and surprise. I glanced at Dean and all I could think was, “We’re dead.”

“Now the question is, why does the new cop in town want to join the local mob?” Chuck stood from his chair and walked around, “Little short on cash, need a little excitement?”

Dean chuckled, but I could tell he was hiding his nervousness, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good, what’s one more cop on the payroll? You’re in.” Chuck finally looked back at the two of us, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest despite how impossibly well this was going, “Oh, you didn’t know he was a cop did you? Looks like some couples therapy material.”

I swallowed, but couldn’t hide my confusion, couples therapy?

“Oh come on! It’s obvious!” Chuck hesitated, “Well maybe not obvious, but Y/n’s not the hook-up type.”

I blushed, this was getting out of hand, but as long as Chuck wasn’t going to kill me, I would put up with it the best I could.

Chuck clapped and rubbed his hands together, “Oh I love a good romance. So how did you guys meet?”

Dean seemed to snap into it, or maybe it was me who was out of it, I’m not sure, but Dean grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.” Chuck smiled, a little too eagerly.

I tightened my grip on Dean’s hand, mostly out of anxiousness. I was out of options and stocked up on fear. It was up to him to get us the hell out of here.

“Tell me a story.”

Best Buds Taglist: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

[scripttorture]

My question is basically: in the scenario I describe, do you think I should go with or without torture as a referenced thing that happened? The situation is this- my character’s father has been dead for seven years, but I thought that what if, instead of being killed by the monster he was faced with at the time, he was injured by it and then captured by a group of bad guys. This is set in the Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild universe and the bad guys in question are the Yiga Clan, (1/9)

who alternate between a comical and threatening presence in the game. They are presented as a tribe of assassins, but the reason why they decide to take my character’s father alive is that they saw him using a rare kind of magic and either want him to teach it to them or want to get him to use it for them. (It’s hereditary so he can’t teach it to anyone but his daughter, but they don’t know that and he will neglect to inform them that anyone else has the same abilities.) (2/9) Most likely they want him to do something with his magic when their idol (Ganon, The Big Bad) returns or possibly something that they think would help him return. Where the question of torture comes in is, I need him to still be alive and capable of going with an escape attempt after seven years. So, whether or not they get the notion to try torturing at any point, it obviously can’t be super regular or prolonged over this period. I thought maybe one or two incidents toward the beginning (3/9) of his captivity, which were ordered to stop when they realized they would have to keep him alive for an undetermined amount of time and that’s easier when you aren’t treating extra injuries, but I’m not sure that would really add anything other than acknowledging the fact that someone in there probably got the notion to go “hey if he won’t teach us that magic what if we punch him and ask again” and may not have been turned down. Or they may have, (4/9) or they may not have brought it up at all because the Leader didn’t ask them to. Alternately, I could lean into their comical side and say that, while they got the idea to try “torturing” they don’t actually know how to do that. They’re assassins, they usually just kill, they don’t really know what to do with prisoners, it’s been a long time since they split off from another group that may have known torture techniques in the service of the now-destroyed kingdom. In which case it would be (5/9) things like “ohoho what if we give him his food... WITHOUT ANY bananas? he’ll be MISERABLE” (they are obsessed with bananas) played for a weird kind of humor. On the other hand I don’t want to imply that if they’d tried “REAL” torture it might have worked. Possibly the punching and asking again was tried once toward the beginning, then the comical “no bananas” one was tried later and neither one accomplished anything? I don’t want to say he spent seven years underground (6/9) surrounded by a comical murderous weirdo cult and “nothing really happened” in that time until his rescue but I don’t want to shoe in something like Actual Torture Attempts when it isn’t necessary. I could fill his time with escape attempts and/or trying to get information. Final thing: his daughter is going to break him out with the help of the Hero and a friend who defected from the Yiga Clan. This friend’s mother is going to take leadership of the clan but is meant to reform somewhat. (7/9) My character (the one whose father is imprisoned) could funnel her anger at his imprisonment towards the previous leader but if she finds out he was tortured (or weird attempts were made at it) she could have more trouble coming to a grudging, still pretty angry acceptance that her friend’s mother exists and is the way she is and probably shouldn’t be magically lit on fire. Or she could compartmentalize and say the friend’s mother never ordered anything like that, or may have even (8/9) turned a blind eye to her father’s final escape. This was a lot of detail but again the main questions are: does that seem like torture attempts would add or detract, and would it be in poor taste to include something like the “no bananas” scene? (9/9)

-

While I’d never played a Zelda game when I got this ask I am now one of Those People who got a switch in response to not being able to go outside. (They had pokemon, I was weak). And I’ve put a lot of hours into Breath of the Wild since. It’s a beautifully realised setting and I can see the appeal of writing something set in that world.

 Humour is a very subjective thing. Whatever we do there are always going to be people that the jokes don’t land for. I’ve (mostly) got positive responses to my humour but I have had incidents both here and on my AO3 page where people took exception to it. And that’s a lot more likely to happen when we’re dealing with serious topics.

 That said, I do think that we need humour about the things that scare us. There’s nothing quite as potent and satisfying as making our fears ridiculous.

 If you’re considering using humour in a torture/kidnap/POW situation (whatever you decide re torture the story definitely contains some of these elements) then the main thing to consider is this: what are we actually laughing at?

 This kind of humour is mostly likely to backfire or be outright hurtful when it can be interpreted as laughing at the victims. Or at the existence of traumatic events. And it’s most likely to work consistently when it’s aimed at the abusers.

 From the way you’ve described this it sounds like the joke is on the Yiga clan. As it is in the game itself. (I have enjoyed the assassination attempts by enraged ‘banana salesmen’.) If you wanted to continue the pattern the game set I think a lot of fellow fans would enjoy this humour.

 But the main question here is about when we should use torture in a story. And how we judge whether it’s adding anything.

 Personally I start by thinking about the tone and themes of the story. The kind of atmosphere I want to capture and kinds of character interactions I want to write.

 Then I try to think through the impact torture would have on the narrative in terms of knock on effects. So, symptoms in victims/survivors, witnesses and torturers but also effects on culture, community and organisations.

 It would probably be easiest for me to break this down with an example or two.

 I’ve talked briefly about both of these stories before. One of them takes place about two decades after a military coup ousted an absolute monarchy. Ilāra, one of the major characters, was embedded in the old regime and tortured people. They were also tortured by the regime and helped make the coup successful.

 And part of the impact torture has on the story is in Ilāra's symptoms. But it’s also in the way other characters relate to them. Normal people are afraid of them or disgusted/enraged at the sight of them. They’re ostracised by their own community and treated with contempt by their military superiors.

 One of the major themes running through the story is the question of how we deal with people we love when they’ve done horrific things. And how countries, cultures, move on from atrocities.

 Most of the major characters aren’t Ilāra's generation, they’re the kids who came afterwards. The people who just about remember the Revolt but grew up in a world without the monarchy. They’re navigating a legacy of blood and bitterness, things that aren’t their fault but nevertheless have shaped the world they live in.

 Part of it is about how the children Ilāra helped raise respond to this personal (and national) history. How they try to square the fact that this person was good (and in some ways defining) for them, while being monstrous to others.

 I felt that torture would add to this story because the point of it is those fault lines. In society at large and in personal relationships. It’s about exploring how we try to bridge or heal those fault lines and how, sometimes, we make them deeper.

 Torture (and indeed the other atrocities that are part of the country’s legacy) serve to raise the stakes. They deepen that initial emotional trench between the characters. And they also… Pull the camera back I suppose? The story may be about a single family but it isn’t an individual story. It’s about how larger patterns of abuse effect everyone in a society. Torture serves to make it about the culture, the country, instead of just the individuals within it.

 There are similar ideas in the other story I’m working on, societal divides and how we bridge them, but I think there’s a slightly different focus.

 Both of these stories are fantasy stories, but while Ilāra's story is in a sort of circa 1900s past Kibwe’s is in the future. It’s extrapolating the political oppression and systems from the places I’m interested in (in this case India, the Philippines, Kenya and Nigeria.)

 The story takes place across generations starting when Kibwe was a teenager but continuing to his daughter’s formative years and into his children becoming independent adults.

 And there’s torture in this story because the entire family is involved in politics. Because I grew up knowing that the natural consequence of acting for major political reform/justice was arrest and torture.

 The story is about trying to change unjust systems and generational violence. It’s also about the unhealthy ways people can engage in activism, putting the theoretical good of the community above their health and their families/friends.

 I didn’t really have to think about including torture in any depth, it was a natural fit. In fact I’m not sure I could talk about politics in any meaningful way without talking about torture.

 So some more specific questions that might help with your story. Is the structure of the Yiga clan important to the story? Is the effect they have on society at large important to the story? Is this primarily an individual/personal story or one with a wider focus?

 There aren’t ‘wrong’ answers to those questions, it’s about what you want to write.

 Do you want a more personal focus with the relationships between the major characters being more important then the world at large? I think of this as a character focused (as opposed to a character driven) story.

 For instance in the Lord of the Rings trilogy while we care about every member of the fellowship the important thing throughout, the focus, is the destruction of the ring and the systems that are harming all of Middle Earth. By contrast in Howl’s Moving Castle we care about the war and the fate of the missing Prince, but the important thing is what happens to the girls from the hat shop.

 Both of these approaches to a story can include torture in a meaningful way. It can add to both kinds of stories. But it’s generally adding different things.

 In a character focused story (with the kind of plot you’re writing) torture is mostly adding a sudden change to all of the relationships a character has. There might be focus on symptoms, a recovery arc, character development etc but the first and most obvious thing it’s adding is a major change to how these characters interact.

 In a story that’s more focused on the big picture of the world torture can add world building elements and it can be used to map out divisions and allegiances in the societies you write.

 Part of the reason I’m making this distinction is that in this scenario you can very easily tell a character focused story with trauma-recovery and not have torture. Kidnap and seven years imprisonment is enough to be traumatising.

 That doesn’t mean torture couldn’t/wouldn’t add anything to that story. But it might not be necessary for the story you want to tell and the focus you want it to have.

 On the other hand if this is primarily a broader story about communities and cultures growing and changing, the decision of whether or not to include torture has much more potential to direct the plot. It could create opposition to reforming the Yiga clan, both inside the clan (wanting to stick with how things are) and outside it (with people wanting it utterly destroyed).

 Different factions and cultures might band together on the basis of shared opposition to the Yiga clan. And the clan’s reformation could effect those allegiances.

 There could also be knock on effects based on where the clan operates: cultures that have been targetted by them in the past might not want this new ‘reformed’ (and more obvious) Yiga clan on their lands. And that in turn could stir up trouble within the clan because hey they’ve been here for generations it’s their home too!

 There are lots of ways torture could add to this plot and these characters. It could also feed in to broader themes.

 For instance the main character and her father haven’t seen each other for seven years. The difference between how we remember or idolise someone and the way they actually are is a theme you could add to here. The Yiga clan is going to end up reformed: what does it take for people to accept that reformation and forgive? The main character is friends with a former Yiga assassin: how do we process the fact people we care about might have hurt others?

 That isn’t an exhaustive list, I’m just throwing out ideas to see if anything interests you.

 In terms of timing and character being physically able to escape I think you’re already hit on a pretty good idea.

 Torturers don’t tend to stop when ordered to. Part of the reason a lot of organisations reject torturers is because they… tend to disobey orders. A lot.

 So if you wanted to write a scenario where this character is initially tortured and then held for a much longer time without torture the realistic way to do that is to have the character transferred from the ‘care’ of one group of Yigas to another. Torturers tend to exist in groups as sub-cultures within larger organisations. Which means that their presence in an organisation does not necessarily indicate that everyone in the organisation supports/carries out torture.

 You could even have the Yiga’s take a (perhaps half-hearted) anti-torture stance and have them punish the torturers.

 Wrapping up, the decision of whether or not to include torture is up to you. I can see ways it could add to your story but the points and themes I’ve spoken about might not be things you’re interested in.

 Just because an element could add to a story doesn’t necessarily mean it’s adding something you want. There’s nothing wrong with deciding that an element doesn’t interest you, takes the story in a direction you like less or causes more stress then you want as you write it.

 Ultimately the question is whether you want to write torture. And there’s no wrong answer to that question.

 I hope that helps. :)

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Disclaimer

[wbqotd]

What could you do for time or days if people live underground with out a Sun to help with time?

Sorry this one took so long to answer. I hope it’s still relevant to you! My advice is under a cut this time since there was a lot to say.

I think there’s a lot of ways you could take this without breaking readers’ suspension of disbelief. 

When it comes down to it people still need to sleep and eat at fairly regular intervals. Whether or not you have hours or minutes to measure time with, you can still conceptualise time though patterns of sleeping and eating. A ‘day’ could simply be the period of time a person is awake for after a long period of deep sleep. A ‘morning’ can still be the period of time between waking and a midday meal. Likewise, an ‘afternoon’ can be the period of time between the midday meal and the last meal of the day. That’s not to say you have to make three meals a day and eight hours of unbroken sleep the norm. You could have people eat four meals a day and have a siesta in the middle of the day or make segmented sleep and two meals a day the norm. As long as there’s some kind of pattern, you can use it to split time into pieces.

There’s been a number of studies involving sticking people in caves/underground bunkers and seeing what it does to their circadian rhythms and perception of time. It’s been a while (nearly ten years) since I studied the subject so take this with a big pinch of salt but if I remember correctly one of the big studies (Mills, 1974) suggested that most people will adopt a sleep/wake cycle of just over just under 25 hours when left in the dark without any way of measuring time. I’m sceptical about how applicable the results of studies involving isolated individuals or small groups who’ve lived above ground for most of their lives and are used to a 24-hour day are to a whole society of people living underground for generations. And I’m sure there are criticisms to be made about the reliability and validity of these studies. But I wanted to mention it because it’s somewhere to start if you want some science to base this on. 

Of course, on its own, the sleep/eating patterns thing really only works on an individual level. It’s hard to organise a society if your only concept of time is ‘in the morning’ or ‘after lunch’ because even when everyone in a society has a siesta and three meals a day people aren’t going to be doing everything at the same time every day. Such a society could be fun to explore. I imagine people would have to live in small close-knit communities, where everyone you know lives within walking distance and it’s normal to knock on your neighbour’s door if you need something at any time. It’s hard to organise large scale societies without a standardised way of measuring time - imagine trying to run a business or plan a wedding or use public transport without it. Your culture might also  place more empathise on certain events then we do. A baby’s first steps might be more important than reaching a first birthday. Menarche might be the indicator that someone is old enough to drink or get married or enter a legal contract. Perhaps a couple can’t divorce unless they’ve lived in separate dwellings for the length of at least one pregnancy, as opposed to something arbitrary like five years?

If you did want to look into real societies that don’t/didn’t have a calendar/clock system, I’d start by researching the Amondawa people. Again, it’s not a perfect parallel and you’ve got to be very very careful about generalising the ‘findings’ that come (Eurocentric) studies of one group of people to other populations, but it’s something to look into if you’re interested. 

Now, to answer your actual question: You’ve got a couple of different ways of measuring time without the sun. 

Firstly, you could base your measurements of time on natural phenomena. A ‘new year’ could be indicated by something like plants/fungi blooming or fruiting, the mating season of a particular animal, the migration of an animal that lives underground, or an underground lake filling up. 

Here’s an example of how something like this might work: Every spring the sun melts the snow on the surface. Water starts to seep into the ground, slowly at first and then faster as the world above gets warmer. You get lakes and streams and waterfalls in the summer. Until eventually all the snow is gone and the streams begin to dry up and the lakes become more shallow. The new year is marked by the return of the first trickle of water in a particular passageway where some legendary event was rumoured to have taken place aeons ago.  Once there’s water spotted in that passage, planting season begins because it’s not long before the lake will be full and that can be used to water all those fungi your population relies on for food.

If you use a natural event to mark a new year it’s unlikely that it’ll match up exactly to one of our years or that the length of a year will be exactly equal every year. It also leaves a lot of room for something to go wrong, which can be fun from a writer’s perspective because it can create problems for your characters or inspire further world-building.  

Going back to the above example: Imagine this is your system and a volcano went off and covered the Earth with a cloud of ash. The snow doesn’t melt that year. Those underground lakes and passageways don’t fill up. Planting season never comes or perhaps it’s started too late. There’s famine. People turn on each other. Maybe they have to invade another settlement or abandon everything they know for a better life? Or perhaps they run out of safe drinking water before they run out of food? Diseases caused by drinking unsafe water run rampant and kill off most of your population before starvation is an issue…. Things like this can be a part of your plot, but they can also be a part of your backstory or world’s history. If something like that happened previously in your setting it could have changed your fictional society dramatically. Maybe a particular sort of person was blamed for the disaster and that type of person is still persecuted? Maybe your people became more warlike and had to raid other settlements to survive? Maybe efforts were concentrated on developing better irrigation methods? Maybe someone invented a new way of cleaning water? Maybe religious rituals developed in hopes of preventing it from happening again? There’s a lot of ways you take it, whether it happened in the distant past or living memory. 

For measuring smaller units of time you can still use most of the methods we use above ground: water clocks, oil/candle clocks, hourglasses, mechanical clocks, quartz clocks and atomic clocks should all still work. I won’t go into detail about these since this already a long post and it’s easy to find more information about them. But I will say that if you use one of the above types of clocks, the units don’t have to match up to our own. You can create fictional units of time if you want to. But you can also translate those units to existing compatible units of time. I’d personally make the units comparable to our own. E.G. I wouldn’t have a character take a nap, eat a meal and take their pet glow-worm for a walk and then call the time-frame they did it in ‘a minute’ or ‘a month’ (unless some magic was at work) but you could call it an hour even it’s not 3,600 atomic seconds long.

If you get creative, you might even find a way for the above to work for longer periods of time. Imagine a giant hourglass that’s turned seven times a ‘year’ or a ‘week’ to mark which god you should be praying to. Or maybe you’ve got a giant mechanical clock in the centre of the town square that’s been counting down to something and chimes every 42 million heartbeats or so. It’s been there so long that no one can remember it’s original purpose but all those small hands are sure helpful for arranging meetups. 

Lastly, you can create periods of time through artificial means. The obvious method would be through artificial lighting but sound could work too or even something like set communal eating times can help you keep everyone on a similar schedule. For example, you could dim a large outdoor light for so many hours a day Or you could cut off power completely encourage people to sleep during those hours. You could even have a large city with limited power light up half the city for 13 or so hours while the other half is in darkness and then redirect the power supply so it’s the other way around for the next 13 hours. It could be a lot of fun writing something set in place where you can walk from day to night at will. 

I hope that’s given you something to work with. Good luck with your project! 

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 13: Filled emptiness (Part 1)

Warnings: mentions of human trafficking

Author notes: Hey everyone! I’l back with a new chapter...! I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as the previous ones!

Paperwork.

When I had entered the Armed Detective Agency, I had not expected that the major part of my work would consist in doing the paperwork. Arresting a criminal and solving mysteries was the core of our job as detectives, but filling the numerous documents demanded by the police or the court took a lot more time than running after the culprit. Obviously, back in the Port Mafia, I used to deal with paperwork as well, but it was not as prominent as it was in the Agency. It was… Exhausting, not to mention a certain person had never stopped slacking off. Becoming a detective had not changed Dazai's hate for work, most unfortunately for Kunikida, and even for me, whom he regularly used to take care of his documents. Even so, I was getting accustomed to my new life.

It had already been five month since I had officially become a detective, and I had, at last, successfully become a legal adult by reaching twenty-one years old. My ability was not too much of a bother anymore, since I could finally control it by myself, and getting to sleep on my own brought me more satisfaction than what I could have imagined. I had, at last, tamed the wild beat running around my mind. It was a victory I savoured everyday upon waking up, well-rested. Slowly, the bags under my eyes had faded away and my health had improved… If only the problem of my addiction had been solved as well. I would soon start my therapy, an attempt to separate myself from my dear morphine. I would be treated by Yosano-sensei, who had promised me a present as a way to encourage me. I still had a lot to work on to begin a normal life, but I was accompanied by the detectives of the Agency, whom I had started befriending.

"Hands up! Don't make a move — wait! Come here!"

I laughed. Kunikida had let the criminal run away…

"Don't mock me, Ogawa…! How could I predict he would climb up the wall behind him…?!"

"He is a skilled thief, after all. Remember when he stole that valuable painting exposed in the Art Museum?" I chucked.

"Whatever… Just stop him…!"

"I know, I know… It's all according to plan, though…~"

Our target was running towards my position, just as Dazai had predicted. For once, he had been willing to help us out with the case; that thief had been stealing in Yokohama for a month, at least. It had started with a rich wife's missing necklace. The police had given up, for there had not been any sign of break-in in the mansion. However, persuaded that it was impossible for her to lose her expensive diamond jewel, she had submitted a request to the Armed Detective Agency. At the moment, we had been so caught up with other demands from the government — protecting an important witness in a serial killer case was one of them — that we had overlooked the distressed woman's plea. However, just a week later, the Art Museum had also signalled a robbery during an important exhibition. A partnered museum in Europe had lent them a part of their collection, which included dozens of impressionism paintings. One of them was particularly precious and had required the installation of an advanced security system. The entire room had been protected by lasers and, as I had seen it, it was almost impossible for one to even male a step towards the painting. Almost. For an experienced thief who possessed the required physical capacity, it was not unfeasible. Our culprit would then be a rather thin person, perhaps smaller than average and with enough dexterity to accomplish such a feat. From that point on, I had asked the Fox to look for the thieves currently in action in the underworld. We had questioned all of those who had suited the profile we had established, but none had been involved with the robbery. He did not work for the underworld despite targeting such valuable objects. I had then established a list of the thefts which had happened since the diamond necklace — which we had remembered afterwards — and had discovered about ten resembling disappearances of jewels or pieces of art. The strangest thing about the thief was the fact he acted individually, for himself. He did not seem to belong to a group, nor did he appear to look for someone. He was simply… Enjoying himself while earning his life.

Seeing how unsuccessful we were and how many articles in the newspaper had appeared about him, we had thought about asking Ranpo-san for help. However, he had refused, stating we knew enough to catch the culprit ourself. And, indeed, there was a way to get to him, so simple that we had not even considered it; the auctions. With the image of the stolen painting in mind, Kunikida and I had visited different underground auctions, each time questioning the staff about the painting and bringing painful memories back to my mind. I had brushed them off, albeit hardly, and had focused on the case, ignoring the cages covered by a veil in the back of the room. No matter which place we had visited, they were always there, silent, ominous. My coworker had asked me about them.

"Their content goes against your entire ideal notebook…" I had answered, darkly.

"... Are they perhaps…"

"Slaves…" I had hissed "Products for human trafficking…"

"Why don't we arrest the culprits, then…?"

"Entire organisations are involved… Even the Port Mafia makes business with that…"

He had then stopped questioning me about that matter, most certainly noticing it was a sensitive subject.

At last, we had found the auction which had sold the painting. They had told us that the man who had brought them the item wore a mask, so they were unable to help us out. A week if research had been wasted on a useless lead, and we had gone back to square one. And just as we had considered abandoning and giving up on catching him, Dazai had come towards us, with an amused smile on his lips and a plan to finally put the thief in jail. Obviously, Kunikida had yelled at him, outraged that he had let us lose so much time instead of helping us out earlier. I had calmed him down and had asked my friend to explain to us his strategy.

Which had led us to the present situation.

The moment our target approached me, who was acting like the most normal civilian, I tripped him, simply. He had, without a doubt, not expected me to be on his way, and the single second he had lost because of me was enough for us to arrest him. With my brightest smile, I crouched next to him and offered him a hand.

"My apologies mister… Are you unharmed…?"

"I…" He blinked, before shaking his head and taking the hand I was offering him "I'm fine, thanks."

"You look as though someone is running after you." I giggled.

"That's…" I saw his faint blush "Kind of…"

I snickered, discreetly.

"Well… I fear you'll have to stop there."

"What —"

I closed the handcuffs around his wrist. At the same time, Kunikida arrived towards us, panting, and barely managed to speak.

"You… Are…" He breathed out "Under arrest…"

The plan had been successful. We had simply lured him out with another work of art — an antique Chinese vase. It had almost been disappointing how easily he had been trapped by the simplest strategy Dazai had ever come up with since I had known him, unworthy of the time we had spent trying to find the thief. Even so, it was still satisfying to finally see him climb in a police car with a frustrated expression.

"At least, we can get some sleep…!" I exclaimed.

"Indeed… Getting to close my eyes after that week is my greatest pleasure…" He yawned "That's so unlike me…"

"Mmh… It doesn't sound like you at all…" I noted.

"Hey~ That was a success…!" Dazai reached us, cheerful.

"That's not thanks to you." Our colleague groaned "You didn't do a thing…!"

"I established the plan, and kept an eye on you~"

"Whatever…"

"Now, we aren't going to argue, are we?" I stopped them "What about going back and resting? What does your schedule say, Kunikida?"

"Nothing…"

"Then let's leave…?"

[paradoxicalpondering]

The Platform

“The flesh endures the storms of the present alone; the mind, those of the past and future as well as the present. Gluttony is a lust of the mind.” - Thomas Hobbes. 

This morning, I finished watching The Platform, or El hoyo, directed by Galder Gaztello-Urrutia.

Watching films is a rarity for me as I feel it is a big time commitment, and requires diligent lengthy concentration, so when I do so I need it to be time well spent.

The Platform is the first film since Midsommar that I have felt a compulsion to watch, purely driven by a concept that is unique, but most importantly gorged with the potential of themes, ideas and complexities which offer an experience outside of the usual.

The crux of the appeal with Midsommar came with the suggestion of eternal daylight as a fearful entity, directly contrasted to the common play on the mystery and danger of darkness.

To me, it was the idea of a super charged equilibrium that constant sunlight infers, the lack of any kind of break that could drive one insane through monotony if not due to resultant insomnia.

It was not utilised as I hoped but it did feature as an uncomfortable parallel to the horrific things happening, which were focused through the smiley malaise of the cult committing these atrocities.

The Platform, in contrast, did deliver on the elements that I was most intrigued by - namely greed, compassion, human nature and the potential for reasoning in a compromised individual.

★

The film is based on a simple concept which involves cellmates trapped in a small space which contains a large square central hole, showcasing an abyss of other levels above and below.  

Once a day, the hole is filled by a travelling sizeable slab which is packed with the most exquisite food at the top and in theory, with rationing, could keep all alive down to the lowest of levels.

The other key part of the narrative is that once a month the inmates are drugged by gas in their pairs and wake up in a different place, potentially going from 6 to 246 and as such, risking death.

This situation creates a frenzy that breeds murder, cannibalism, psychological warfare and a hierarchy both literal and metaphorical that leads to a variety of abhorrent behaviour.

This system of levels gives birth to a class-like establishment in which those above feel they can demand of those below, while not daring to question those above.

It is as though the inmates cling to the system as a means to maintain a feeling of self, utilising the superiority when available to charge their wearied psyches so they can just survive when below.

This is also compounded by the characters leaning on labelling; above, below but also black, jew, communist among others to preserve the ego in a situation that exposes the fragility of humanity.

★

I feel the film was also quite successful through it’s start which offers all the questions and no answers, the viewer pieces the experience together alongside the protagonist.

This feels frustrating but serves to rot away the usually privileged position that the consumer enjoys, looking in on others’ lives with the benefit of information not yet known to them.

In The Platform, the watcher is in it for the ride together with the characters and this is further achieved through not being able to fully comprehend what is to come.

There are times, for sure, in which behavioural patterns are emphasised - those above will fight for food they don’t need, abuse it when they have it and show disdain for those below - moving to forget they were one, and will once again be one.

The closer to the bottom you get you see placidity taking the place of revolt, lethargy replacing jitteriness, gratitude trumping disgrace and fundamentally, death consuming life.

I think these parallels are well established in the class-dictated, economically-driven hierarchy we encounter in Western life - the most rich in material wealth are often the least happy, for example.

Also, more simply, it is clear that those deprived in any way - be it of food as in the film, or attention or kindness - are generally depleted, or robbed of their ‘lust for life’.

I thought it was interesting to compare the sociological suggestions from the film with our current reality, like the threat of a small reduction in production leading to many bulk buying items like toilet roll and pasta, with little respect for those whose impairments limit their options.

I also feel it is apparent in the national sharp intake of breathe at our Prime Minister Boris Johnson being admitted to hospital with the coronavirus.

While I am certain that the majority emotion was steeped in sympathy and concern, the fact that something can strike down someone perceived to have ultimate superiority maligns our comfort-blanket structures.

★

Another triumph of the film is its richness in symbolism with the two main ones being a child and a panna cotta.

The former insinuated to me another system of hierarchy (note the ageism prevalent during this pandemic) while also the idea of hope and the importance of a fresh approach.

The panna cotta, I felt, was selected as the key focus due to the white denoting purity and simplicity and the texture offering a suggestion of malleability, playfulness but also quiet strength.

★

In conclusion, and to end this rambling account, this film is packed to the rafters with sociological thematics and imagery which burst from the seams of its simplicity in design.

I feel it is also important to note its undercurrent which emphasises that even the smallest glimmers of compassion can undercut the most domineering of enemies.

I once heard someone explain that humans are inherently compassionate and that compassion is actually the key to the sustainability of humanity on the planet.

Without an adult offering compassion to their completely helpless offspring, unable to source food, shelter or protect themselves from danger, the human race would cease to continue.

This film is an interesting exploration of humanity when reduced to our primitive cores, but it is also a comment on the dangers of conditioning.

If you can stomach the odd scene of someone devouring their pal, I’d recommend this as a watch that will make you think and remind you of the ever-present hierarchies that we exist within.

[elsabasson]

MAGA million march

What an experience! 

WASHINGTON DC: We crossed the Potomac River into Washington DC around 8 am after driving 12 + hours. All of us brimming with excitement, we decided to drive to the place and find parking as close as possible. Not a chance! Even Google didn't have any idea how many roads were completely closed off! Asking police officers, where we could find parking, they responded: There's a lot going on! Everything is closed! 

We saw groups of people walking with great big Trump flags so we asked them where they parked. That left us with a mile long walk just get to Freedom Plaza: the starting place. The wind was crisp but thankfully we had a sunny, open sky. Police guarded the perimeter of the blocked off area and we were met with several smiles as we crossed over and one officer wished us a good day.

ENORMOUS CROWD: About 3 hours early, we reached the crowd that had started to gather, and it already seemed really large. I used to attend a city wide church where crowds of 3000 to 4000 attended. This was already much bigger. We used to be involved with rallies that met in stadiums where numbers were in the tens of thousands. This already approached that, 3 hours before the event was to start, but people were still streaming in, yet they were at that stage spread-out enough for us to move around among the crowd. An enormous Trump flag was laid out on the ground in the middle of the square.  

FROM ALL OVER! It was just Wonderful to see the support for our president, from all ACROSS the country! I spoke to several people from Texas, one couple from Dallas and a group from San Antonio, as well as many more who came shorter distances. Several groups from Maryland were very happy to find each other there. Some people came all the way from California. 

ALL SORTS & TYPES: What a colorful variety of people, all united to support president Trump! I saw an American Indian Chief, complete with his feathered head gear. There were women of every size, color and shape, dressed in American flags and colors head to toe, and bearded, weather-beaten men parading less savory slogans about where the left should get off, as well as the clean-cut, young and old, sporting slogans, waving flags and wearing flags like capes. 

"The Proud Boys" showed up strong, strutting their stuff, and a group of "Gays for Trump", flags and all! I guess Ricky Rebel's crowd, because he was there too! I asked for a photo! There were "Black Lives for Trump" which I found interesting. 

Seems everyone was just so happy to be there and excited to find all the others there, united around the cause: make the elections fair and honest! 

THE PRESIDENT DROVE BY: Around 2 hours before the event was to start, a motorcade came by, everyone cheered and people claimed it was the president. Being on the ground, and with those masses i only saw the cars came by. 

SOUNDS: Many individuals walked around with their own personal megaphones, chanting - especially once we started moving out. Unfortunately no sound system was set up - suitable for a crowd of that size, therefore people back down the streets leading up to the square probably could not hear much. 

Around 12 noon, the crowd was thick and they again played "Proud to be American!" (it was played many times in the preceding 2 hours) This time all the people joined in singing - i guess the crowd joining in, helped the sound to be carried down the streets. Then a man's voice asked for everyone to remove their hats to show respect, and he prayed for the country and the president. 

Next, a woman sang the National Anthem acapella, and everyone joined in, standing in reverence, hand on the heart. Such a solemn and glorious moment! After that, a man led the ENTIRE CROWD in the pledge of allegiance - a magnificent declaration! 

THE WALK: Next, someone with a megaphone explained the route and some other technicalities. (which, I could not make sense of) That is when the people started moving out. We tried to hold on to one another but in vain. Thankfully, everyone in our family had at least a  semi-charged cell phone on them, and the boys stuck together with their sister, while my husband and i held onto each other.

PREPARATIONS: Flowing with the SEA of people down the eight-lane Pennsylvania Street, towards the Supreme Court,  seemed surreal. Apparently, in preparation for the march, ALL the businesses had been closed, their usual activities suspended and the people evacuated. (rather like an old Western movie, where the hero faces villains in a shootout on Main Street - “High Noon” -style, and everyone left town) 

But more than that, on ground level, all the windows and doors had been boarded up and EVERY movable thing cleared out! No sign of life anywhere! If it wasn't for the fact that we were surrounded by such a mass of people - in the middle of the street, it would have been eerily empty and quiet. 

NOISES:  In the crowd, people carrying megaphones called out their individual takes on the election issues to anyone and everyone. Some megaphone carriers stopped at various points on route, to stand on the side of the street and proclaim their doctrines about related causes: Alternative news networks and Abortion, among others. 

CHANTS: Megaphone carriers walking with the crowd broke out in chants regularly: "Stop the steal" or "U- S-A" also "Count those votes" and "We want Trump!" as well as "Fox News Sucks!" 

When we turned onto Constitution Avenue to go up towards Capital Hill, buildings no longer lined BOTH sides of the road. On one side stretched the lawns of Union Square and the Ulysses S. Grant  Memorial parks. A group of perhaps 20 people, wearing Antifa paraphernalia, had gathered there but police kept them 50 or more yards away from the marchers and yard sized metal gates had been erected on the sidewalk, to keep marchers on the street. 

At the sight of the police lining this part of the road, the entire group around us, started chanting: "Back the Blue, Back the Blue ....!" 

During part of our walk, we were near a group of Buddhist Monks, dressed in their garb and carrying a brass dome that they chimed once, upon entering every new street block. It seemed strangely out of place. However, they too, felt they had freedom under the Trump administration, that would be denied them under a Communist Biden rule. 

POLITE: My daughter commented that this was a particularly polite crowd, and i concur. She said that having attended several “Conn’s” this crowd did not push and shove. People constantly apologized if anyone was bumped or brushed by. When I said excuse me, in trying to pass, I was met with a smile and “...you’re good hun..” 

They were NOT mostly Christian or church people, yet all of them were respectful and polite, basically Conservatives, with conservative values. 

ON THE WAY OUT. We finally met up with our children again, at the Supreme Court, after the one and a half mile "march" and there were more speeches. However, here it was even more difficult to hear and we could not see who was talking. The organizers estimated there were 100,000 people and that was astonishing because it was called only 5 days earlier, and ALL the media networks blocked word about it from going out! 

Truly this was the result of a free independent grassroots communication system! 

We started making our way back to our car, around 2 pm, not waiting for activities to be finished off, and mainly because we were just DONE! As we drifted back to our car, we walked parallel to the road on which we had come. We looked across the great Union Square lawns and saw that the MAGA march crowd was STILL filling the ENTIRE width of Constitution Street, making their way up Capital Hill, towards the Supreme Court ! 

This was TWO HOURS AFTER the event had started! That makes me think there MUST have been many, many more people than they estimated! 

It was COMPLETELY peaceful and astonishingly LARGE! 

The motorcade drove past us again, as we continued back to our car and i heard later that was the president on way to the golf course. I do not know if ANYONE gave the president an honest or accurate account of this extraordinary show of support from ordinary working American people, who passionately voted and want president Trump in the White house at least for FOUR MORE YEARS!

Apart from the march showing Physically and undeniably to corrupt politicians, that we REFUSE to roll over and play dead and conservatives are a force to be reckoned with, I felt something shifted spiritually with the march! 

Praying for our President! 

[guiltyhearts]

FIC: The Treasured Chest (KH)

I was fortunate to be involved in The Destined Oath: A SoKai Server Zine, which was made available on Gumroad for free back in January (You can get the zine here if you haven’t yet). Silly me didn’t put up their story on this site after the zine was made public. So for your reading pleasure, please enjoy my short story!

The Treasured Chest

Words: 2937

Summary: Sora may be a little older and making big moves in his life. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have time to go down memory lane.

-------

Time was funny. It always seemed to pass by much faster than expected. Days, months, years would all blur together, no clear distinction of where it started and where it ended. For Sora, this was no different. The years of grand adventures to other worlds were behind him and he was happily settled back home in Destiny Islands. He often felt that his adventures and battles had all happened recently, maybe one year prior. In truth, six years had passed since the final showdown with Xehanort and the new Organization XIII and he had spent that time content on the islands with his friends, old and new, finally settling into some semblance of a normal routine. The funny thing was, time now felt like it passed by him in a blur and it always caught him by surprise when a major event came up. In this case, it was preparing to move into his new house.

Sora was technically an adult now, and this meant it was time to make big changes and move forward, starting with moving out and setting up his own home. With moving day looming on the horizon, Sora had no time to dwell on the mix of emotions he felt over leaving his childhood home. Not when he had to sort through his possessions. As he had informed his mother, Sora had a system for organizing his things between those he would take with him and those he would leave behind.

One look into Sora’s bedroom and its current state would overwhelm anyone. Boxes in varying degrees of emptiness were placed all around the room, with clothes scattered across surfaces and most definitely not in his own closet or drawers. Bottles of different shapes and sizes that were never properly recycled but were certainly repurposed (according to Sora). His mother, who had long been since resigned with his habit for messiness, left him alone to sort through his possessions. But it only took half the day for Sora to organize all his clothes, he would have you know! While he grabbed a heap of the clothes he planned to get rid of, he discovered the fabric had been covering a bright purple treasure chest: a chest he had repurposed for his own use. It contained numerous trinkets, knick-knacks, whozits and whatzits galore. Items of interest that he picked up, or gifts he was given from each world he visited in the three years he had been away from home. He hadn’t looked at, let alone put anything in that chest in ages. Setting the clothes aside, Sora sat down across from the chest to open it.

The effect was not immediate, like a flood of memories hitting him at once. But to Sora’s credit, he did recognize each and every item in the chest as the feeling of rediscovering a past life and all the joys that came with it settled in deeply.

The first thing Sora picked up an off-white piece of parchment and unfolded it. The paper depicted a detailed pencil drawing of himself when he was younger and starting out on his intergalactic travels, standing next to Tarzan. At first glance, Tarzan in the drawing seemed stoic, but the finer details presented a lighter side to him like upturned corners of the mouth and relaxed shoulders. Sora was openly smiling with his hands behind his head. His face and cheeks were almost perfectly round. Had he really looked that young? Sora hadn’t seen him in a long time, but how could he forget Tarzan, the King of the Apes?

 ---

The Deep Jungle was home to a truly glorious array of flora - flowers, plants, trees and those of the sort. So Sora had been told. But it was hard to see for himself when these plants and trees were only a blur. His focus was squarely on what was ahead of him, and in this case, it was Tarzan and the fact that the man was leading by a slim margin. Sora would have to maneuver through the intersecting branches and speed ahead to overtake him. In what felt like mere seconds, Sora could see the opening that would lead to the campsite and he willed himself to keep going. He had to keep pushing and not lose his footing. He bent low before pushing off hard to leap forward, aiming to land right in the middle of the campsite. To his dismay, Tarzan landed before him by seconds.

“You won again!” Sora dramatically groaned. Tarzan beat his chest triumphantly and grinned back at Sora. 

“Keep trying!” Tarzan proclaimed cheerfully, even if the affirmation was brought down slightly by his smugness. 

Sora stretched his back and turned forward with a look of determination. “Fine! I’ll race you back!” 

“But Sora, we gotta go!” Goofy called out. He and Donald had been with Jane Porter while he went tree-surfing with Tarzan.

“Aww…” Sora pouted, feeling like a small kid again. He was having fun, too… 

“Where will you go?” Tarzan asked.

“I don’t know.” Sora answered honestly. Remembering what Donald said about the world order, he would have to choose his words carefully. “All I know is that we’ll keep going until we find our friends.”

Tarzan was quiet, seemingly in deep thought. Before Sora could continue, Jane approached them with papers in hand.

“Good luck on your travels. I hope you will be safe. Here,” she handed the stack to Sora. “I hope you’ll like these.” Sora went through the papers, pressed flowers and hand-drawn pictures of the animals and scenery. He stopped once he saw the picture of himself and Tarzan. Tarzan looked over his shoulder and-

“Tarzan! Sora!” He exclaimed, looking surprised and pleased. 

Jane smiled kindly, her cheeks turning pink. “Yes, that’s the both of you. How do you like it?” She directed the question at Sora.

“Thanks a lot!” Sora smiled graciously. “We look great here!” He and the others pored excitedly over Jane’s papers, which he now saw included individual drawings of Donald and Goofy. Through their pleased exclamations, Sora could have sworn he heard Jane say something quietly, thinking no one could hear her.

“He’s still so young…” 

 ---

Sora kept the drawing for himself, while Donald and Goofy kept the other papers. He had thanked Tarzan ten times over for finding and rescuing him when he was separated from the pair. Still, at times he wondered if Tarzan understood just how grateful Sora was to be found when he was alone again in an unknown world. 

He carefully folded away the drawing and placed it back in the chest. As Sora placed the item down, he caught sight of his membership card for the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee. It rested on top of a pixelated printed picture of himself, Donald and Goofy, the latter being a gift from Tron. A thought occurred to Sora, and to confirm his suspicions, he flipped the picture over. On the back, a sequence of 0’s and 1’s filled two-thirds of the page. He didn’t have to look too hard to find another piece of folded paper, branded with “From Tron!” in blue letters and a cartoon doodle of Tron’s face that he drew himself. Grinning at the recollection, he unfolded the paper.

 ---

Sora, Donald, and Goofy were about to leave Hollow Bastion – or Radiant Garden, rather – for the next leg of their journey. They were saying their goodbyes in Merlin’s house when Cid came up to them, and said in his characteristic gruff voice, “You guys got something from Tron.”

“Really?” The trio looked up in surprise. 

Cid handed Sora a single sheet of paper with a picture of the threesome in a pixelated style printed upon it. Underneath the image, ‘Thank you!’ was written in large block letters.

“This is great! Tell him we said ‘thanks’.” Sora smiled happily at the picture.

Donald, shorter than the rest, could see the back of the paper. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing. Sora flipped the paper over and was met with a sequence of 0’s and 1’s running down the page.

“I have no idea,” Sora shrugged before looking back at Cid. “Do you know?”

“I’m just delivering the message. I don’t have to know what it means.” Cid replied offhandedly.

Donald squawked impatiently, “Come on! You do know what it means!”

Cid smirked as he suppressed a chuckle. “That’s binary,” he relented. “To grossly oversimplify for you punks, it’s computer language. It’s how they give and receive information.”

“Does that mean this is a message from Tron? How come it came out like this?” Goofy questioned out loud.

“Maybe he wanted to mess wi’ ya,” Cid added with a laugh.

“What does it say?” Donald asked again.

“Do I look like a computer?” Cid shot back. This kicked off a bickering session over computers, magic, and each other’s intelligence.

In the midst of this, Goofy approached Sora with a separate piece of paper in hand. “I found this on top of that keyboard-thingy,” he said quietly pointing over at Cid’s computer. “I don’t know how binary works, but I think this is what the numbers mean.” He showed Sora the paper. This time there were words that he could read and understand.

 Sora, Donald and Goofy,

I want to thank you once more for your support. I will not forget what you have done for myself and for the mainframe. It is thanks to you I am confident in my capabilities to assist the other Users.

I wish you safe travels in your journey.

Come back soon!

From Tron.

 ---

In the present day, Sora smiled, his chest feeling light with joy and wistfulness. He recalled Cid’s attempt to explain to the trio how binary worked (which Sora still did not understand to this day). He hoped Tron was keeping well.

Like with Jane’s drawing, Sora folded Tron’s gifts carefully and put them back into the chest under a toy-sized, yellow energy canister. Tucked to one side of the chest, a small velvet pouch caught his eye. It bore an unfamiliar crest surrounded by a border of alternating fleur-de-lis and diamond symbols. The unfamiliarity just as quickly gave way to recognition. Arendelle, it occurred to him. Opening it, a delicately shimmering crystal landed on his open palm. Sora had never seen a snowflake up close - all he knew was that no two snowflakes were identical. The crystal snowflake, now safely in Sora’s palm, was cool to the touch, but not quite as ice-cold as he recalled it had been when he received it.

---

“I don’t know how to begin to thank you for all your help.” Queen Elsa said as she held her sister’s hand. After a series of trials and tribulations, the two were finally reunited. Their sisterly bond was reaffirmed, the eternal winter spell (literally) was broken, and the world was safe.

“What about a knighthood!” Anna exclaimed excitedly. 

“A knighthood, you say?” Sora grinned at the prospect. Already he envisioned himself donning a classic suit of armor. Maybe even a fancy cape, if that was still a thing. A sharp tug at his pant leg broke the reverie and brought his attention down to Donald, whose look of disapproval all but told him to keep his mouth shut and to quit while he was ahead.

Donald cleared his throat and spoke with uncharacteristic formality. “That is most gracious and generous of you, Your Highness. We are honored, but we couldn’t accept.”

“Even if we can’t knight you, we still want to give you something.” Elsa replied instead.

“It’s kind of you to offer.” Goofy said with his usual warm smile.

Elsa brought her hands up, with one hand hovering over the other. She wiggled her fingers in a manner that Sora recognized as an act of magic. It poured from Elsa’s fingers like flurries of snow and twirled together tightly into a bright orb of light. The orb spun between her hands until it transformed again. The light had faded to reveal a shining, shimmering, cobalt-blue crystal snowflake. To say that Sora was awe-struck by the feat would be an understatement.

“For you, Sora.”  Elsa presented the crystal, now hanging delicately on a string, to Sora, who offered his thanks and cautiously reached for the crystal. What he hadn’t expected was for the crystal to be so cold to the touch. The shock of the cold on his exposed fingertips was enough for Sora to yelp and send the crystal flying out his hands. The snowflake was descending far too fast to Sora’s horror, prompting him to desperately scramble for the crystal. Donald and Goofy had the same idea. So three pairs of hands were grabbing at the crystal, resulting in an unintentional game of hot-potato. The crystal fumbled from their grasps and made a steady descent to the ground. Before anyone else could act, the crystal was suspended mid-fall by its looped string, hanging off a branchy arm.

“Safe and sound!” Olaf said cheerfully. The group let out a collective sigh of relief. Donald gently took the crystal from Olaf.

“Thanks, Olaf,” Sora smiled, partly grateful and partly sheepish. He bowed low in front of Elsa. “I’m so sorry.” Donald and Goofy took his cue and bowed alongside him. 

“That’s alright,” Elsa smiled kindly. She created two more crystal snowflakes for Donald and Goofy, who accepted them just as graciously and were far more careful with handling them.

“I hope that whenever you see these, you will remember us.”

 --

Sora carefully returned the crystal back into the pouch. He could never forget any of the people he met in his travels, especially not when he had these memories he could hold in his hand. He spent the better part of an hour going through the contents of the chest and revisiting his past. 

And then he saw it. When did I put this in here? Sora gently picked up the old thalassa-shell charm. He used to keep it in his pocket, but its presence started to cause as much anxiety as it did comfort. What if it broke, or worse, what if he lost it? It was likely why he kept it in the chest for his own peace of mind.

 “It’s my lucky charm. Be sure to bring it back to me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Sora found it odd that he didn’t return the charm back to Kairi this time like he always promised he would. It had slipped his mind, though she never asked for it back. So he kept it away among the other trinkets. Here in his hands was perhaps his most precious possession. The charm was the promise of her memory and her unconditional devotion that he literally carried with him wherever he went. She had brought him back up on his feet and back to life more times than he could count. Where would he be without her, or Riku, Donald, Goofy, Axel, Roxas, Naminé, and all the other friends he made in his adventures? Probably long dead, for starters.

He closed the chest, but kept Kairi’s charm with him. Sora looked around the room once more: there were still some half-empty boxes, and his designated piles seemed to now make up one indistinguishable pile.

They could wait.

 ---

One phone call, one hasty apology to his mother, and fifteen minutes later, Sora sat on the porch of his new house. Their new house. He hadn’t waited long, but he was staring into space when a voice broke through the reverie.

“Sora?”

He looked up and there was Kairi standing before him. He shuffled to the side to make room on the steps, a silent offer. 

“You were cryptic on the phone. Is something wrong?” Kairi asked with a look of concern as she sat beside him.

“No, not at all,” Sora replied. “I wanted to surprise you, but I guess I made you worry.” He looked down in embarrassment. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the lucky charm. From the corner of his eye, he saw surprise on her face.

“I just thought I should return this. It is pretty long overdue,” Sora said, handing the charm to Kairi. 

“I wasn’t expecting this.” She said with a bemused smile.

“It’s yours, Kai. I did promise I would give it back to you.”

“Keep it. It’s as much yours as it is mine.” Kairi placed the charm back on Sora’s palm and closed his fingers around it. “It’s probably always been yours.” 

Feeling overwhelmed and flushed, Sora looked away. “I found it in a chest where I was keeping a bunch of stuff people gave me during my travels. I must have kept it there for safe-keeping. I was afraid I’d lose it.”

“I didn’t really care. I just wanted you to come back safely.” said Kairi. “I’m willing to bet your other friends would agree with me. As long as you’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“There’s no heart my smile can’t reach, right?” Sora grinned teasingly. 

It was Kairi’s turn to blush and pout, a look that said she regretted ever giving him the letters she wrote. “No teasing!” She lightly slapped his arm.

“Sorry!” He said looking appropriately apologetic. She seemed to accept this and rested her head on his shoulders. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I wanna see this chest. It sounds like it has a lot of good memories.”

“It does. Before or after we move in?”

“Yes.”

Sora laughed, falling in love a little more. “It’s a promise.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Not to sound stupid but are you okay in Paris? Just watching the tragic fire that is burning down Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. We are left speechless at the scale of this horror as it unfolds. Our thoughts and prayers go to the people of France at this time. How are the French coping?

It’s very surreal to be in Paris this evening. I just got back home myself with my visiting sister. 
She is asleep as I soon will be after finishing writing up this post. But I have a dram of whisky to keep me company until then.

I was running late to have dinner at one of my favourite traditional restaurants in Saint-Germain area of Paris. My uncle and his French wife and my visiting sister were waiting for me there patiently. I didn’t understand at first why there were a throng of people in my way - I felt like a trapped salmon swimming the opposite way. They were bustling through the street leading to Notre Dame; I thought it odd because it’s a small street hidden away from the tourist trap area around Saint Germain. 


Only when I sat down at the table to make my apologies to my family did the waitress and other small number of diners started to openly talk about something bad happening at Notre Dame. 


We stepped out and the small street was filling out of more people. It was surreal. It felt like there was some alien ship had landed nearby and people were going to see what was going on. It was only until one looked up into the clear Paris sky could one see the plumes of smoke and the first wisps of fire on the tower. 


It was a surreal sight. 


We stood there and watched open mouthed. In shock mostly. Around us were a mixture of Parisians, white, black, North African as well as foreign tourists of every nation it seemed. We all just stood there in shocked awe. 


We really didn’t get a great view as the police set up a cordon and everyone was pushed back. 


Many around me were in tears. Others took selfies and shared their disbelief with friends. Most watched in stunned silence. 


The thought had crossed people’s mind that perhaps it was a terrorist attack but that argument was quickly extinguished as clearly there was no explosion. 
All the signs pointed towards some disastrous and tragic accident. 


We left the scene and slowly walked to the Île Saint-Louis, the island in the middle of Paris next to the Île de Cite where Notre Dame stands on. We went back to my uncle’s apartment and had a stiff dram of whisky. We watched the French national news on television whilst also looking out of the apartment bay windows at the terrible sight of the roof and steeple reduced to an ashen shadow of itself.

My French aunt, a medieval historian by background, was inconsolable. She was in tears. Besides being a devout Catholic she has an infectious enthusiasm to point out historic things the rest of us would miss when we would often go for brisk winter walks after Sunday lunches, usually around Notre Dame. 


Here she was again but this time in inconsolable lamentation. Notre Dame de Paris was as she said the cradle of late medieval music. Much of the imagination of those involved in European, religion, culture and music is tied to this place she would never tire of pointing out. Late 12th and early 13th Century polyphonic repertory created at Notre Dame has provided an understanding of how musicians learned to capture rhythm in their notational systems. The innovative musicians Adam of St. Victor, Leonin, and Perotin were all connected to the cathedral in the 12th and 13th centuries. 


Although the building has been constantly reshaped over time, much of the architecture and sculpture dates back to the original building, which was completed in around a century beginning in the 1160s. 


It was much mutilated during both the Renaissance and the 18th century. It was desecrated during the French Revolution and by the early 19th century, the cathedral was was crumbling and half-ruined inside. 


The crowning of Napoleon as emperor followed by the success of Hugo’s novel focused attention on the building, prompting major restorations in the mid-19th century. Indeed it needed all the 19th century labours of Prosper Merimee, Victor Hugo, (Eugene) Viollet-le-Duc and (Jean-Baptiste) Lassus which allowed the Gothic art to be restored to its rightful place.

Notre-Dame de Paris is much loved by the millions of French people and foreigners who visit each year - yet they enter and go out again, I am sure, without quite understanding just what this cathedral is. 


Yes, it is the cathedral of French cathedrals, with one of the longest and richest of histories: the site of royal weddings, the consecration of Napoleon Bonaparte as emperor and the beatification of Joan of Arc. It is also where the public celebrates the lives of the great and good.

It was at Notre Dame in 1431 that Henry VI, king of England, was crowned king of France, and James V, king of Scotland, married Madeleine of France in 1537. Requiem masses were held there for presidents Charles de Gaulle and François Mitterrand.

But Notre Dame to be honest has been more revered by foreign visitors than the locals. This is not out of contempt for religion or for anything traditional. But more because of the over familiarity of having it permanently there that you forget that it is actually there. 


It’s a sin we all make with the places we live near to and even forgetting the traditions that underpin them. We just take them for granted and lazily neglect their importance of what they symbolise or represent. 


To many Parisians, the 850-year-old landmark is quite simply the heart of their city, its two Gothic square towers rising above surrounding buildings along the river Seine. But many forget - including many Parisians - too that Notre dame is the main spot from which all distances to other cities from the French capital are measured. 


And for good reason because Notre Dame Cathedral - commissioned by King Louis VII - was to be a symbol of Paris’ political, economic, intellectual and cultural power at home and around the world. The city had emerged as the centre of power in France and needed a religious monument to match its new temporal and spiritual status. In other words how much the religious life and proud traditions centred the life of a nation. But alas no more. Just as the political centre has been swept away in secularist revolution and reforms from the 18th Century onwards, so has the place of religion and tradition been blown on the winds of change. 


My suspicions are that Parisians will mourn the damage and the loss of Notre Dame but not necessarily feel the weight of the religious loss - outside of the Catholic faithful within France - in equal measure. This is the real loss. The church - whatever one may think of it - without question helped shape the idea of a French kingdom from the 13th Century onwards. So even though France has been a democratic secular state since the French Revolution, many French understand the cultural importance of Notre Dame as symbol intimately tied to the development of the idea of a French nation. As Victor Hugo put it, “La cathédrale était un lieu de refuge. Toute justice humaine expirait sur le seuil.”

My hope is out of the ashes of tragedy a spiritual as well as a cultural renewal might awaken France to respecting its roots and honour traditions that brought them greatness. As my French aunt reminded us this evening that Notre Dame was deliberately designed to inspire awe and to pull your gaze upwards, to think about things transcendent, whether it was God or the Catholic version of Christianity or the transcendent power of human engineering and ingenuity.

We need to restore Notre Dame not just to its former physical glory but to its cultural importance to help all of us to rise above pettiness of politics and think upon the transcendent values of faith and ingenuity. Victor Hugo thought of Notre Dame as a work of art authored by humanity itself, with no individual artist. It surpasses anything an individual can do and therefore becomes the best of what all of us can do.

The question that I ask myself from time to time is that how can we call ourselves culturally advanced Europeans when we lack the imagination and the ingenuity to even dream of building structures worthy of outliving us?

These are questions for another day….

Nil desperandum!

[bombtimer]

On pseudo-public participation

Looking at my friends’ blogs, they have been already communicating their ideas based on their forte, along with sharing their personal stories. They are so academically eloquent and interestingly, they still have an individual touch that sheds new light on that matter. Sadly, I have difficulty to transform an academic perspective into a personal one; writing academically is fine by me since fewer emotions are involved. This is exacerbated by the pre-successful idea to launch a blog once discussed with my friends back in the Lab (LOL). Or another piece that I wrote for a nascent website which stopped producing contents ever since, which in turn traumatises me even more. Yet, as many academia that I follow mostly on Twitter do, I think it is essential to mainstream a perhaps-too-theoretical idea, not only to further the knowledge but also to contribute to, however cringey it probably sounds, the societal progress. 

Alright, enough reminiscing. Now let us proceed to the serious part. 

In this piece, I want to elaborate on my personal view regarding my dissertation, which revolves around the concept of public participation in the digital era. A theoretical framework will be presented, followed by the context of Jakarta, Indonesia as the place where my dissertation takes place upon. Several major arguments will be presented and summarised at the end, which therefore closes this writing. 

[Disclaimer: I do not give the bibliography therefore this piece might be deemed a personal opinion. I really should have drafted the article version of my dissertation hence it will be deemed ‘original’ in the academic setting. However, I am still working on it hence, sadly, the arguments will be limited. The ‘censored’ part is really open for discussion; over dinner or evening cafe session, perhaps?]

Putting public participation in the current smart city discourse

Public participation is naturally the simplest measure of how a citizen can express their political rights, exemplifying the bottom-up approach in the decision-making process. Arguably, the extent to which public participation is designed has been widely elaborated; from Sherry Arnstein’s seminal work of ‘ladder of participation’ to the latest suggestion of how participatory practices should be designed. The pertinent examples include public hearings, consultations, and the advisory committee. Furthermore, these extensive literature have noted the success and setbacks of public participatory designs across the world; whether the practices are more deliberative or not, and the challenges that are still adamantly present through decades; which include the difference in resources to commit to the whole policymaking process i.e. time, travel cost, income, and family structure.

As the digital era is also transforming participatory practices, the notion of public participation seems to be evolving by using map-based software in the decision-making. Many studies exhibit Public Participation Geographic Information System (PPGIS) or similar terms i.e. Collaboratively Contributed GIS (CCGIS) and Volunteered Geographic Information (VGI) as the way of integrating participatory mapping into policy-making. While PPGIS and CCGIS put the citizen with the decision-makers at the same table and at the same time, in VGI perspective the citizens are positioned as the living sensors which ‘capture’ and ‘emit’ both information and its coordinates to the other end where the data are then stored, structured, and analysed further. Indeed, the latter practice puts citizenship in the lowest ladder of participation, both in the traditional definition or in the most recent one. On the one hand, citizens as sensors provide invaluable contents for specific mapping—both aims and spatial resolution. The practice is also important during an emergency, like forest fire mapping, for example. Furthermore, VGI is argued to limit power relation influencing the participatory process, which is often present in face-to-face meetings and forums. On the other hand, as crowdsourcing data reflects the urban inter-referencing effects of smart city initiatives, some argue for its self-congratulatory nature i.e. to achieve a city’s success based on self-deliberated KPI metrics—rather than being truly adapted to the local context. 

Summing up, some question of the quality of VGI to be put on the table while some signify its benefits in more practical understanding. At this point, the choice is between scrutinising the use of VGI as a means to an end in public participation context; whether it is politically correct or not, or rather, devising the analytical framework to gain some insights from the crowdsourced data. Choosing to further the latter, the case of Jakarta, Indonesia will be elaborated.

Jakarta in a nutshell

Being one of the most densely populated metropolitans in the Global South, Jakarta has been storing potentials of becoming an abundant source of crowdsourced data with its approximately 10 million population. There have been some initiatives that use Twitter users to inform which area has been flooded or mobile app that crowdsources reports from the users regarding their surroundings. Some studies even recognise the success (if not the measurement of it) of these organic platforms in collecting public concern to be inputted to decision-making. With many challenges that this metropolis faces periodically i.e. traffic jam, flood, or waste disposal, the various applications which identify those problems define their significance.

Premise 1: Quantitative analysis actually speaks

From what I have learnt for one year, quantitative analysis sounds more when you present the assumptions in the beginning. Basically, there might be data transformation i.e. log-log transformation, winsorization, etc. (such a statistics nerd, sorry) if needed, but the most important thing is answering “What does your data represent?”. There is also spatial analysis, where the geographical attributes are taken into account. The intersection between these schools of thought, in my opinion, complements each other’s limitation. The classic example, of course, would be the Ordinary Least Square Regression vis-a-vis Geographically Weighted Regression. There might be a new insight emerged once you delve into the spatial features of the data.

For the case of public participation, I blatantly used the number of Qlue Indonesia reports in 6 months as somewhat representative of public participation. Qlue Indonesia itself is a company that built a smartphone-based application to report a problem e.g. waste being uncollected, damaged roads, and broken public facilities. For each report, a user will have to take a photo, give the location coordinates, and fill up some fields to elaborate on the problems. 

Yes, I know. There might be biases there; literature defines crowdsourcing to be not giving the whole democratic or rights to the citizens. Or in other words, crowdsourcing is not anywhere near participating in policy-making. Yet, my argument would be that now is the time to use whatever data we have in hand to try modelling our complex world. From this application, I get enough data (n ~ 50,000) for six months to analyse. Then again, every user in crowdsourcing platforms generates their own data, which somehow they participate in defining the problems; an initial yet important step in designing pertinent public policy. 

Once you started the quantitative analysis, it should be kept in mind that the result is not the most accurate of a predictive model. We are not chasing the perfection of such tools, but rather use the model to better elaborate our standpoint. Some say that modelling uncertainty of our model is way a better perspective, as we acknowledge all the assumptions and limitations of our work. After all, measuring public participation has been in a qualitative manner all these decades; we should take a very cautious design in analysing it from a quantitative perspective.

Premise 2: The biases, still?

Speaking about the biases, one must remember that the quintessence of public participation should be the representation. The ideal condition is where everyone has a say to be taken into account, let’s say in the development of social housings in a particular area. However, it is difficult to define 'everyone'. Should it be all city inhabitants? Or rather, should it be based on administrative boundaries? After all, one will say that it is the people of the surrounding project area has 'more' rights to allow such development impacting their daily life for some time.

The thing is, not many people have similar interests over a topic. People have ranging understanding an interests towards their environment, or what Steven Johnson and others called 'vantage points', a condition where people become more selective in processing information and developing knowledge. For example, people in a city-scale will resist the development of a nuclear plant, while if new waste disposal area is to be developed in a Subdistrict X, only people living in Subdistrict X will respond to such plan. Another example recognises the topic. One would be interested in the topic of municipal budgeting, while the other one is just into advocating better public transport. Some might collaborate and thoroughly inspect the budget for developing new bus route, but all should agree that there are people that do not have similar interest, nor the required knowledge to act on those things.

Note: This picture depicts that the female user count as a regression variable is highly significant only in the yellow area

This leads to the socio-economic and demographic features of society. As people come from different backgrounds and upbringings, their vantage point is shaped and changing over time. Such dynamics also generate a condition where priority has to be selected in the first place. For example, if all happens at the same time, a mother would tend to her children rather than attending a forum of new school zoning policy. Or, underprivileged people will think about travel cost twice if they want to attend the public hearing, compared to those who prefer voicing their concerns directly. In the cultural perspective, there would be many examples that there are certain dynamics, which cover body language and political stance, that may hinder the effective design of public participation. This includes that the elders may be more respected than other tribe members, which may be highly influential when a decision is about to be made.

To be more contextual, the current digital era has transformed public participation designs into more technology-aided platforms. Yet, the classic issue of the use of technology is the digital divide. One might argue that the reasons for people having access to technology are congruent to those of people participating in policy-making. Though it should be confirmed first, to some extent, current utilisation of technology might exacerbate the representativeness issue in participatory practices. People who do not have access to municipal reporting platform on their phone, due to incompatible phone for the app or lack of information on the existence of the app, just simply will not contribute in tagging any problem through the app.

Indeed, the biases in current practices of participatory designs are mostly caused by the converging representation of divergent society. These opaque layers need to be carefully addressed to generate a public policy, which one may assume its equity towards all.

Premise 3: Local knowledge, unravelled

While putting the citizens as the living sensors, one must contextualise the information within its spatial attributes and to the extent of additional information in each report. The latter implies the comment from each user. Several methods suggest text mining, which may result in sentiment analysis. Other technique may group the records based on several keywords into several topics. By this premise, first, we should list every word within the context that might be deemed positive and negative in value. Then, compare every word from the comment, iterate the value, and let the statistics define the results. The challenge would be using the pertinent library and tool packages (hello, machine learning) in the local language i.e. Indonesian and its informal words, which sometimes may be lacking. 

Combining this result with its spatial attributes will further the analysis, even possibly add into the debate of generalisation in geodemographics vs. the highly-granular big data. While several socio-economic indicators are not in high resolution, this coerces the analysis based on the administrative boundary. If the result is later presented to the decision-makers, the delivery of follow-up services will sometimes be blind by this geographical entity, which might be really disadvantageous in an emergency. But indeed, all of this made-up condition works if there is only one channel that is used for the citizens to report something.

Investigating how the public engages in decision-making needs to address the fact that there are multiple ways for one to notify the government about an incident. We talk about informal channels which might be different from a city to another, such as collective action in doing something, local governments in a village, or else. A multi-level, multi-approach set of analysis will prove that indeed there is a complexity in decision-making, even in its earliest step: answering “Is there any problem that we should respond to?”

And...

I know I tried really hard to deliver my thoughts on this matter. This piece only delves into several superficial entities of public participation, which might be flawed by thinking that the number of reports in a certain geographical unit equals to the level of public participation. Yet I argue that using the seemingly-superfluous information, indeed we can gain necessary information in identifying problems that occur around us. We can use different quantitative and spatial tools, along with addressing the biases of public participation which hopefully leads to the unravelling of the local knowledge. Some would be optimistic in using the tools and how-to aforementioned, particularly referring to the fact that data is all around us. However, I humbly suggest that we should look at the bigger picture, starting by identifying how to analyse our own society across the ladder of participation, one of the generalisations of the public that I personally like. By acknowledging the complexity, at least we progress in how to include ourselves in the decision-making process. 

[usafitnessplan-blog]

USA Fitness Plan

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USA Fitness Plan Daily Fitness Tips:

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Always aim for healthy breakfast on routine

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Get as several contemporary fruits, vegetables, and whole grains into your diet as doable and build them the most a part of your overall diet. embrace lean sources of supermolecule like poultry, fish, bean curd and beans. Eat balanced meals and don't overgorge. Stop uptake before you become utterly full and provides yourself an opportunity to digest your food. Snack on whole foods like fruit, vegetables and daft. Avoid extremely processed foods that contain artificial sweeteners or colors, hidden sugars or excessive fat.

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[drlaurynlax]

The Most Comprehensive HPA Axis Dysfunction Guide

HPA Axis Dysfunction affects many people and having the right treatment could help them live fuller lives.

Stress is “normal.”

…So is feeling imbalanced. At least for approximately 3 in 4 Americans who will experience “adrenal fatigue” in their lifetime, according to Dr. James Wilson, author of Adrenal Fatigue: the 21st Century Stress Syndrome (2001). 

Stress: Mental & Physical

Most people think of stress as psychological and emotional stress.

Technically, however, stress is defined as:

 “Any event in which environmental demands, internal demands, or both, strain or exceed the adaptive resources of an individual.”

(In other words: Stress is a demand on our mental or physical body that we can’t handle well). 

Stress (both mental and physical) is the “elephant in the room,” that sets the stage for all sorts of disease and health problems we experience in our lifetime. 

Common Stress

You and I encounter hundreds—if not thousands—of stressors in our daily lives, some that happen in the blink of an eye, and others that linger for years.

Common daily stressors include:

Gut-irritating foods, like chocolate-glazed donuts, beans or even difficult-to-digest raw broccoli in your gut

Getting stuck in rush-hour traffic

An e-mail exchange where the person’s tone on the other end seems tense

A spat with your significant other

Negative news headlines on our notifications throughout the day

Running late

Drinking 2-3 cups of coffee to tide you over after 4 hours of sleep

A 3 pm sugar binge when a sugar crash strikes

Accidentally overeating or feeling really hungry before a meal

Pushing ourselves hard in an intense workout

Feeling the crunch of a tight deadline at work

Lack of sleep one night

Saying “yes” when you really wanted to say “no”

Getting over-heated in the sun

Generally, daily, or “acute” (short-term) stressors are things we quickly adapt to—

If you get hot for instance, you naturally seek to cool your body off with some AC. If you ate too much, you may not feel like eating as much the next meal; or if your body is ‘stressed’ with hunger, you typically eat something to ‘adapt’ and calm the stress.If you didn’t get much sleep last night, you may try to find time to take a nap, or to get to bed extra early tonight.

With short term stress, your body and mind is innately wired to learn how to deal with the stress.

However, when stress lingers and remains (with little to no relief in sight)…

Houston, we have a problem!

Some examples of chronic—lingering—stress may include:

A rocky or strained relationship with a significant other, business partner or best friend

Financial pressures

An autoimmune condition—that won’t go away

Years of eating a processed food diet or disordered eating habits

Daily (constant) demands of a boss we can never please or a job we hate

Trying to do everything—and not being able to do any one thing really well

Not eating enough (every day), dieting or restriction

Drinking 2 to 3 cups of coffee (every day)

Burning a candle at both ends—every day

Sleeping 5-6 hours most nights

Staring at screens fo 8-10 hours per day

Overtraining (Chronic cardio with little to no rest for recovery)

Overwork and little to no play

Staring at computer screens while hunched over—every day

  Try as we may to adapt, relief doesn’t come, and if chronic stress persists, things go awry BOTH physically and mentally.

Hello SUPER STRESS!!!

Technically we call this “HPA Axis Dysfunction.”

HPA Axis Dysfunction 101

HPA Axis Dysfunction is another word for what’s come known as “adrenal fatigue” or “poor stress management” in laymen’s terms. Mental and physical stress triggers the hypothalamus in your brain to activate two distinct pathways of the stress response:

1.) The “Fight or Flight” System (“Sympathetic Medullary System”): the system the responds IMMEDIATELY to stress, like increasing your heart rate, blood pressure, alertness, and metabolic rate; and,

2.) Your HPA-Axis (Hypothalamic Pituitary Adrenal Axis): the “mothership” of all things stress related in your body.

HPA Axis Anatomy

The HPA-Axis involves three key parts of your brain and body: 

Hypothalmus. The region in your brain that controls the “automatic” (autonomic) functions like: metabolism, body temperature, thirst, hunger, sleep and emotional activity.

Pituitary. A “hormone regulating” gland, in your forehead, that helps your body feel, helps you manage stress, and stimulates growth, hormone balance, reproduction, and lactation.

Adrenal Glands. Two pea-sized endocrine (hormone) glands that produce a variety of hormones including adrenaline, aldosterone and cortisol (your stress hormone)

If your HPA-Axis takes a hit from LOTS of stress or chronic (ongoing) stress, then it leads to “HPA Axis Dysfunction,” resulting in an assortment of side effects, including:

Inflammation

Blood sugar imbalances

Most all disease: Cancer, diabetes, heart disease, etc.

Mood imbalances, like depression

psoriasis or eczema;

IBS, bloating, or other digestive symptoms

Brain fog 

Hormone imbalances

Infertility

ADD/ADHD

And (you guessed it) chronic—ongoing anxiety—that anxiety you seemingly can’t control, no matter how hard you try to think about controlling it. 

  “HPA Axis Dysfunction” is simply another way of saying, “chronic” stress.” Chronic stress is the root of all imbalance in the body. 

And tying back to our gut-brain-body connection, chronic stress often stems back to the gut. It’s all intertwined!

HPA-Dysfunction vs. Stress

But don’t we all experience stress in our lives? Shouldn’t we just be able to deal with it?

What’s the difference in every day stress vs. “HPA Axis Dysfunction?”

Good questions!

True, our bodies DO deal with A LOT when it comes to stress; and your body (and brain) can take A LOT (“bring it on!”). But when stress goes overboard, or lasts for a long time (without proper recovery) our body can only handle so much.

Example: the Poptarts and Cheetohs I ate daily as a kid, and artificial sweeteners and additive-filled protein powders I ate for years in college and young adulthood. 

The result from these chronic stressors in my life? Frequent bloating, constipation, bacterial overgrowth, and the anxiety I battled in my teens and young 20’s. My body was not designed and wired to eat Silicon Dioxide, aspartame, corn solids or high-fructose corn syrup.

Gone are the days of our ancestors who lived in the natural (toxin-free) environment, ate nutrient-rich foods, and spent their days in accordance to the rhythms of the sun. Eventually my repetitive poor quality foods led to poor gut health, which then led to stress and a variety of symptoms. 

Consider the variety of stress your own body encounters on a daily basis:

Working a job you don’t love, staring at a screen for 8-hours and staying stuck in your cubicle;

Barely getting 6-hours of sleep

Running off 2 to 3 cups of coffee every day

Eating ketchup, pasta sauce, yogurt and deli meat—laden with hidden sugar

Forgetting to eat, or subsisting off of chicken and broccoli—not eating enough

CrossFitting, spinning or running miles upon miles 5 to 6 days per week with little attentio to your recovery 

If this becomes your “norm,” that HPA-Axis of yours also takes a hit. And when your HPA-Axis takes a hit, a “normal stress” response no longer remains.

Cortisol Conundrum

Speaking of “normal stress, “ever heard of the hormone cortisol?

Cortisol is your “stress hormone” that helps you deal with “normal stress.” In the good ol days, it helped humans run really fast from bears chasing them in the woods; and it helped you “suck it up” when the mean girls left you out at the lunch table in middle school. 

Cortisol is directly produced and regulated by the HPA-Axis. 

Higher amounts of stress produce more cortisol.

If cortisol levels are constantly produced and pumped out (with little to no recovery or rest from the stress), then the HPA-Axis gets pooped out!  

And we are right back to square one: Imbalance and inflammation (think: mood swings, sugar cravings, racing thoughts, disrupted gut flora leading to disrupted serotonin in the brain, increased or decreased respiration rate, elevated blood pressure, etc.).

Without the ability to regulate stress (normally), your body and mind naturally become more sensitive and fragile to respond to even little stressors (like a loud noise, the lack of control, a comment someone said, the effects caffeine, etc.). 

Again: stress is more than just a mental battle, it is also a physical battle.

How do I know if I have HPA Axis Dysfunction?

It’s not always easy to “see” or diagnose—especially if your “subpar (stressed out) norm” has become your norm.

Common signs of an out-of-whack HPA-Axis include:

Anxiety—that doesn’t go away

Panic attacks

Feeling wired and tired at night

“Waking up” when you workout—and needing the highs of workouts to keep going

Plateaus in training, “gains” and physical goals

Muscle weakness or wasting

High or low blood pressure

Suppressed respiration (needing “more air” during training)

Subpar performance “Crazy fast” metabolism or super slow metabolism

Telling your body to “work harder” or “push more”—with difficulty implementing it

Digestion difficulties (bloating, gas, IBS, constipation)

Suppressed appetite

Hormone imbalances (low testosterone, loss of period, infertility)

Hypoglycemia (low blood sugar)

Unable to go long between meals without getting a headache/shakey

Dependence on coffee, sugar or artificial sweeteners

Never feeling 100% rested

Apathy and/or burnout

Feeling emotionally “flat”

Falling asleep if you sit anywhere for too long

Insomnia

Weepy for now reason

Inability to lose weight

Mood swings

Fatigue

Anxiety or Depression

Autoimmune conditions

Food intolerances

Headaches

High blood pressure

Low or high heart rate

Feeling dizzy when standing up

Inability to concentrate/focus or memory loss

Lyme disease

Catching colds, flus or illnesses easily

Not “feeling like yourself”

Skin breakouts or acne 

Feeling burned out or unable to do your usual basic “to dos”

Inability to tolerate exercise like you once did

Random allergies

“Diabetes” 

Thyroid issues/hypothyroidism

Unwanted weight loss and inability to gain weight

Feeling “wired and tired”

Shortness of breath

Hormone imbalances 

Apathy about my work

IBS

Poor workout performance

Electrolyte imbalances

  If any of these factors are ongoing (lasting more than 7 days), then it may be worth at least exploring if you could benefit from “resetting” your HPA-Axis (i.e. targeting stress).

What to Do About It

Address stress—the elephant in the room.

Not just mentally, but physically. 

Remember: While talking about your anxiety and counseling with someone around your anxiety can be two HUGE PIECES of the anxiety puzzle, if your physical well-being goes unaddressed (targeting stress reduction and improving gut health), then you are only treating half the “problem.”

How to do it? 

Here are some basics to start:

1. Assess Your Own Stress.

What are the top stressors in your life right now, and what stressors have you dealt with in your past? Surgeries? Medications? Light exposure? A job you hate? Food intolerances? Gut issues? Make a list of both psychological and physiological factors that may be contributing to your current state of stress.

2. Test Don’t Guess.

Many people read about “adrenal fatigue” or HPA Axis Dysfunction on Google and immediately turn to self-treating—buying supplements and tea labeled “adrenal support” at Whole Foods, downloading the Headspace meditation app, and diffusing lavender in the air. However, without understanding a full picture of the cortisol imbalance in your body (if at all), you may be under treating or over treating. For instance, your cortisol may be high or low, melatonin may be suppressed or perfectly normal, estrogen may be nonexistent or extremely elevated.

In addition, cortisol imbalance may be triggered by the gut, the hypothalamus or your thyroid, or a mix of all three. The problem is, if you treat your “issue” inappropriately you risk not getting to the “root” or potentially making the problem worse. A comprehensive saliva/urine test like the DUTCH test can help you get a clearer picture of your unique cortisol story. Consider working with a functional medicine practitioner to navigate test results, as well as address any other underlying health imbalances contributing to your condition.

3. Eat a Nutrient Dense Diet

Balance your meals with protein, healthy fats and moderate carbs. No extremes. 

Protein, particularly in the morning, has a balancing effect on blood sugar. 

Avoid foods with fillers, sweeteners and unknown ingredients.

For a time, avoid caffeine and alcohol. 

Prioritize clean filtered water (Tip: Add a pinch of sea salt to 12 to 16 ounces of water in the morning. Sea salt is a natural electrolyte to balance sodium levels). 

Also don’t neglect mindful eating (chewing your food well, slowing down at meal times, not eating on the go or while watching TV, etc.). Mindfulness is a game changing practice your body appreciates.Reset Your Circadian Rhythms

Eliminate blue light exposure at night (blue-blocking glasses, nightshift apps on your phone),

Get back to nature (aim for 30-60 minutes at least of fresh air)

Eat at regular intervals

4. Catch Enough Zzzz’s

Sleep at regular times (keep a schedule). Speaking of sleep is essential to just about every type of “wellness” protocol, but it is particularly essential for HPA Axis Dysfunction recovery. Prioritize 7 to 9 hours each night.

5. Move Your Body

Overtraining is a common cause of HPA Axis Dysfunction. Common signs of overtraining include difficulty recovering from workouts, increased gut issues or loss of appetite, a plateau or decrease in performance, increased body fat despite regular exercise and “eating clean,” poor sleep, restlessness, anxiety, fatigue, muscle or joint pain, suppressed immune system, and low mood.

The best exercise? In the immediate recovery period, opt for lower intensity exercise such as walking, cycling (not cranking up the notch on your spin bike), strength training, swimming, or yoga over high-intensity activities like CrossFit WODs, Orange Theory workouts or straight-up cardio training. Just Say No.

What’s filling your life and what’s draining you? Take a thoughtful inventory of what’s crowding your space. Cut out the things on your plate that are weighing you down.

6. Relax

As cheesy or overrated as it sounds, take time out to settle your mind and integrate mindful activities through mental and physical (intentional) relaxation.

Consider these:

Prayer

Journaling

Meditation (Try Muse, or Headspace)

Biofeedback/Heart Math

Yogi Breathing 

Yoga 

Tai Chi

  These are just a few ways people actively seek to “relax” more. Although it will probably be “awkward” at first, by starting small and prioritizing relaxation (even 5 minutes in the morning) make a difference.

7. Supplement Smart

A big mistake people make is taking random supplements that can actually make your adrenal fatigue worse, not better, if not careful. As mentioned, testing and not guessing helps prevent over-treating or under-treating with supplements. However, there are some natural and gentle supports for HPA Axis Dysfunction that can work for many people as your figuring out your unique picture including:

Liposomal Curcumin + Boswellia AKBA  

Lavender & Peppermint essential oils

Adrenal Calm Cream by Apex Energetics 

HPA Axis  

The post The Most Comprehensive HPA Axis Dysfunction Guide appeared first on Meet Dr. Lauryn.

Source/Repost=> https://drlauryn.com/hormones-metabolism/hpa-axis-dysfunction-guide/ ** Dr. Lauryn Lax __Nutrition. Therapy. Functional Medicine ** https://drlauryn.com/

[spnkinkevents]

SPN Kink Bingo Sign Ups

It’s that time of year again - SPN Kink Bingo sign ups are open.  Sign ups will close May 14th.

PARTICIPANT SIGN UP CAN BE FOUND HERE.

ALL MEDIUMS ARE WELCOME, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO: EDITS, GIFSETS, FANFIC, POETRY, DRAWINGS, AND DIGITAL ART.

WHAT IS IT?

Each participant will get a 5x5 bingo card (a total of 25 prompts per card) centered around Supernatural characters, kinks, tropes, etc. For each square, you must create an original work that fulfills that prompt. 

If you choose to submit your card to earn points ~ For every square, you’re awarded points, and if you get a bingo, you earn points for that, too. (There’s more information about the point system here.) At the end, points will be totaled for those who submit their master post.

If you just want to participate for fun, not competing for points, you can do that too!  You’ll get an extra couple weeks to post your work.

WAIT, BUT WHAT ARE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE ENTRIES? CAN I DO ____?

You can find all of the information about minimum requirements here. If you do not see a requirement for your medium, please send the mods an ask and we will work something out for you.

IS THIS SHIP OR KINK OKAY?

Yes. The only thing we do not allow is content of any kind that involves real persons who are currently under the age of 18, even if you age them up.

No participant is allowed to ship or kink shame others. Anyone caught doing so will be banned from participation.

WHAT’S THE SCHEDULE LIKE?

Sign ups run until May 14. Bingo Cards sent no later than May 21 (Please be patient, as creating each card will take some time). Remake requests close June 1st. Final Master Posts for Points Due November 1st. Final Master Posts for Fun Due November 15th.

OKAY, BUT WHAT ABOUT POSTING?

Formatting for individual fill posts and the master post can be found on our about page. Each square must have a unique fill and post.

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to shoot us an ask!

IF YOU’VE READ THIS FAR AND WANT TO JOIN...

Please follow this link to sign up and consider reblogging this post, so that you can spread the word about the SPN Kink Bingo!

[dovechim]

instant gratification 03 (m)

➾10.8k 

➾ smut, angst, fluff

➾the final part of this series, please read the first three parts if you haven’t!

instant gratification 01 | 02 | 2.5 | 03

It’s like time has slowed to an ambling crawl, and all that ever exists has ceased to matter; except in this room with the three of you standing, facing each other like fighters in a ring. All you’re aware of is the way your breath has frozen over in your chest, and the way Jeongguk is clutching something so tightly in his hand, mirroring your own fisted palm.

“Jeongguk, no,” the sound of your voice pierces through the tense atmosphere, and is that really your voice? Why does it sound so unconvincing, so lacking in resolve, so broken? You clear your throat and attempt to try again, because your eyes are locked on Jeongguk’s own milky caramel ones, filled with a murky rage that threatens to break past the surface. “Jeongguk, this is not what it looks like, I swear-“

He only responds with an acerbic laugh that’s short and cutting, and it makes every breath you take feel razor sharp.

“Not what it looks like?” Jeongguk’s features twist into an ugly mix of jealousy and fury as he crosses his arms over his chest, partly to emphasize the muscles of his chest to make himself feel bigger, and also to form some sort of barrier between himself and you. “Babe, if you’ve only known how many times I’ve said that phrase myself, only for it to mean the exact opposite.”

Suddenly it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, and you choke back a sob that bubbles up in your chest, digging your nails into your palm to remind yourself to keep it together. He always knows just exactly how to hit your weak spot all the damn time, it’s as if he knows you so well from the inside out. This is his reminder that you will always be just another notch on his belt, another faceless girl to add to his collection, just one more body to warm up his bed for him. You watch as Jeongguk’s gaze travels between you and Jimin, and you thank your lucky stars that he happens to be here now of all times, because this is how you’ll get back at Jeon Jeongguk.

This is how you’ll hurt him, for all of the times he made you feel like nothing more than dirt at the bottom of his shoe, good enough to fuck in his bed at night but not good enough to acknowledge in the hallways. 

“You know what? You’re right.” Your words have an immediate effect on him as you see them register on his face like whiplash. Let his own words come back to haunt him, and you don’t even have to do anything but watch as he struggles to compartmentalize his emotions. 

“What? What did you just say?” His voice is the calm before the storm, and you’ve never seen him like this before. You’re used to his irrational outbursts of anger along with the most creative swear words you’ve ever heard, but never this kind of quiet rage that might just be the scariest kind there is.

“You heard me.” But you won’t back down no matter how terrified you are; you’ve spent long enough toeing the line and there’s only so much you can take. The rational recesses of your mind is screaming at you to stop, to resolve this simple misunderstanding before it escalates, but you’ve waited far too long for an opportunity like this to come along to let it go to waste just like that. And besides, your entire life might go down the drain because of Jeon Jeongguk, so he deserves this.

Right? 

Jimin makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, and you glance at him to quiet him, and somewhere within you there’s a shred of guilt for getting him involved in this again.

“Are. You. Pregnant.” Jeongguk says through gritted teeth, and you belatedly realise that the results must be out by now.

But your hesitation is all it takes for him to cross the room in two of his long strides to grasp your wrist with a firm hold, and the look on his face has your heart skipping a beat, and you reflexively jerk away from him. The fear must have been evident on your face, because for a second Jeongguk lets a look of regret flit across his features and loosens his grip on you, angling the test toward him.

Two lines.

You see it the same time as him, but before you can react, Jeongguk jerks his hand away from yours as if scalded. You can almost see the resentment in his eyes as he backs away slowly, tossing something onto your bed as he lets the door slam behind him, and that’s the last you see of Jeon Jeongguk.

Your legs give out and you crumple onto the floor in a heap, breaths coming in panicked rise and falls of your chest, and the test clatters onto the ground uselessly. Jimin hesitantly approaches you, taking a peek at the two blue lines before gathering you into his arms, whispering words that you don’t hear.

*

The worst part of it all is just that when you think you’ve come to terms with the whole thing, with all the nitty gritty details of doctor’s appointments, texts to parents, potentially dropping out of school, it all comes crashing down on you again. Repeatedly over the next few days you find yourself back at square one, struggling to keep your head above water trying to figure out just where and when things went so, so wrong. 

Every time you look at the cactus with its pink flower and broken pot sitting on your desk, reality starts to close in on you again.

You even resort to Google and all its million search results that lead you to various online teenage pregnancy websites, and they all say just about the same thing. Step 1: Think positively.

Okay. You can do this, there must be some pros in every situation, no matter how bad it is right?

No periods for 9 months, and that means no cramps too, but the thought alone only makes the anxiety in your chest worsen. You’d rather have your period every single day of the month than have to deal with this. 

Step 2: Tell someone you trust, set up your own support system.

That’s a fucking no-go, you chuckle bitterly as you toss your phone onto your bed in resentment. Of the two people who know about this, you don’t trust one of them further than they can throw you, but ironically, Jeon Jeongguk probably could lift you up and toss you across the room easily enough. At this rate you wonder if you should be calling MTV right about now, and if you play out your sob story enough, this will be your ticket to fame.

Step 3: Find some way to tell your parents.

The next sentence that you read almost makes you want to throw your phone across the room and pretend that all of this doesn’t exist, that you’re not currently knocked up with fucking Jeon Jeongguk’s baby and worse still, that he never saw you as anything more than just an easy fuck. But your eyes stray down to the paragraph that accompanies it, and hope flares in your chest; it’s just a tiny spark, but it’s enough.

If you used a store bought pregnancy test, make sure to visit the doctor to confirm your pregnancy before telling your parents. False positives, though rare, do occur and the most likely reasons are due to expired pregnancy tests, or even reading the results of the test after the suggested time, which can cause inaccurate results due to the evaporation line that forms. It’s best to double check so that you don’t do any unneeded damage! 

With that the remaining hesitation about setting up a doctor’s appointment vanishes, and you start searching for nearby clinics.

*

The autumn afternoon brings chilly winds and a hint of the sun’s rays that peek out behind the voluminous clouds. You bury your hands deeper into your coat pockets, quickening your step so that you can get out of the cold. Jimin has insisted on accompanying you to the appointment, and as he lengthens his strides to walk slightly ahead of you, he slides his jacket off and drapes it around you, quieting your protests with a soft hush of his plush lips.

 “Jimin, you really didn’t have to come with me, I know you have that History midterm today.” You reach to close his jacket around you, and for some reason it makes you feel a lot warmer, even though you’re not wearing it properly for it to make much of a difference.

“It’s no big deal, I rescheduled it. I’m pretty tight with my History TA,” he gives you an easy smile, hovering his hand on the small of your back as you head up the stairs to the clinic.

The small room smells unpleasantly of antiseptic and bleach, but thankfully it seems rather empty for a Tuesday afternoon. Jimin makes you sit down on the waiting chairs while he takes care of the registration, and as you watch him scribble something down onto a piece of paper, you can’t help but fidget in your seat.

“She says you’re the next one up, so it shouldn’t be too long of a wait,” Jimin says as he takes the seat next to you, studying your features with concern that makes a wrinkle appear on his forehead. “You okay? Nervous?”

“I’m okay, and no, not nervous,” you lie through your teeth. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right? It can only get better from here, not worse.”

Jimin only grins at your optimism that is somehow pessimistic at the same time, and reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he leans in closer. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek, and you can count every single individual eyelash of his.

“I wanted to tell you something.” He looks straight into your eyes, and with his arm on the back of your chair, he exudes a sense of security that makes everything feel okay again, makes you feel safe, like nothing else matters except for him and you. “I wanted to tell you that no matter what happens, I’m willing to take responsibility for everything. I really like you and I hope you’ll give me a chance. To make everything better again.”

Jimin looks so hopeful and radiant as he gazes back at you, and the honest sincerity on his face makes you grip his hand tightly, because honestly you don’t deserve his selflessness. His willingness to stay by your side and potentially raise someone else’s child only proves that he really loves you no matter what.

Just as you’re about to reply, the nurse calls your name, and your attention is momentarily drawn to the direction in which she points you to. When you look back at Jimin, he only smiles back and stands, your hand still in his as he leads you to the doctor’s room and knocks on the door.

The doctor is a middle aged man who looks to be in his thirties, but despite that, the wrinkles around his eyes make him look about 10 years older. He glances up when you walk into the room, and upon taking in both you and Jimin’s presence, he sighs through his nose, but his gaze is sympathetic as he gestures for you to take a seat.

A part of you wants to just run out from this room immediately, away from his pitying gaze and away from this horrible reality. He’s probably seen and dealt with lots of teenage pregnancies before, and now you’re becoming just another one of them, just another statistic to be tallied up and added to the bottom of condom packages or those religious cults promoting abstinence.

The thought sickens you to your stomach.

“What can I do for you today, Ms ____? And I assume this is your boyfriend?” He casts a cursory glance at Jimin.

“U-Uhm no, he’s just a friend who accompanied me here.” If anything, your reply has a pronounced effect on the other two males in the room. The doctor’s frown deepens as he raises his eyebrows, but to his benefit he doesn’t probe or ask any more questions. Beside you, you can feel Jimin slouch in his seat a little, but his grip doesn’t let up on your hand.

Steady, comforting and warm. Just about every single thing you need right now, so why is it so hard to just say yes to him?

Your eyes land on his nameplate on his desk. “I’d like a blood test, Dr Kwon. I used a home pregnancy test, and I- I read that they can be wrong sometimes. I just want to be sure before… before…”

Your voice trails off and you can’t continue, because you simply have no idea what comes next if you really are pregnant, and as much as you hate to admit it, this is your last shred of hope. Dr Kwon is looking at you with sympathy etched between his brows now, and you hate the way he smiles at you gently, as if preparing to let you down.

And let you down he does. 

“Of course, we’ll get one done right away, and the results will be out in two days. But the chances of a home pregnancy test being wrong is only about 3%, so I suggest you don’t get your hopes up, that is, since this is an unplanned pregnancy, am I right?” He scribbles something down onto your card, before interlacing his fingers together.

“Right.” The single word is like a stab to the gut, and your admission out loud makes everything so much more real, like you can’t hide from it anymore.

Dr Kwon seems satisfied with your admission. “A nurse will be in shortly to help you with the blood test, and she’ll also pass you some brochures with useful and important information that you need to know if you’re pregnant.”

You nod mutely and allow the nurse to usher you into a separate room. The prick of the needle barely registers as she draws a decent amount of blood, and while you’ve always been terrified of needles and blood, this time it doesn’t seem to garner much of a reaction as you sit there numbly and allow her to clean the wound and stick on a plaster in the crook of your elbow.

“That’s all for today, we’ll call with the results after 48 hours. Dr Kwon also asked me to pass these to you, please read them well in your own time, and feel free to call if you have any questions! I hope you have a happy pregnancy!!” The nurse doesn’t seem to register your situation as she beams happily at you while guiding you back to the waiting room where Jimin is perched on one of the seats, springing to his feet once he sees you.

“See you in a few days’ time!!” The nurse’s words chime out behind you ominously as you head for the door, and so the wait commences.

*

You’ve never been good at waiting.

Not even for trivial things like waiting for packages to be delivered, which is why you almost never shop online; or for your instant noodles to be cooked, you’d rather eat slightly crunchy noodles rather than soggy overcooked ones anyway.

The hours pass by painfully slowly, and at the end of the 36th hour and 48th minute- no, you haven’t been counting- you decide to call the clinic in hopes that your result might be out sooner than expected.

“Ms _____? You’re calling about your blood test results, I assume?” The same nurse from the other day picks up and immediately greets you with her cheery voice.

“Yes, I know it hasn’t been two days yet but I just wanted to check-“

“Oh, I do have your results ready with me, I was just about to call you actually.”

You grip your phone so tightly that your knuckles have turned white, and you just manage to form a coherent sentence. “Wh-what is the result?” 

“The result of your blood test is… you’re not pregnant.” Her voice rises and then falls in disappointment like a crescendo, and the sympathy is evident. “I’m so sorry, if you need anything like counselling, I’d be happy to…” 

But the adrenaline that rushes through your veins makes it hard for you to hear the rest of what she’s saying, and you blurt out something before hanging up, feeling relief in every single square inch of your body. Tears of joy flood your eyes, as you clutch your phone to your chest, and the elation that fills you to overflowing makes you scroll through your contacts to Park Jimin’s number.

“Jimin, my answer is yes,” you gasp into the phone breathlessly.

“Huh? Wh- ______, are you okay?” 

“My answer is yes, I’ll go out with you.”

*

You sip on the beer with relish, and while you’re not usually such a fan of alcohol, the beer somehow tastes unusually sweet tonight. Jimin wraps his arms around your waist as you perch on his lap, and nuzzles his nose into the dip of your collarbone.

“You okay babe? I thought you hated frat parties,” he says with his lips pleasantly against your skin, and you close your eyes in enjoyment.

“What better way to celebrate? The fact that I’m not pregnant and can drink as much alcohol as I want to,” you grin at him as you take another sip. “Hey, let’s do body shots later!!”

Jimin only chuckles at your excitement. You hand him your empty beer can as you get up from his lap, straightening your bandage skirt in the process and grab his wrist. “C’mon, let’s go dance!!”

You lead him all the way to the center of the living room, and the sheer number of people around the two of you presses Jimin right up behind you, and you can feel his hips against the curve of your ass. You glance back at him, expecting to find him shy and blushing as usual, but it seems like you’re not the only one who’s celebrating with alcohol tonight, as he grips the flesh of your hips with his hands and pulls you into him, his eyes glinting with desire.

You grin back at him and make your way deeper into the crowd, enjoying the feeling of Jimin right against your ass, and it seems like somewhere along the way he’s lost the rest of his inhibitions because he’s even starting to grind against you, and you can’t deny how every thrust of his agile hips makes the ache between your legs more and more noticeable.

Until you crash straight into a wall, and you didn’t realise that you’d been going so far as to hit the walls of the living room already. But when you turn around, you realise that the obstacle in your way is not the cream coloured walls of the frat house, but instead Jeon Jeongguk’s chest. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and his hair is styled off his forehead so you can see his eyebrows as they arch at the sight of you, and that little smirk that always drives you crazy.

He takes in the sight of Jimin’s hands on your hips and his half lidded eyes.

“Should you really be here?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrow and a tiny little smirk, his eyes trailing down to your midriff. Jeongguk tries not to let on that he’s actually studying your stomach for any hint of a baby bump, although he has no idea when women start to show physical signs of pregnancy. But he plays it off as disinterest even as he feels slightly nauseous at the sight of Jimin’s hands on you.

“I can be wherever I fucking want, Jeon.” You nearly spit back at him, and the venom in your voice is just an overcompensation for the empty hollowness in your chest at seeing him looking so delectable, but he doesn’t need to know that. Jeongguk raises his hands in mock surrender, pasting an amused smile onto his lips.

“Woah, looks like someone’s PMSing- oh wait, I forgot you don’t PMS anymore.”

“Fuck off Jeon,” Park Jimin nearly growls, and Jeongguk feels his hackles rise in response. He’s about to spit out a hell of a comeback when Jimin’s hands slide around your waist, pulling you into his embrace and away from him, and his voice gets stuck in his throat.

“C’mon babe, let’s go somewhere else,” Jimin whispers into your ear, and you acquiesce, allowing him to lead you upstairs instead. 

He leads you into an empty room, and you’re suddenly consumed with the urge to feel his lips against yours. You reach over to tug on the collar of his shirt, pulling him into you and moaning when his plush lips finally meet yours. Your tongue slips out to lick at the seam of his lips, and he whines against your mouth even as you reach to close the door behind you.

Your hands reach under his shirt to feel the hard ridges of his abs, running your fingernails lightly across them and enjoying the way his muscles tense up under your touch. Reaching to slide the hem of his shirt over his head, you follow by ridding yourself of your own shirt, and Jimin’s eyes immediately take in the sight of your bra clad chest, and he bites his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers even as he scatters kisses over the tops of your breasts, and you smile in response, because he always makes you feel so secure, he always knows just the right thing to say.

You guide his hands to the back of your bra, urging him to unclasp it and he does, slipping the straps off your shoulders before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. His wet tongue teases your bud just right, and you arch into him with a moan.

“Jimin, don’t tease please…” You pant as he switches to the other neglected breast. You reach down to tug off your skirt, and in your impatience, you grope at the front of his jeans as well, delighted when your hand is met with a tell-tale bulge. “Jimin, I want you, please…”

He hesitates as you continue to palm him. “______... are you sure?”

“Mhm, I need to feel you inside of me Jimin, I want that so badly…”

Jimin takes a second to look at you properly, and that’s when he realises that you’re drunk. He sighs as he draws away from your alluring touch, causing you to pout in disappointment.

“Jimin? What’s wrong? Don’t you want me?”

“I do, baby, I want to feel you around me so fucking bad, but not like this,” he says as he reaches for your clothes. “Not in some random frat house, and definitely not when you’re drunk. When we have sex for the first time, I want to do it right.”

He helps you slide on your bra and even clasps it for you, kissing you on the shoulder sweetly. “Let’s get you home, okay? I’ll go get a cab and you just wait here.”

You can only nod as you watch him slip on his shirt again, and head out the door. Sinking down on your bed, you realised that you should have tried a little harder to convince him that you’re not drunk and propose going back to your dorm instead, but for some reason you don’t really feel all that disappointed.

Instead you just feel empty and numb.

A shout from downstairs interrupts your thoughts, and you jump to your feet when you realise that it sounds vaguely like Jeongguk and Jimin. Racing down the stairs while inebriated may not be the best idea you’ve ever had, but you manage to make it safely to witness Park Jimin punching Jeon Jeongguk right in the jaw.

Jeongguk is wincing slightly as he fingers the rapidly swelling edge of his jaw, but he only smirks as he staggers towards Jimin. “What happened to your girl? I thought you finally grew some balls to get laid, dude.”

“I said, fuck off Jeon,” Jimin’s eyes narrow dangerously. 

“Can’t get into a girl’s pants without getting her drunk as fuck?” Jeongguk is throwing his head back and laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Let me teach you some tips buddy: try not being a fucking loser for one.”

Jimin’s fist moves so fast that you barely see it as it makes contact with Jeongguk’s nose, and with that the larger boy is knocked onto the floor, groaning as he cups his face. Panic surges in your chest as the people around you cheer and jostle against each other in order to get a better look. You fight to keep your view of the two boys, but you only catch a glimpse of Jeongguk as he pushes himself back onto his feet and lunges as Jimin, hitting him hard with a blow to his cheek. 

Jeongguk staggers back after the hit, be it from blood loss or the alcohol in his system, and you elbow aside some frat boy who’s standing in your way just as Jeongguk falls onto one knee. You hear Taehyung’s voice from the other side of the room as he helps Jimin up, trying to restrain the pink haired boy who’s still snarling in aggression.

You grab Jeongguk’s chin and tilt his face towards you. His nose is bleeding profusely and you nearly gasp in horror. “Oh fuck, your bloody nose!!”

“Stop swearing at me!” Jeongguk wipes at his face with the back of his hand, only to realise just how much blood there is.

“I’m not swearing at you- I’m just describing it- oh never mind,” you reach for his arm and drape it around your shoulder, helping him to stand as he places most of his body weight on you.

“Wh-what are you doing with me? Shouldn’t you be fussing over pretty boy over there?” He grunts in pain as he gingerly explores the swollen area of his jaw. 

“For once in your life, shut up, Jeon, or the swelling’s gonna get worse,” you say as you help him over to the bathroom upstairs.

You place your hands on his chest to push him back against the counter as you assess his condition.

The bleeding doesn’t seem to be stopping, and it’s just your luck- or his- that the bathroom is out of toilet paper. You curse under your breath, brushing your fingers against his swollen jaw subconsciously as you consider how to stop the bleeding. Belatedly you remember the tampon that you’d stuffed in the waistband of your skirt in case of emergency, since you were expecting your period to come any time soon.

You reach into your skirt and feel around for the tampon, watching as Jeongguk’s eyes widen when he sees you apparently feeling yourself up.

“Uh, babe, I don’t think that’s gonna help much, I think it’ll just make it worse-“

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” You grit your teeth at him as you pull out a colourful wrapped tampon and begin to unwrap it.

Jeongguk shrinks back in horror immediately. “I-is tha-that a... is it what I think it is?” 

Amused by his reaction, you pause in disposing of the wrapper as you eye him up. “What do you think it is?”

“A ta-tam-tampon.” He’s stuttering and stumbling over his words, but there’s no mistaking the fear in his eyes upon seeing the small object made of cotton in your hands. 

“Yeah, it is,” you confirm his fears with a smirk playing upon your lips, and he recoils with such immediacy that you’d think you were holding a nuclear missile in your hands. 

“And… wh-what are you gonna do with that?” His voice is reduced to a hoarse whisper, and a part of you is actually enjoying this- seeing Jeon Jeongguk squirm in terror just because of a feminine hygiene product, and his fear of such a harmless object makes you want to lord it over him for as long as possible, just to torture him for being such a typical teenage boy.

“I’m going to stick it up your nose to stop the bleeding,” you say cheerfully even as you place one hand around the back of his head to steady it. Jeongguk jerks away in fear, but unfortunately for him, he’s trapped between your body and the counter, and in any other situation he would be more than happy, but not when you’re about to shove something that goes up your vagina up into his nose.

“Hold still, or it’ll hurt more,” you threaten, and he almost whimpers helplessly as you push the cotton into his nose, hoping that it’ll stem the bleeding. Jeongguk whines as you try and get the tampon to go deeper to soak up all the blood, and he leans forward, attempting to bury his forehead into your shoulder for comfort. You allow him to stay there for a few seconds before you push him away. 

“Fuck, is that what you go through every month?” He winces as he uses his fingers to explore the area underneath his nose.

“Um, well… I guess?” It’s too bizarre to even begin to compare putting in a tampon to sticking one up his nose, so you try your best to keep your answer vague.

He actually whines in complaint when you move away from him, and he reaches for your waist to tug you back to him so that he can bury his cheek into your neck. “It hurts,” he says in a small voice.

You’re fully aware that he’s just milking this for all it’s worth just to get some sympathy out of you, and your hand hovers over his head hesitantly for a few seconds before giving in and stroking his hair a few times.

“Actually, I wanted to apologise for that night,” Jeongguk murmurs into your neck, taking you by surprise; and when you pull away to make eye contact with him, he only tugs you back into his embrace, as if trying to hide from you, and his sudden shyness is somewhat endearing. “I didn’t mean what I said. I should have handled things better.”

Your hand stills over his head, and as the silence stretches on, you can feel the way his hands are tightening ever so slightly on your waist at your lack of a response. Jeongguk is not always the best with words, and in fact, you’ve never heard him apologise so outrightly like that before.

“I know,” you say in a near whisper back to him, and that’s when he can finally bring himself to look at you. “I didn’t mean what I said too.”

Jeongguk almost sags in relief as his eyes stray down to your midriff, and his thumbs stroke your sides ever so slightly. “And I just wanted to say that I-“

The door to the bathroom swings open just at that moment, and Jeongguk’s grip tightens around your waist in response as he tries to move your body behind his. But when you turn around, you see Jimin with his bruised cheek and swollen eye, and jump away from Jeongguk guiltily.

Luckily, Jimin seems to be in too much pain to have noticed the intimacy between you and Jeongguk. To distract him from the fact that you were just in an enclosed room with another man, you grab his hand and tiptoe to kiss his cheek, sparing Jeongguk a last parting glance as you usher Jimin away.

*

It’s not often that Jimin doesn’t have a smile on his face or his bubbly laughter filling the room, but when he tells you one afternoon that “we need to talk”, you automatically deduce that it can’t be anything good. 

Those four words might as well be harbingers of doom. 

His pink hair has been fading gradually over the past few weeks, leaving a golden blond that illuminates his skin like a halo. He’s running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, one of his habits when he’s nervous or anxious, and you reach over to pull one of his hands into yours.

“What is it Jimin?”

“Did you tell Jeon yet?” He glances at the cactus plant in your room briefly, still in its broken pot and sitting on your desk. You curse yourself for not getting rid of it yet, even though you were always meaning to. “About you not being pregnant.” He clarifies when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Um… no, not exactly, but...”

He takes a deep breath and pulls his hand from your grip. “I think you should tell him.”

“Um, okay. I will, if it means that much to you.” His rejection stings a little and you fold your arms tightly against your chest instead. “But… I thought you hated him.”

“I do.. and it’s just…” He lets out a frustrated sigh as he squeezes his eyes shut, holding a hand to his forehead and massaging his temples. “This is so fucked up, because that night at that party I thought I was finally something more to you. When you wanted to have sex with me, I was so fucking elated, don’t get me wrong. I thought maybe we were starting to become something more. But when I saw you in the bathroom with Jeon, hell, how you even went to him and not me; I realised that I’ll always be your second choice, just another option.”

His words hit you right where it hurts, and the progressive guilt that has been building up ever since you sent Jeongguk a picture of Jimin with his face in your neck comes crashing down in one big avalanche. “Jimin, no, you’re not- you’re not my second choice, and I-“

“No, I’m okay with it,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, and he gives you a watery smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he doesn’t have a single trace of bitterness or anger on his face at all. “I’m okay with being your second choice, as… as long as I can love you like this.”

Your seat on the throne in Hell has just been reserved.

A sound of protest starts up in your throat, although you have no idea what to say in response, but Jimin only shakes his head.

“But… I can’t let you go on like this. I know that you don’t… you don’t love me back like how I love you, and that’s okay. But I can’t just pretend like I don’t notice the way your smiles are a little more forced, or the way you always try so hard to find something to fill the silence in between us. I can’t be with you if you’re not truly happy with me.”

The ache in your chest grows into a large void that threatens to consume your entire being, and you’re struggling to find the words make everything okay again, even though everything he’s just said is true. There’s only one way this will end, and the thought of Jimin leaving you, the thought of being alone is almost too overwhelming to bear, and you clutch onto his arm tightly.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like a rebound or a second choice, but I promise I can do better, just tell me how I can change!” You’re aware that you sound pathetic even to your own ears, but the desperation to keep Park Jimin by your side overrides anything else. “I need you Jimin, I need you in my life.”

He only gives you a sad little smile, and you wonder if a million years in Hell will even be enough to repent for breaking his heart like this. “No, you don’t need me, you’ll be fine without me.”

*

You’re a disgusting person. A horrible excuse for a human being with a penchant for self-sabotage.

The same few sentences are all that run through your head for the next few days, and even though a part of your brain is crying out for help, you can’t help but indulge in the non-stop self-flagellation as you wallow deeper in your unmade bed.

Normally at this time of the day Jimin would be over and you’d be cuddling with him and watching a movie or something, and he’s over so often to the extent that Sejeong even jokes that you have a third roommate now. But without his presence to distract you, all you feel is the hollow nothingness, and you stare into space blankly with no motivation to do anything.

Sejeong peers over at you in concern when you finish off your second tub of ice cream in a day. Although usually she’s incredibly strict with the team’s diets, girl code dictates that when your bestie is burying her face in an ice cream tub, you don’t stop her. 

“_____... you okay?” She asks cautiously. “You don’t have to come to today’s game if you don’t feel up to it. I’ll get one of the other girls to replace you.”

Somehow, her sympathy only makes you feel worse, because in the past Sejeong has never offered to sub for you even when you were down with that nasty cold that one time. You’re sure that the entire cheer team knows about your breakup by now, but giving in and not attending that game would only make things worse. 

So you suck it up and toss aside your spoon, reaching back to tie your hair up. “No, I’m fine. I can do it, don’t worry.”

It’s one of the basketball team’s major games today against their rival school, and there’s even been rumours that scouts from the professional sports teams will be in attendance. There’s a lot at stake for both the basketball and cheerleading team today, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to be nervous as you drag yourself through your routine of getting ready.

Things get even worse when you get to warmups and realise that Jimin has requested for a change of flyer, and you’re paired up with a freshman named Jinwoo instead.

Jinwoo is the worst base you’ve ever worked with, his hands are always sweaty and he seems unable to lock his elbows to provide you with the sturdiness you need when he’s tossing you up into the air. He always grips your waist with a superhuman strength that you wish could have been invested into his elbows instead, although it’s all in goodwill because he’s terrified of dropping you. 

You look over enviously at Jimin and his partner instead, one of the newer additions to the team who’s a freshman called Yejin. She seems delighted to be partnered up with him, and even though her flips and tosses are less than perfect, as she lacks strength in her core and her muscle control is average at best, Jimin makes their stunts look absolutely stunning and professional.

This time your routine takes place concurrently with the first half of the basketball game, and you have no idea exactly which idiot decided this, because it’s hard enough to focus on your stunts without hearing the shouts of the basketball team to each other, the scrapes of their shoes against the court floor, or the fact that Jeon Jeongguk just scored again.

You place your hands on Jinwoo’s that are on your waist, getting ready to be boosted up onto his shoulders with your teeth gritted in determination. You’re supposed to go up in a stagger formation before dropping back down to resemble dominoes, and you can’t mess up the timing or else the whole team will be affected as well.

When Sejeong lands on her base’s shoulders beside you, you bend your knees and jump a few times, and combined with Jinwoo’s strength, you’re lifted off the ground and in midair for a few terrifying seconds, struggling to find Jinwoo’s shoulders because he’s a lot taller than Jimin, and you’re not used to the height difference. When your feet hit his shoulders, you’re thrown off balance for a second and you teeter dangerously, causing the crowd to gasp and hold their breaths. Jinwoo’s iron clad grip on your calves does almost nothing to stabilise you, and you tighten your core to stay upright.

It feels like the gameplay behind you has stopped as well, because suddenly you don’t hear the squeak of shoes against the polished floor anymore, and the silence screams in your ears as you tense every single muscle you have and somehow manage to stay on his shoulders.

The crowd breathes a sigh of relief in response, and you spare a glance to your right, meeting Sejeong’s worried gaze and giving her a small smile in return. Your heart is pounding in your chest even as you can feel Jinwoo trembling under you, and you scrunch your eyes shut, praying to whatever deity above that you’ll make it through this routine alive.

Your cue to hop off his shoulders comes sooner than expected, and even though fear spikes in you at the thought of jumping to the ground from this height, you just pray and hope that Jinwoo catches you on the way down. You grit your teeth and bend your knees as he boosts you up, completing a single toe touch before descending.

His hands catch your waist a little clumsily, but he prevents you from taking the full impact of landing and you almost sob in relief when you realise that all that’s left is the dance routine to end it off. You’ll definitely be having a word with Sejeong after this, because Jinwoo definitely needs more training before he should be allowed to cheer like this, or even be partnered up with another flyer, he needs a fuckton of strength training, and- 

Just as you slide into your finishing pose of a front split on the floor, there’s a multitude of shouts and yells coming from the court behind you, followed by a heavy sounding thump. Despite what Sejeong has always told the team- never take your eyes off the audience during a routine, ever, no matter what happens- you turn around involuntarily to see Jeon Jeongguk lying on the floor, clutching his knee with pure agony etched on his sweaty features.

*

Hospital rules are fucking bullshit.

You don’t even get to see a single glimpse of Jeon Jeongguk before word has it that he’s been relocated back to his dormitory to recover. And the whole patient’s privacy thing means that the usual harmless rumours surrounding Jeon Jeongguk have mutated into a gory battlefield of gossip and people trying to outdo one another in a competition to see who can come up with the best- or worst- sob story.

Long story short, you have no idea what happened to Jeon Jeongguk after that day.

Paramedics and ambulances were already stationed on the scene as per usual, and they descended on the school’s star basketball player faster than bees to honey. It’s since been more than a week, almost 14 days of worry gnawing at the pit of your stomach, trying your best to look disinterested as you pry for information from his team mates.

But Taehyung sees right through you, so you don’t even pretend with him when you approach him again in the common kitchen. He’s in the midst of devouring a bowl of cereal, and you don’t even have the patience to wait for him to finish his mouthful before you ask him the same question again.

“Can I see him today?”

And you expect his usual shake of the head- his parents are with him today, or he’s at physical therapy, or sometimes even just a flat out rejection because Jeongguk doesn’t want to see anybody. The way he says it, it sounds like Jeongguk is moping in his room like an angsty teenager, and you wonder just how bad his condition is, because he’s definitely not the kind to sulk like this, ever. Even when you ask Taehyung to mention your name to him, his answer is always the same, although you suspect that he doesn’t tell you what Jeongguk really said in order to save you from further heartbreak and embarrassment.

But today he nods, and you inhale a sharp intake of breath.

“Wait, really? He finally agreed to see me?” After two weeks of flat out rejection, it seems a little hard to believe, and now that you actually think about it, you have no idea what you’d say to Jeongguk even if you did meet him.

“No,” Taehyung admits with a guilty look, averting his gaze back to his soggy cereal. “His parents are leaving at 4 today, and he doesn’t have physical therapy. So I figured…”

You throw your arms around him in gratitude, nearly knocking over the bowl of cereal in the process. Maybe it’s a stupid fucking thing to do, barging your way into Jeon Jeongguk’s room when he clearly doesn’t want to see you, and when you’ve already established that you mean nothing more to him than a used rag, but at this point you don’t even care anymore, because you just have to see him in the flesh, make sure he’s okay, and then you can go on living your separate lives again.

Just one more time, you say to yourself.

“Just wait till his parents are gone, they tend to linger for a while,” Taehyung warns with a small grin on his face as he sees your features light up again, and you toss a careless smile his way in thanks as you throw open the kitchen doors, heading for your room in a dead run.

*

Your appearance when going to see Jeongguk has never fared worse than you do now, and you blame that stupid florist. What’s so difficult about repotting a tiny little cactus that it has to take an hour and a half? And that price that she charged you was plain ridiculous, bordering upon extortion, for that matter.

You’re clutching the brand new brick red pot in your hands with the utmost care as you place a hand on the doorknob. Taehyung told you that the door would be unlocked after his parents leave, and your best bet is to literally barge in without knocking. Taking a deep breath and praying that he’s not naked or jerking off in there or whatever, you push open the door and peek in, only to meet his eyes immediately. 

Jeon Jeongguk is on his bed with a heavy looking leg brace around his left knee, and his eyes widen as he takes in your windswept hair and makeup free face, eyes trailing down to the pot in your hands as he registers your presence. The sight of the pink flowered cactus in your hands seems to have triggered something in him, because he grabs the covers that are bunched up beside him and tries to cover his bulky leg brace from your view.

“Um, hi. I’m sorry I didn’t knock, glad you weren’t naked or whatever,” you mumble while averting your gaze to look around his room instead, noting the wheelchair that is parked neatly in the corner.

“Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to jerk one off with the door unlocked like that?” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow while scrutinising your figure in the doorway. “Why did you come like that?”

A part of you takes immediate offense to his statement, reaching up to try and tuck your hair behind your ear to make it look the least bit presentable, but then he continues. “Isn’t it like cold as fuck outside?”

Oh. “Um, it’s alright, it wasn’t that bad,” you say nonchalantly, even though your teeth were definitely chattering on the way up here.

“Get in and close the door, you’re letting the cold air in,” Jeongguk sighs through his nose, seemingly having accepted the fact that you’re just going to stand in his doorway and stare at him.

You close the door gingerly and make your way over to him, setting the cactus that he gave you all those weeks ago on his bedside table. 

“What’s that?” It’s a stupid fucking question, because he may be injured but he isn’t blind; of course it’s a fucking cactus, the very same one that he crushed in his hands when he was trying to give it to you back then, and it feels like he’s only just asking this to fill in the awkward silence as he scratches the back of his neck.

“It’s a cactus,” you deadpan back, but a part of you is screaming at how awfully uncomfortable he seems to be around you, the way he avoids eye contact with you for more than a few seconds at a time, and the way he crosses his arms over his chest to act as a protective barrier around himself. “And you know what? I named it after you, because you’re a fucking prick.”

“What?” Jeongguk wrenches his stare back to you. “You named a cactus after me? Why the fuck does a cactus even need a name?” 

“Because…” you run your hands through your hair in frustration. “You’re missing the point here! The point is, you’re a fucking prick. I spent the last two weeks worried sick over your stupid ass because you’re up here sulking like a high school kid who didn’t get past tryouts. I know you hate me and all and whatever we did in the past means nothing to you, but I’m just selfish like that because I needed to see you at least once to make sure you’re still alive.”

Taking a step back from him, you attempt to keep the tears at bay by digging your nails into your palm. “Thanks for letting me do that, I guess. Bye, Jeong-“

Jeongguk is gripping his sheets, and his knuckles are rapidly turning white. “I don’t hate you.” He risks a glance up at you. “And what we did… it doesn’t mean nothing to me.”

He looks like he’s struggling with his next words as he turns to look at the cactus beside him. “That day after you came to me and not Park… I wanted to tell you how I really felt. But I didn’t get a chance to say it. I guess I just wanted to say that… I want to try things out with you. Ever since we started fucking in the bleachers freshman year, there’s just something about you that makes me want more, and at first I thought it was just your smoking hot body, but it’s way more than that. It’s how you always push yourself to do better, be better, and that makes me want to be a better person too, if not for myself, for you.”

Jeongguk is worrying his bottom lip as he plays with the hem of his oversized hoodie, and you can barely bring yourself to take a step closer to the edge of his bed. He always has a way of saying the crudest things and then taking you by surprise by putting a surprisingly romantic twist on it, and your gaze softens as you take in the boy with the messy bedhead who looks at you as if you’re his entire world.

“And when I found out that you’re pregnant, there was just this raging jealousy inside me that took over everything, and before I realised it, I’d hurt you and said those things I didn’t mean. But after I’d had time to shut out all those irrational thoughts, I realised I want you by my side, and I don’t even fucking care if that’s Park’s baby, because as long as it’s you, it’s okay, everything will be okay.” 

Your knees are slightly weak, and you have to sit beside him on the bed. “Wait, Jeongguk, th-there’s something I need to clear up. I never slept with Park Jimin. I just made it seem like I did to make you jealous, and that was irrational thinking on my part too.”

He grips your wrist even as he glances down to your waist, covered partially by your oversized sweatshirt. “Wait, that means… the baby is mine?”

“Wait, what?” Confusion stalls your mental processes for second. “Jeongguk, I’m not pregnant.” 

Your confusion is reflected on his own features, a frown marring his brow as he continues to stare at the relatively flat expanse of your stomach. Adrenaline surges into your chest as you take in his genuine expression of puzzlement.

“I- I thought you knew! That night when I used the tampon for your bloody nose, I thought you figured it out. When you asked if this is what I go through every month, I thought you knew I was on my period or something.”

Jeongguk looks at you as if you’re crazy. “Do you think I’m the fucking CIA or something? What kind of inference skills did you expect me to have??”

“It’s not inference skills, it’s just- wait, you’ve seen me around pretty often the past few months, did it never occur to you to wonder why I wasn’t showing yet?” 

Jeongguk only shrugs. “Um, no, I just figured it’s like what my mom always used to say. ‘Every pregnancy is different’.”

Oh god. Jeon Jeongguk is an idiot.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him, but the fond smile on your face says otherwise. “You’re an idiot for not joining all those dots together, and for not letting me see you sooner.”

“I was ashamed,” he admits, and you can almost see him start to withdraw into himself again, and it’s so unlike the Jeon Jeongguk you know and love, and you reach over to press your lips to his cheek, fitting your body next to his cautiously on the bed. “I didn’t know how to face you or anyone else after that. The doctors say it’s a torn ligament, and I might not be able to play basketball ever again.”

He doesnt have to say it, but he's fucking scared as hell. Basketball is all he has, it’s all he’s good at, that’s what his parents and coaches and friends have been telling him from young. And now it’s been ripped away from him in a split second, the fates are nothing if not cruel. His voice is quivering slightly, and you reach out to stroke his cheek, and he responds by burying his face into your chest in the most non-sexual way possible for Jeon Jeongguk.

“I thought everyone only saw me as basketball prodigy Jeon Jeongguk, and without basketball, who am I even? What am I even good for?” He laughs humourlessly.

“You’re an idiot, Jeon Jeongguk,” you whisper into his hair for the countless time that afternoon. “I’ve always wanted you for that amazing dick actually. Fuck basketball.” 

Despite himself, Jeongguk is chuckling, and hearing the sound of his genuine laughter in a very long time makes your heart want to dance on the drifting sea breeze that is his happiness, and you grip his shoulders tighter. 

“Well, guess you’ll be leaving me now, because I can hardly fuck you right in this state,” he deadpans even as he rests his head on your chest in contentment, fingers idly stroking your tummy and sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Really? We’ll have to see about that,” you let your fingers wander down his chest and teasingly brush over his nipples, feather-like touches that elicit a light whine from him. They brush over his stomach, and even through his hoodie you can feel the ridges of his abs, and you frown in distaste. “Get rid of these abs, I want you to get fat with me. No more dieting.”

His protests are cut off when you push the hem of his hoodie up to reveal his toned stomach, and you shift from your position beside him to tease your tongue up and down, enjoying the way his muscles are flexing underneath your wet laves.

“Fuck- what are you- oh god- what are you doing? I can’t-” 

“Shhh baby, let me take care of you,” you silence him with a smirk even as you feel for his length, already half hard, in his sweatpants. Satisfaction blooms through every single nerve ending as you revel in your ability to arouse him to this extent with just a few touches.

Pulling down the waistband slightly, you reach and pull him out, laying him flat on his stomach so that only his tip protrudes out from his sweatpants. Concentrating only on his engorged head, you flick at it with your tongue, watching as beads of precum start to emerge and you dutifully lick him clean, not allowing the precum to pool on his stomach like you normally would. When he whines and arches his hips for more, you oblige and enclose your warm mouth around him, and he nearly sobs. 

“Oh fuck, that’s it, I’ve missed your mouth so fucking much, fuckkkk,” Jeongguk strokes your cheek with one hand and rests the other on the back of your head. “Baby please, I need more, I need-“

You push his sweatpants past his hips to reveal the rest of him, and taking him into your hand, you slide your mouth down on him, making sure to massage the underside with your tongue even as you relax your throat. Seeing as he has limited range of motion, you make things easier for him by letting him stay in the depths of your throat for longer, swallowing repeatedly around him. He feels so thick in your mouth and so heavy on your tongue, and you’re aching to feel him fill you up again. Your warm, convulsing throat around him has him on the edge faster than expected, and you’re fully prepared to loosen your throat to swallow his load when he stops you with a gentle tug on your hair 

“Stop, stop, I don’t want to cum yet,” he reaches to brush your damp cheeks, and you nod, throat slightly too raw to speak just yet. You give him a few leisurely strokes as he pants, trying to stave off his orgasm. “Can you take off your shirt?”

The way he asks so shyly is as if it’s his first time asking to see you topless, and it’s so endearing that you can’t help but laugh in response. You tug off your sweatshirt, revealing your breasts clad in a navy blue lace bralette, and Jeongguk’s hands descend on you immediately, kneading your soft and supple flesh with his large hands.

“You’re always so pretty… so pretty and perfect and all for me,” Jeongguk murmurs even as he tugs you down so that he can mouth at your chest, and you gasp when he flicks his tongue playfully over the thin lace. He occupies himself with unhooking your bralette and sucking bruises all over your chest even as you straddle him carefully, feeling his length settle between your ass as you grind slowly on him.

“Fuck,” he whines as you teasingly make sure that he can feel how ruined your panties are through the thin material of your shorts. “You’re so wet baby, and I didn’t even touch you. Sit on my dick?”

You bring your eyes up to meet his even as he places his hands on your hips, stroking the generous curve with his fingertips. “You sure?”

“Yeah, just go slow? Never thought I’d ever say that in my entire life, not when it comes to sex,” he grumbles, but you know he’s only trying to reassure you.

You shimmy your shorts and panties off, reaching back to take him in your hand and pump him a couple of times.

“Wait, do you need some prep first? I can finger you or eat you out or-“

“I’m soaked, babe, don’t worry,” you brush his head against your drenched core to prove it, and he inhales through his teeth in response. Just as you’re about to angle him just right and slide down on his cock, he stops you again with a hand on your waist.

“W-we should use a condom,” it’s the first time Jeongguk is suggesting that you use one, and you know he hates the feeling of latex around him, so you raise your eyebrows in question. “It’s just… that last scare was…”

“Now you’ve ruined the mood,” you tease as you run a thumb over his head. “Maybe you should just cum inside me bare and knock me up for real. That’s what it took to get your head on straight anyway.”

“That’s hot in theory,” he admits even as he reaches into a drawer, rummaging for the box of condoms he has somewhere inside. “I’m all up for roleplaying that as a kink, but the realms of imagination are as far as that fantasy will ever go. 

He hands you a foil wrapped packet, and you tear into it, unrolling it onto his length before giving him a few test strokes. As you line him up with your entrance, you lean down to meet his lips with a playful smirk, playing along with him. “You do know that condoms aren’t fool proof right?”

You sink down onto his length, and his response is nothing but a long, drawn out moan as your walls tighten around him. He feels entirely delicious inside you, weeks of not feeling his thick length stretch you out like this makes the sensation so much more toe-curling. Jeongguk has his head thrown back into his pillow, his forehead scrunched up, and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, hands gripping your hips as you continue to clench around him.

When you start to move- focusing more on grinding and slow rotations of your hips instead of slamming up and down so as not to hurt him- he keens and whines. “I’ve missed your pussy so much baby, fuck yes, always so tight, always taking my dick so well.”

His praise makes you moan even as your clit pulses, in constant contact with the rough skin of his base. When you incorporate your Kegels into the mix, he nearly goes insane as he pants and sobs, desperate for a faster pace and just dying to flip you over and pound into your pussy so hard that you’re both seeing stars, but he has to settle for this for now.

You raise yourself ever so slightly on his dick and slide down again, making sure not to land on his pelvis even as you oblige him by riding him the way he wants you to. It’s putting a strain on your thigh muscles, and for the first time you thank Sejeong for her killer leg day routine, and the pure bliss etched on Jeongguk’s face is more than worth it.

“I-I’m so close baby, are you? Are you close too? Please tell me you are,” he nearly begs as he reaches down to rub your clit.

You answer with a whine and further tightening of your walls even as he rubs your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “I’m so close Jeongguk, you feel so good inside me, just wanna feel you cum inside me.”

“Fuck, I can’t- I’m coming,” he warns with a gasp as he pulls you to sit down on him, and you can feel his length pulsing despite the thin layer of latex, but he doesn’t let up on your clit, sending you over the edge as well as you imagine him spilling his cum deep inside you, without the condom in the way.

Your walls close down around him, heightening his pleasure even as you writhe on top of him, and your name falls from his lips repeatedly in reverent cries of his ecstasy. The white hot pleasure extends all the way to the ends of your toes, burns up the length of your spine, and sears the pit of your stomach, and you collapse boneless against his chest.

Jeongguk wraps his arms around your sweaty body, breathing hard as well.

“You okay?” You shift your weight off him to curl up beside him instead, and he brushes aside your concern with a touch of his lips to your forehead.

“’m more than okay,” Jeongguk murmurs against your skin, his senses innately tuned to the way your chest rises and falls against his, the feeling of your bare skin on his that feels so right, and your scent that fills his nose. With you in his arms like this, it feels like he can forget about everything for a while, and even though the future that looms is uncertain, it’ll all be okay, because it’s you by his side. “Perfect, actually.”

a/n: this is the last part for this series!!! thank you for all your love and for waiting so patiently, i hope you enjoyed it :”) 

addie 

[chamberofnectar]

[Vagrant Void] - Euno and Tilo - July 2018

Euno returns to his hosted home, where his curious host asks for his company at a house-sitting gig. (2448 words)

Euno Almai walks through the southern Kineisy market with a skewer-kebab in hand, browsing through a foreign book, his pack filled with a stock of off-world snack and other literature as he weaves around children running past to their favorite vendors, well aware of their second glances. He hears them question behind his back, asking their parents who he was, why he so easily melded among the local crowd on this busy afternoon. Adults step out of his way as he walks the center lane, ignoring the whispering rumors that surround him – local and targeting, knowing he may be subject to the gossip. He picks up on every word, aware of their hushed dialogue call him a tourist, an outsider, a paftozaln.

A slur for gueiso; humans.

Around him Nellusy folk go about their daily lives; vendors shouting about their fresh products, commuters weaving through the crowding corridor as they talk among themselves in manners he can barely replicate. Voices click around him, resounding in the confined spaces as he maneuvers through the towering locals, holding his baggage close to make himself as small as possible as he excuses himself from bumping into a browsing visitor. He preoccupies himself with the literature every chance he gets, finding his way back to his adoptive home on the other end of the busy market.

He might’ve taken a quicker route prior, but he finds safety among the busy market; he looks peculiar enough for others to take notice is something happened to him.

He tucks his book away as he wanders through the end of the market, swerving himself onto a narrow pedestrian path between rows of clustered townhouses. The tightly packed houses are vibrant opposed to the dirtied path he walks on old shoes, giving a passing Nellusy room to walk as they grumble about him. He says nothing, focused on just finding his way back home.

“Euno, there you are,” his host calls from an old wooden chair sat on the small front yard, shaded by a sun-worn fabric roof. He welcomes himself into the shaded residence – his silence is common, the norm after a long day doing local freelance translations for laymen and young business entrepreneurs. In the front yard his yellow spotted host sighs, pulling together the paper he had entertained himself with as he waited for the translator’s return.

Inside the group housing Euno tugs off his shoes and lies out on the couch, his bag falling to the floor as he grumbles unintelligible into the kebab between his teeth. The kebab is local, roasted meat locked touch between his teeth as he stares at the ceiling, slowly chewing at it as he thinks back on the day’s events. He had to meet with a client again, in a police department after he tried to steal from a storefront family business he had some nonsense beef with. Seven hours of repetitive questioning, he kept track, was how long he spent there. He partly blames himself for getting involved with the person in question, it was his job to filter his clients; but the officers told him not to worry, that ‘it happens’.

“Bullshit,” he grumbles, looking over as the door clicks closed behind his host’s steps. “Did you spend all day waiting?” he asks, subsequently answered by the nellusy’s large shaking head. “Have you made anything today…?” he calls between tough bites of the kebab, throwing his legs down beside him as the nellusy sits beside him.

“Very little, I’m afraid.”

“Have you tried selling the jewelery first; what are the chances the original owner will see it after so long?” Euno motions his head over towards their shared room, where the other keeps items he sells at a nearby corner.

“Big enough to be a risk. If they want some jewelry, they should ask,” Tilo sighs, his secondary limbs coiling against his chest, his primaries crossing his chest as he stares at the silent tv across the small conjoined kitchen and foyer. The large nellusy sinks into the couch with a sigh, glancing over to the kebab held between Euno’s fingers. “Going to finish that…?” he asks meekly.

Euno hands it over. “Have at it, it’s too tough for my teeth.” The nellusy is quick to devour the remains, biting over the entire thing and dragging it all into his maw in a single sweep. It leaves Euno unimpressed with only the stick, flicking it off to the trash bin on Tilo’s other side. “Have you at least got a gig,” he sighs.

“Ay, was thinking you could help me with Lotnilki Touru’s kids. Utiu asked me to help out while she worked on studies, and she’d like you to come along as well.”

“Sure,” Euno shrugs, pulling up his pack to fetch through the snacks he brought along with him, “when does Utiu start sitting them?”

“She told me in half a Kiishu, so I’d like to leave there in five tnilki or so – so I’ll be early.”

36 minutes, five minutes, Euno recounts, popping fruit snacks into his mouth. His body shifts as the nellusy pushes himself from the couch, limping into their shared room to fetch his jacket, plucking his wooden cane from an old gun case.

“What’s in the pack? Documents?” He calls from the other room.

“Snacks, some stuff I bought from a trade station down in the square. Been kind of missing soft food since I got off the vertical transport last week.” Euno shuffles through his pack, pulling out the small crinkled packet of fruit snacks. “Want to try one? I had to recycle the box – easier to pack in their individual wrappers.”

Tilo shrugs on his coat as he re-enters the foyer, head shaking as he rights himself in more presentable attire. “No thanks, but the kids might be interested,” he grumbles, fidgeting with his loose shirt beneath his well-worn coat. His secondary arms peak out, tugging the coat closed as he shuffles his less ratty pants comfortable around his waist and thick tail – tightening the belt to pull it up behind him. “Well, I’m ready to go when you are,” he chuckles as he watches Euno fiddle his shoes back on, zipping up his own coat for the evening chill rushing through the narrow streets.

 They talk amongst themselves as they make their way onto the interconnecting street buried between the innumerable row of townhouses, where Tilo’s cane taps against the cobblestone pathing alongside his clicking claws. Tilo boasts about false adventures of his youth, spinning another tale about what truly caused his hobbled state. Beside him the translator only nods, keeping himself quiet as he mulls over the incidents with his earlier client. Nilneilil Sykatze, a supposed ex-criminal that hired him to remove his tracking chip.

Tilo begs him to talk about his day, pestering the smaller man until he decides to speak up.

“Relates to a pass job,” he sighs, “I worked with a gnazlti and a scrapper; got his criminal-track chip or whatever its called now removed. Turns out he tries to steal from a store before the wounds even healed,” he grumbles, fumbling with his pack’s front flap, clicking the buckle open and closed. “Was called down to the station and had to get everything sorted out. Spent seven hours doing nothing but listen to him lying. About who I was, what I was doing; discrediting me and all sorts of bullshit.”

“I thought the Affairs Department straightened that stuff up?”

“They do and did. He got sent of to sit for another few months. He’s not allowed to hire a translator anymore.”

“What about you, any probation?” Tilo stops to turn to Euno, digits swirling his cane as they wait for a group to walk past them in the connecting street.

“No. It’s not my fault he robbed anyone. I just translated for him to a scrapper.”

“Good,” the nellusy sighs, ushering the translator to follow him up the paved roads leading towards the more decorative dwellings of cramped living arrangements. The walk is long, waiting for newly installed traffic systems to signal when it’s safe to cross streets made busy by the dimming hours. It makes Tilo anxious, tapping his cane as he becomes quiet as they walk down the filled sidewalk marking the different dwelling arrangements. This wasn’t a place for him, made meek as they round the last corner into a quiet street filled with stacking rowhouses towering around them.

“Tilo!” shouts a woman peering out of a window, a young sleek silisha wearing a decorative vale around her face. “Utiu’s waiting in the den – what is that paftozaln under-skin doing with you?” She spits. Her mouth full of teeth bares as she stares.

Tilo whispers to Euno as they approach. “Might be best to walk past the building and stand at the corner.” He pulls himself away from the translator, acting bemused as he gently bumps Euno as he passes. “They’re a lost tourist I found wandering around, and I think they just started to follow me to see where I’d go!” And, as suggested, Euno walks pass the building as Tilo stands beneath the aggressive mother.

“Tilo, stop lying. You know who they are.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, Lotnilki! You know I would never put the kids in danger, right?”

Above him the women growls, turning back into the room behind her. “Utiu! Don’t let any paftozaln under-skins in!”

“Yes, Lotnilki,” shouts a second voice inside the vertical living space.

Tilo heaves a sigh as the woman returns to bantering nonsense inside her living space, walking himself to the door as he watches Euno kick at the sidewalk in the corner of his vision, playing with the strap of his back as he waits for the bitter mother to leave the block. It takes some time before Tilo can hear the woman trotting around on the other side of the door, talking towards her children as items clatter. She trots out the front door and waves her small case in front of Tilo’s scarred nose. “How do I look, gaistzine?” she chuffs, flaunting a dress hanging around her hips, splitting in back to reveal her tail, latching behind her neck to leave her back exposed. Cloth drapes along her haphazard, lingering from the hoops hanging from her tusks.

“Like a night on the town,” Tilo mumbles as he steps out of her way, scarred lip twisting as she ensnares his chin to look her in the eyes.

“You best not let that under-skin in, Tilo,” she growls, baring her teeth. “I know who you work for, and I can have both of you arrested if they get near my children.”

He shoves her hand away, glaring up at the taller nellusy. “What, you’ll lie on me? How terrifying,” he snarls, moving himself into the open doorframe. “Now get along and let me do what you paid me; the customers are waiting for their ‘star’.”

Lotnilki huffs, flexing her secondary limbs to claw at the air as she turns away. Her trimmed claws clicking on concrete as she walks off for a night of work and practice, passing Euno with so much as a second glance. But, beneath her breath, she growls. “Get off my planet, paftozaln,” disappearing into the evening crowd for a night of entertainment. Euno says nothing, entertaining himself with a book written in his language.

With her gone, he collects himself back to the rowhouse where Tilo waits leaning against the open door frame. “Sorry about her; she’s a new rebel supporter, doesn’t like the occupation.”

“I’m used to it,” Euno sighs as he scoots past.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m used to it,” Euno holds onto his bag as two children run past, latching themselves to Tilo’s legs. Their voices click and squeak, whispers frilling as they cling to his coat.

A young sloped nosed gnazlti peaks her head out of an adjoining room. “Tilo, there you are. Is that the translator you were talking about? They’re small,” she laments, collecting one of the children as Tilo picks up the other. “Sorry about Lotnilki, she had a problem with the twins earlier.”

“It’s fine, she’s just being theatrical. And yes, this is Euno, he’s living with me in the group housing; I’m lucky enough to have him.” He glances over at the smaller man, the smallest in the room aside from the children held in the nellusy’s arms.

“Where does he sleep, on the couch?” Utiu grunts, failing to restrain one of the wiggling and squeaking children as they slip out of her arms. They tug at Tilo’s clothing, their speech garbled with half developed vocal cords as the child within Tilo’s arms latches onto him. “They’ve missed you,” she chuckles, watching Tilo take over her babysitting duties.

“I – can tell,” Tilo grunts, ushering the children upstairs where a television sings.

It leaves Utiu and Euno alone, the later greeting the nellusy with a quick nod – the typical nellusy greeting. “Tilo lets me sleep on his bed, he takes the couch.”

“Does he?” To which Euno flicks up his chin, “that must be some mess,” Utiu grumbles, walking up the stairs. The human follows her.

“You’d be surprised,” Euno sighs, recounting the sheet may sit a little crumped at the head of the bed. “The children watching something?”

“A retelling of the assassination aboard the Faulnonal,” she chirps, back turned as Euno frowns. “It’s become interconnected with the night’s festivities, and I don’t want to shelter them, nor let them follow after their mother.” Euno only nods, fist balling against his bag. He keeps quiet as he wanders himself up into the open landing where the twins finally catch sight.

“What’s that?” ask the one with a single painted dot on their nose.

“Yeah, is that a gueiso?” asks the other, with two dots.

“Yes, natiruln. He’s a gueiso, a ‘human’, not a monster like your mother sees it,” Tilo chuckles, nestling the twins between his spread shins as he tucks his cane away – nursing his bad leg with a grimace. “Now, it’s time to settle down. I’ll make you two ilakon if you settle down.” Both click back as their slimy hands finish fidgeting, wrapping around Tilo’s pants as they hide behind his legs from Euno. The translator settles himself on the other side of the couch, paying the children no mind as he flips open to where he left on – the text illegible to those around him. He half listens to the documentary return to broadcast, half turning his gaze at the brief mention of the ship’s captain – attentive to if they represented his father right.