#he has no name yet but ive been calling him by the title 'THE BEAST'

[mybelovedpeepy]

Do you fellas like my new cat :))

[anemoi-i]

Venti’s Presence in Mondstadt and in Lore: A Comprehensive List

Barbatos is an Archon that does everything in secret and wants virtually no recognition for it. Desiring not to become like Decarabian, he "disappeared" so Mondstadt could be free and without a ruler, yet he has still done what he could to retain Mondstadt's peace. Here is a comprehensive list of everything of note that he has done.

Disclaimer: I may miss details. Some things such as character voice lines about Venti, save for Xiao’s are largely omitted. All sources are present.

I. Wind Gliders

“The ability of wind gliders to glide is reliant first and foremost on the Blessing of the Anemo Archon. Of course, it’s also been intertwined with human engineering.”

Wings of Companionship

II.  But I do not intend to make my readers think that we could do without archons. On the contrary, say, if Barbatos had not guided the warm monsoons to Mondstadt with his divine powers, would Mondstadt still be so bountiful as to produce the brews that it does?

The answer would be no. Mondstadt is an inland city and would have struggled to provide for itself if not for the grace of Barbatos. If we look back through history, we learn that Mondstadt is situated on a land that was once frozen, where the living conditions were harsh and brewing would be virtually impossible. It was the power of Barbatos that changed everything.

Along With Divinity: Prologue

III. The songs that had once flown joyfully in the wind were drowned by a venomous dragon [Durin]. In the wake of its earth-shaking footsteps, even the cries and the flames were ripped asunder. The Anemo Archon heard their agony, though he had refused to rule. But to protect his old friends' dream, and defend the wind-kissed fields of green,He woke from his long slumber anew, and with the sky dragon [Dvalin] in battle he flew...

Elegy For The End

IV. In ancient times, Barbatos softly strummed his lyre and summoned the pure thousand winds and songs. Charmed by the free-spirited winds and songs, Dvalin the high dragon descended and swore loyalty to him. Barbatos rejoiced in making a new friend, and entrusted the people of Mondstadt to Dvalin. And so, the wandering Anemo Archon and the Wind Dragon forged Mondstadt's dawn with their relationship.

Skyward Harp

V. On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshipped the masters of Time and Anemo together. The two are intimately related, as expressed in the saying, "Anemo brings stories while Time nurtures them." This bow tells the story of the pioneers and the hardships they went through.

Sacrificial Bow

VI. When Mondstadt was born anew, and the Church finally unshackled, the scriptures of the winds could bear no longer being confined to a shelf, and so the book took flight, left the Church's treasury and was gone. Like the winds of Mondstadt, and like the people of Mondstadt, it belonged to freedom and the winds. The elegant handwriting on the title page reads:

Children of the Anemo Archon, heed these words:

From the winds we have come, and with the winds we shall go.

Never, ever grieve for me.

'Tis but my flesh and bones which rest in the soil:

My soul has become one with the thousand winds.

When flowers bloom, when leaves sway,

That is me who sings the songs of freedom, of the winds.

Lost Prayer to the Sacred Winds: Scriptures of the ancient winds, passed from generation to generation among the observers of ritual in service of the Anemo Archon.

VII. The Skyward Atlas consists of 100,000 odes to a single cloud or wind and calling it by name. The cloud atlas gave form to the winds, and odes infused them with personality. The myriad formless winds are now friends and family in the eyes of Barbatos. Legends tell that in ancient times, Barbatos summoned the four winds with the original version. He thawed the snow, drove away vicious beasts, summoned rainfall, and created Mondstadt.He permitted the atlas to be shared and copied among the people, giving it the name of Cloud Atlas.

­Skyward Atlas

VIII. In the days of the ruling aristocracy, the Church that revered the Anemo Archon was once split in twain by a schism: On one side stood the clergy, who ate at the lords' table, and overturned the archon's statues with them even as they wrote songs and hymns of praise. On the other stood the saints, who held no clerical office, and who walked the streets, the wine cellars, and the world beyond the walls. These saints drank cheap moonshine, blessing the slave and the plebeian with the original holy manuscripts that circulated amongst the people and with words that the wind brought to them.

And while they did so, they penned forbidden songs and poetry.

When the gladiator from a foreign land [Vennessa] arose together with the re-awakened Anemo Archon and raised the banner of rebellion, the aged saint known as the Nameless Shepherd mobilized the true adherents of the Church of Favonius.

Song of Broken Pines

IX. When he opened his eyes, he was in the sky above a mountain swept by roaring snowstorms, the green, tranquil land had already been painted crimson by fire and blood,and the song of that sky-blue bard's lyre was almost drowned in the howling tumult,and that bejeweled, lovely dragon, like a tender lover, had now pierced his neck through with its sharp fangs.

"Farewell, Mother! My journey is ended. I shall sleep beneath this white, shining silver... and perhaps this, too, is good. Farewell, O lovely bard! And farewell, O lovely dragon! Would that we had met in a different time and place, to meet, to sing and dance together!"

So he thought most sincerely as he lay dying.

Durin (Dragonspine Spear)

X. They say that a region's character follows that of its archon, and that this holds true both for the people and the land itself, but was it the unfettered archon who bestowed a love of freedom and wine upon the land and people amidst conflict? Or was it the people who nurtured the Anemo Archon's love of freedom as they pined for it amid the howling wind and frost?

This is a question that can no longer be answered.

Freedom Sworn

XI. Twenty-six hundred years ago was the era of Mondstadt's most ancient inhabitants. They swore a solemn oath, after the new Anemo Archon descended and reformed the world:

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the verdant plains, for the hills, and for the forests of Mondstadt. May they continue to flourish, as always."

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the everlasting freedom of Mondstadt from the blizzard and the tyrant, whose coldness and oppression are one and the same."

­­Royal Longsword (Refers to Gunnhildr Clan & the oath to protect Mondstadt.)

XII. Ludi Harpastum

Ludi Harpastum was established in commemoration of how Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, taught his people to brew wine and live freely. It was a festival meant for all people to enjoy. However, by the time of Vennessa's rebellion a thousand years before Genshin Impact's main story, Barbatos had long departed to avoid becoming a tyrant like his predecessor, while the aristocracy that ruled Mondstadt grew corrupt and abused their power.

The event turned into a mockery of what it originally was. It became an event enjoyed only by the wealthy elites. The head of the Lawrence Clan, the foremost clan among the aristocracy, cared not for the enjoyment of the people and canceled all the games, leaving only the climax of the harpastum. However, only Lord Lawrence's son, Barca Lawrence, had the right to touch that harpastum. Anyone else who dared even approach the ball would immediately face torture. Furthermore, Barca was also given the rights to take the maiden who will throw the harpastum home.

Barbatos awakens during the climax of the Ludi Harpastum in the manga and seizes the Harpastum.

Genshin Impact Manga

XIII. The Letter in the Chasm

Not as if I were to be outfitted as that guardian of Khaenri’ah,

Not as if my destructive self were made to be the lyre of Barbatos,

Not as if I were meant to soar like a Pegasus,

Not if I were the swift, snow-white pair of Morphes,

Add these to the feather-footed and the winged,

And likewise, call for the swiftness of the winds,

And though you should harness these, friend, and offer them to me,

Yet I should be tired to the bone, and worn away by frequent faintness,

My friend, while I would search for you,

The heavens fall to pieces,

And falsehoods collapse.

Mysterious Letter obtainable after completing The Chasm related Archon Quest(s) & World Quests (Information gathered by CatWithBlueHat)

It is important to note that each player who finished these quests only received one line of this letter in Abyssal Language, indicating this is a bigger part of something and made to be very secretive and hard to decipher if not for the efforts of players to translate it.

XIV. The Hexenzirkel

“Once upon a time, it even challenged the Anemo Archon himself, but he replied: “Let us make music, not war, and resolve our conflicts through song.”

Alice, The Mage’s Tea Party (Windblume’s Breath)

XV. Waterborne Poetry

“A soft breeze beckoned me unto a spring. “Sleep, weary wanderer. Your journey is over. May the dancing petals sweeten your slumber.”

Callirhoe, who recalled her journey to Springvale (Waterborne Poetry event)

XVI. Presence as a significant figure to Xiao

He longs for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers.

Barbatos appears as a cameo in Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti, playing the Dihua Flute. It suggests his music is powerful enough to suppress Xiao’s Karmic Debt. He also has a line for Barbatos indicaing he knows who he is, but cuts himself off.

Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti & Xiao: Mask (Namecard)

Other things to note:

As of Version 4.3 Mondstadt is the only nation that does not suffer from any “filth” that needs to be purged either by a Sacred Tree or otherwise. The battle that took place 500 years ago with Durin did not affect the nation in any way, instead, Durin died on Dragonspine which was already affected by the Skyfrost Nail and is an inhabited land that only Adventurers see as an area to explore. No one lives there. Even with the presence of his “heart”/”core” still beating, it would forever lie in the frozen wasteland unless someone were to deliberately disrupt it.

There are no storms in Mondstadt. Vind, one of the Sisters/Storm Watchers, says that she hopes she never has to do her job.

A large amount of npc’s around Mondstadt, especially in the area of the Anemo Archon statue, revere Barbatos and speak highly of him

It is important to note that during the second rebellion, Barbatos also forged Rex Lapis’ signature to dismantle the Aristocracy, indicating he would go to such lengths to establish freedom for the nation.

Barbatos’ voiceline about Albedo suggests that he knows close to “everything” about him, especially about his fear of “destroying Mondstadt.”

In addition to the above, Barbatos contradicts himself: “Ah, never mind! What goes on within Mondstadt's walls is up to Mondstadt's people to deal with!” Except that twice when the people cried out for help, he awoke to help them and has actively been helping Mondstadt with no recognition. From liberating Mondstadt to helping an Oceanid, this line will not hold any weight in any argument that suggests that Barbatos does nothing for Mondstadt.

Barbatos was already attempting to purge the Abyssal corruption from Dvalin prior to the Traveler’s appearance.

There is irony in Diluc and Jean finding out Barbatos’ true identity considering both the Ragnvindr’s and the Gunnhildr’s were primary protectors of Mondstadt.

The Skyward Atlas suggests Barbatos was originally a catalyst user while Amos’ Bow suggests he changed his weapon to a bow to honor Amos’ memory. He uses Der Frühling (E Skill) in a way a catalyst user might.

His appearance as his dear friend, the Nameless Bard is to honor his memory for the skies, bright sun and birds he could never see. To honor the songs he could no longer play.

[scoundrels-in-love]

We draw a line in the sand, We say don't cross this or else (Take this from me, take this lonely heart )

Brienne hasn't believed love itself is enough to defeat all obstacles for a long time.

When Jaime comes to join the convoy returning North after Dragonpit, it's not about them loving each other - it's about survival.

But maybe it can be about love, too.

Also on AO3.

I

 Brienne hasn’t believed love is enough in a long time.

 Like a flower, this childish belief has gradually lost its colorful petals - blown away by harsher fall winds that had blown out candles of her mothers’ and infant sisters’ lives, trashed to ground by cold rain like waves had battered Galladon’s body against the cliffs, fallen away from the first touch of frost that her decision to leave had brushed upon her relationship with her father.

 Love could not carry you over the pits in the road or take you over the mountains life raised in your path. Only you yourself could try to overcome these obstacles, assisted by it’s sometimes gentle, sometimes bruising hand.

 She still carries imprints of those, they ache dully into the night when she could not sleep, when neither crackling of fire or familiar shuffling of camp settled down (but never quite at peace) could soothe her.

 Her love could not save Renly when he bled out in her arms, so far from his own beloved.

 Just as her oaths and beliefs could not save Lady Stark - or her late Lady’s love had not saved her family.

 Much like Jaime, whose golden, cracked heart could not dispel darkness over Cersei’s mind with its glow.

 And, in turn, she could not follow its shine into the marshes, in hopes to find him and pull him back on safe, stable ground.

 Yet, she had dared to hope, for a brief moment in Dragonpit, when their traded glances held the weight of gathering storm clouds upon the horizon - they could dispel yet, giving way to a sun so bright it blinds in its play or unleash a storm that would devour fleets in minutes.

 She had been blind, alright. But no sun had been present, except for the resplendent Lannister twins. And what cruel desert suns they could be.

 “Fuck loyalty,” she had told him, but now it tastes like salt and ash of burned would-bes in her mouth. Brienne would feel better if she could truly, honestly say she had meant it, without a single, passing thought of ‘fuck loyalty to her, your sister, and maybe you will find a different sort loyalty in the smoking ruins of what Cersei has reduced your love to’.

 Selfish, even when she tried to do what is right, even when she tried to save him.

 And so, so godsdamn angry when she could not.

 Podrick calls considerable amount of it upon himself, when she glares at the boy as he tumbles into her tent, red faced and out of breath.

 “Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime just arrived with a handful of men and announced he has a meeting with you.”

 II

 Jaime looks slightly out of place in her tent, but that is less disconcerting than the fact he is here and how much he still looks like he belongs. She has spent many years in war camps, too, but Brienne knows she looked a lot more misfit in his lavish Commander’s tent back in Riverrun.

 (She tries not to think about the implications of that, tries and fails.)

 “I could have exposed your lie,” she tells him, plainly. The implied should sways between them like an axe’s blade, edge of it glinting in the candle light.

 “But you didn’t.”

 “Do not make me regret it.” She regrets immediately, for the flicker of doubt, an almost hurt that casts shadows over his eyes, dips into the lines of his face, making her think of all the pain that others have inflicted on him with their dismissals and accusations.

 “Cersei does not intend to send her forces. I overheard her speaking with Qyburn, her rat of a Hand, about how she intended to keep me in the dark until the last possible moment.”

 He barrels on, which is for the best, because with a moment to speak or act, she might have walked up to cup his clenched jaw, take his fist in her hands until it warmed and melted open again under her touch.

 “I bade my time, took my most trusted men and raced to catch up with you. I doubted I would be given a chance to explain myself and enter the camp, so I lied and said this is what we had spoken about at Dragonpit.”

 She knows there are countless questions to ask, about logistics, about how many men he had trusted and if they could indeed be trusted, about, about, about, but all that she has on her tongue is: “Why?”

 It comes out quiet and paper thin, a rustle of dry leaves to reflect the drought in her mouth.

 Jaime walks forward, stops a step away from her, and she can see more clearly now how distraught he really is. It’s not even the way his beard is far from the well-maintained form it had been back at Dragonpit or the tension in his shoulders, his whole body, really. There is something broken and hopeful and soft in his eyes, which she has only one word for, but not one she can give it.

 She thinks he looks like a page torn from a book that hopes she will sew him back into another tome, instead of tossing him into the fire.

 “If I have to go North and die fighting decayed monsters, at least we can do it together, Brienne.”

 She has been addressed in many ways and her name dragged through spit, blood and mud, but the way he says it now is as if he has washed it clean and is holding it tenderly. It lances through her heart, right next to where his solemn proclamation is buried hilt deep.

 “You are seeking out an honorable death, is that it?” Later she wonders if her voice rose in volume, but right now, all she can feel is anger as a wall built hastile in response to the hurt.

 “We all die and this is perhaps one way I can actually be useful doing it.” She sees him closing up, too, retreating now that the conversation had spun out of his hands, though Brienne does not know where he had wanted to take it.  

 “Ser Jaime, do you intend to live or to die?” He flinches at her use of his title, the moat she has haphazardly dug around herself filling with water rapidly. And yet, she still hopes he will give something, so she can lower the drawbridge.

 “You know none of us can intend much in a battlefield.”

 The gate falls shut and she knows Jaime sees it, hope that has been crumbling already turned into foggy resignation and yet the softness stays.

 “Very well, Ser Jaime. I will make necessary arrangements for the stay of you and your men. I am sure your brother will be happy to let you spend tonight in his tent.”

 “Good night, Lady Brienne.”

 III  

 Handful of men turn out to be a good fifty well armed and equally trained soldiers and while rest of the camp is vary of them initially, enough for them to be somewhat glorified prisoners, the trial which Brienne had worried for is seemingly postponed until they reach Winterfell and over the journey, the tension eases and connections are made.

 She, too, finds herself making some - particularly with Jaime’s second in command, Addam Marbrand. Next morning, after she had finished training with Pod, he had strode over to her, all easy swagger and seemingly genuine respect, introducing himself and pressing kiss to back of her hand as he told he had heard great many things of her valour and battle skills.

 Perhaps it is what he chooses to praise or his eagerness when sparring, or the way he lures a shadow of smile or a familiar scowl out of Jaime over stories he shares of their childhood that makes her feel more at ease around him than she normally would.

 Or maybe she spends time with him because it is closest to natural excuse she has to be near Jaime. At first, she had avoided him and he seemed to do the same, but then Addam had started dragging him to campfires and early morning spars.

 “If you intend to watch Lady Brienne’s six, you could do better than merely be a body shield for one or two wights,” he had said the first time, ignoring Jaime’s grimace (and earning a notch on her appreciation scale).

 After she and Addam are done with him, he has more than a remark to make faces about. But he grins and bears it, quite literally, and within a week he taunts them in return and the improvement is clear. Sometimes, she almost forgets where they are and what awaits them, with the way their swords sing and banter warms the space between them. Some of it is stilted still, bear pits of silences they stumble into, especially when it is just her and Jaime, the unspoken things just as dangerous as the beast that left its mark on her body.

 Especially so on quiet nights when they find themselves sitting together and gazing at the moon in her milky garden, promising cold weather. It makes her wonder if that single, wilted flower could’ve been part of an azalea instead, which now mistakes the warmth of his shoulder for the arrival of Spring. But the Winter is not just coming - it is already here.

 IV

 Though Winterfell is half-sunken in snow, something seems to thaw in Jaime after his trial has passed. There is uncertainty to him still, like he is a spring that hasn’t found the path it will carve out ahead just yet, but he throws himself into the preparations earnestly and his eyes glint with color of laughter (green of new leaves) more often.

 It feels selfish to seek him and Addam out, under guise of discussing strategies and overall progress, when she merely wants a moment of breathing, away from everything that they’re actually supposed to think about. She draws in air so deeply, so greedily it actually hurts - hurts when Jaime’s hand hovers near hers as they stand on battlement and his smile is warmer than memories of sun, clouds on its edges because they know this is not enough. And he cannot give her more.

 Yet he does.

 Addam had mentioned her (lack of) knighthood before, but she had brushed him off. It is the last thing on her mind, when Jaime stands up abruptly after Tyrion mentions most of the people present have fought the Starks at one point, yet now they are united to defend their castle.

 “There would have been no one to truly reclaim it, if not for Lady Brienne, who brought Lady Sansa home,” he says, almost conversationally, but she can sense the flood of certainty rolling generous waves within him. She fears she is the river banks it intends to swallow.

 “And if there is to be a new dawn, it deserves to be greeted by one true knight in these seven wretched kingdoms.” Jaime sets his cup down and moves to the center of the room, the sound of him unsheathing Widow’s Wail almost deafening in the quiet that has entangled everyone.

 “Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

 She wants to laugh it off, before he can, before someone says ‘women cannot be knights’, before -- but only he exists outside the silence and she has no voice. Somewhere, on the edges of her vision, Addam and Podrick smile at her with such pride and encouragement that it sweeps her off her chair and toward Jaime, like he is the lighthouse and the cliffs that could shatter her all at once.

 He guides her to the shore, gleaming in the firelight, and her legs wobble as her lip does when she stands up, now a knight.

 In that moment, love isn’t just enough, it is everything, and all she can see is flurry of pink in golden sunlight.

 V

 Morning comes, but the night has taken many under her cold, silent wings.

 She has lost the count of how many times she thought it will carry away those dearest to her, instead it had become a rod of ice next to her backbone that hadn’t let her bend or break, or stop even for a moment as they fought through the Long Night.

 It still has not melted, almost a day later, because Addam is laying pale in a makeshift infirmary bed. Only for a moment, she had lost sight of him, but it could as well have been an infinity, because next time a wave of wights crested and fell apart, so was he crumbling to the ground. They had managed to drag him along as they were forced to retreat towards a wall, clinging to the ragged breath he still drew and the hope it could be over soon, but if the battle had lasted even half an hour more, he would have faded away propped against the stone, now uselessly protected by three swords.

 She has not seen him since they brought him to Maester that night, immediately overtaken by  duties, interrupted only by short and restless sleep where sometimes it was Jaime, sometimes Addam and even Podrick that fell (and then rose) in her dreams. But now she is here and so is Jaime, who has little else to do than to be by his friend’s bed and mend his own wounds.

 He chides Brienne for looking as if she will keel over herself, has few choice words for Lady Sansa’s inability to manage even a day without her, and drags her on a stool next to his. Doesn’t let her hand go even afterward - it is rough and warm, and familiar somehow, though they have barely ever touched. As if all the countless dreams she has had have somehow become a piece of truth, reality, embedded in her body and mind.

 “Brienne, he will live,” Jaime tells her and she wants to tell him he cannot know that, not with the clarity he bears, but she smiles a little and nods in return, because it is good one of them can be so assured of it.

 “And so will I.” His voice is almost solemn, trembling just a little like he isn’t sure if this promise is even wanted, though he must, just as she had known his heart. And she thinks of the gaping abyss they still have yet to cross which love will not lift them gently over on its own, and of the way she cannot think of taking another step without his hand in hers, and then she is kissing him, soft and sweet and he cannot taste like first warm spring rain, yet he somehow does.

 “Could not wait until I am good enough to say finally with all the panache it deserves, could you?”

 They startle apart, though Jaime’s hand stays on her shoulder, still drawing her closer even if it is awkward at this angle. Addam still looks pale, but she appreciates seeing his eyes again, the glimmer of mirth and relief making him seem more lively than he logically can be.

 When she stands to call Maester, she thinks she was right - love itself might not be enough. But when it is encased with support and trust and oaths that are hard to give but easy to uphold once said, and life that shall be lived and shared, it becomes something that makes roads and homes in impossible places. And somewhere in her heart, azalea blooms dizzyingly as the color drips back into the landscape.

[ofsigrids]

hello  my dearest fellow writers ! i’m  eden,  my pronouns are  she  /  her  &.  reside  in  the  est  timezone.  i’m  so extremely excited to be here and apologize for this being late & a little vagueish being insanely busy right before christmas. without further ado though let me introduce you in part ( there will be a google doc coming with prettier things trust me! ) to the second love of my life - Sigrid!

synnove karlsen, 25, aryndale, cis-woman. ––– i believe that is sigrid dudley nee thrane, the duchess of limburg. they are twenty five years old and are known to be very captivating & perspicacious, though they can also be very enigmatic & calculative. they remind me of flowers raised from killing fields tended by hands that know their cost, words whispered into the ears of mighty men and to magnificent beasts and the elegance and grace of a wildly capable woman.  tw mentions of death, war

I. ━━ GENERAL.

NAME : sigrid gisela dudley nee thrane . ( if you are a friend you can call her siggy )

AGE : twenty-five. 25

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN : aryndale.

FORMER TITLE / S : none.

CURRENT TITLE / S : lady sigrid dudley, duchess of limburg

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN : scorpio. scorpio sun & taurus moon.

II. ━━ PERSONAL.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : heteromantic

PERSONALITY TYPE : infj, the advocate.

MORAL ALIGNMENT : neutral good borderline true neutral 

HABITS : a knowing look, biting her lip, quiet but extremely detailed observations

SINS : lust  /  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / pride  /  envy  / wrath

III. ━━ TRAITS & PERSONALITY.

cowardly     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      brave

energetic    ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     lethargic

forgiving     ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      vengeful

charitable     ● ○ ○ ○  ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     selfish

authentic     ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      deceitful

chaste     ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      lustful

humble    ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     boastful

naive     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      experienced

cautious     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○      daring

restrained     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○     bold

trusting     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○      suspicious

IV. ━━ PHYSICALITY.

HAIR COLOR : dark brown ( depending on the time of the year it does get lighter )

EYE COLOR : dark brown.

HEIGHT : 5′5.

WEIGHT : 120lbs

BUILD : ectomorph.

ACCENT : slight. vaguely scottish in nature

PITCH : middle register. an appealing almost silvery tone that does get a little melodic when she talks faster but not sing songy

SCARS & BIRTHMARKS : Most noble women have fairly dainty hands, skin unblemished and untarnished by the ravages of hard work. Sigrid’s hand though softer and faded, are scarred. she grew up an orphan in a mountain village taken in my their horse master needless to say sigird grew up knowing a hard days work. Sigrid also served as a scout / spy when aryndale joined the war before she married the duke of limburg so our girl has scars.

V. ━━ BIO  POINTS.

Before there was a great lady of limburg, before a duchess once again wandered the halls of house dudley, before there was title to her name a girl had none. Sigrid had no family, no family name, no relatives to call her own but a simple point of origin. A girl was born for all she knew in the village of thrane high in the mountains. Who her parents were, whose blood ran through veins she couldn't tell you but a babe was taken in by the horse master and his wife. They would raise a young woman to survive her world and she she thrive no matter her start in the world. They would teach her about Aryndale's greatest treasure. Horses.

She grew up learning the secrets of the great beasts, marveling at such magnificent creatures learning she preferred the company of the animals more than people and her adoptive father saw she had a way with the massive animals. Even the most wild and seemingly untamable of mustangs calmed at her touch, continuously risking her life to tame wild horses. In another life Sigrid often wondered if she had been a great mare that had ruled the countryside with a great mob at her back when men did not inhabit these lands just yet as if she were the legends ever aryndale citizen knew. It was no idyllic existence, no wonderful youth like many women of her eventual station would have tales of. It was many years of learning a trade, of toiling with rugged earth and stone to carve out an existence and the expanding of the horse masters influence in the surrounding areas. Weeks were spent on occasion by the side of the hunters leaning the ins and outs of the mountains and its passes and the secret places to find game to feed the village that was her home.  It was many days of whispering words into the ears of massive chargers, the hearty aryndale steed breed for war and peace both filling them with ideas of being legendary and of the things they would one day accomplish even becoming the mount for knights and kings. It was hours of the horse master's wife teaching her etiquette and proper manners despite a girls desire to run off and join a traveling band of merchants or entertained ideas of becoming a warrior. Either way they would ensure she'd be capable of living a lie of her choosing. It was an unfortunate thought they both shared that she'd make no man any real wife destined to be a spinster no matter the attention the boys in the village paid to an orphan girl.  They doubted war would come to pass and the village of Thrane would continue on as it always had and the horse master and his ward would work to supply the nobles of aryndale far and wide the best horses there were and provide their services as farriers, trainers and on occasion as trick riders. Sigrid did love it no matter how hard it was or the challenges every day presented with it would of course give her an edge later in life

She was a fine looking thing at sixteen, a mane of hair as silken as a prince's mare, a backbone to her and the complete availability to do whatever she wish. The threat of war consistently loomed over head like storm clouds that refused to release their rains and with such a close proximity to it potentially. When it did come to the borders of Aryndale her caretakers knew exactly where she would run to. Directly into the thick of things, to war, to serve king and country and protect a village entirely too close to the war. Sigrid lied about her age when she enlisted, declaring she was eighteen and due to the wealth of information she had was placed directly into a scouting position under the charge of duke dudley's son.

Would you believe that in the middle of a war against incredible odds in the thick of danger and death constantly two people were capable of falling in love. Sigrid Thrane as she called herself now, as it had been signed on her contract served as a spy and a scout had more than a dozen times saved her commanding officers life. Three full years was spent in freezing rain, in mud and dirt covered in blood and the constant threat of death together and two universes that had no possibility of colliding before became intertwined. In close quarters the two increasingly sought out each others company. The duke's son would tell her about his home, about the land he was eager to get back to and she would whisper of fairytales, horses and military strategy. They talked about lives after the war if both survived being so close to the front lines and he asked her after three years od serving together and seeing each other at their worst if she'd come back to his home with him. Could Sigrid see a future with the son of a duke? In answer to him she said these exact words. "For three years you have known me now - you knew that I lied about my age in order to fight for Aryndale, you've seen me at my most unattractive self and we've survived much and spoken at great length of dreams and foolish ambitions and how we would make a world better. My question to you Dudley is could you see a future with the daughter of no one?" A week later the two were married, recalled from the front lines for a small leave to celebrate their nuptials.

A choice had to be made and it was a heavy and hard decision to make despite newly wedded bliss. Which of them would return to Limburg and which spouse would go back to the war to serve aryndale and their allies? Despite her husband's protests and desire to keep her with him Sigrid reasoned with the mighty man that she could've have him unnecessarily going out of his way to save her risking the life of others in his command to lose more life. She would go back to his ancestral home without him to an ancient father in law to help aide in a necessary part of the war effort. Feeding their troops, supplying horses and help minimize the already heavy strain of aryndale's resources. Giving a kiss goodbye, Sigrid sent him back to the front lines, to the scouting party he led into dangerous missions to take on an even more monumental task.

Arriving at Limburg it was clear the place wasn't untouched by war, nearly ravished and run down. Villagers hadn't paid takes and had little food that wasn't already given to the troops and her father in law who would resist her aid for a short while was losing his sight and the ability to govern his duchy properly. Rolling up her sleeves, pulling back her hair and with a fierce determination to return the duchy of Limburg to its former glory the new duchess put her heart and soul into restoring her. Sigrid a newly wedded nineteen worked with farming families, with merchants and laborers to not only work down their seemingly insurmountable debts to house dudley without taking food from their children and doubling their annual yield. She worked in the fields scorched by fire and still smelling of death to show that this was as much a fight for nobles and commoners on the home front as it was for their warriors on the front lines in defense of their nation. Sigrid won them over, every last soul her husband would eventually have charge over and in the end even her father in law called her his most beloved daughter and a blessing to his house. Sigrid too would help where she could acting for the man to carry messages, to provide suggestions and strategies she'd offer forward as the old man's before it was noted they came from the young duchess proving herself an invaluable asset to the crown and the war effort much to the honor of house dudley.

It would be six years until the war would halt, six years for her husband to return and know the struggles she faced in the aryndale interior but the flowers risen from killing fields, grown out of soil that had seen blood and tears and his wife's hard labor to fix it and the lives of those in the duchy of limburg. Understandably there is some distance between the two as there are only so many letters that can sustain a marriage and they have barely laid together more than a few times in the entirety of their wedded lives. They’ve changed as individuals - they are strangers now really learning about one another again despite shared experiences. Here away from their home in the neutral zone this is a new realm of existence for her. The world in which she became a lady and fought tirelessly on front lines and to restore her husbands holdings was one where the definition of lady was altered. Rules here are different and she is a different. A relative unknown to all despite a select few she was involved with regarding the war effort they will soon know her.  Ever a most captivating woman she  breaths life into all she does Sigrid is bound to traverse these uncharted waters and make a splash. Truthfully perhaps they should be afraid those who know nothing of her as she will reveal nothing to them but sees more than those who were raised in this life of princesses and politics. Lady Dudley, despite how unsure of this new territory she is will do what is necessary. Sigrid will help her king and husband make a success of this even if she’s an unpolished lady with much to learn about really being one beyond a few etiquette lessons. 

VI.      ━━  CHARACTER RELATIONS. ( more to be added )

UNKNOWN  (  father,  deceased?  ).

UNKNOWN   (  mother,  deceased?  ).

HORSE MASTER BURGRED  (  caretaker/adoptive father, unknown  ).

ALFRIEDA (  caretaker/adoptive mother,  unknown  ).

DUKE  AERON DUDLEY (  husband; 28+,  wc! name can be changed  ).

VII.      ━━  WANTED  CONNECTIONS.

Again like Altain all the things! I will have specific wanted connections on the google doc that is taking me forever and a day but I’m a firm believer in brainstorming something special to highlight both characters and help build this gorgeous world so please hit me up!

[chromium7sky]

Damirae week day 1: Amnesia| You got me (crazy)

He was devastated.  

It was only 1 month before his wedding with Raven but things doesn't go as they plan, his fíancee where having her ultimate showdown battle with her father,  he almost lost her.  Lost in time and space.

She's trapped in forgotten dimension,  and thank god he has done some research to get her back with the help of other superheroes including John Constantine but....

Something went wrong. When he retrieve her back, the time and space travel were having difficulties due to the interference of her brothers who are still alive. Raven, who is now inherit her father's crown and title as Queen of the Under Realm used almost all of her power to prevent the assault but  whiplash happens when the power hit the barrier of time tunnel and almost hit Damian. Raven quickly shield him by wrapping her arm around her fíance and whisper to him that she loves him.

The shock from that whiplash made them stumbled and landed at the timeline just after Damian departure to fetch Raven from the ruin of Azarath.

The rest of the heroes who just watch him departure now puzzling as he comeback like it was a short distance walk journey. As Damian regain his senses, he quickly ask for medical team to take care of Raven who are now limping in his arm as she was heavily injured by the blow of her own power.

"I know Raven could heal herself in a miracle way but this damage on her head causing concussion,  perhaps it may lead to memory loss. Let us hope that it wasn't a big blow. " said Cyborg as he analyze the Mistress of Magic at the sick bay.

Damian Wayne who is now disgruntled with a twist felt in his stomach by the memory of seeing Raven being hit by the whiplash played over and over inside his head although they already in their safe haven. When Cyborg said hoping it wasn't a big blow,  he mentally frown. It is a BIG one.

Its been three days she's in coma,  he patiently waited by her side though, sometimes Bruce and his other Bat fam come and asked Damian to come home to get some rest and filling his stomach with some food. As he watch his fíanceè who is now unconcious on a clean white bed with bottle of IV punctured in her arms and the beeping sound of pulse monitor counting her pulse rate as well as her blood pressure,  the sight itself has killed his appetite somehow,  there is a long sofa nearby, so he decided to rest his tired shamrock eyes with a power nap.

Damian drifted  to sleep eventually,  Dick silently put a wooly nightwing-ish design blanket on his brother for comfort, thus, he and Kory took their turn to keep their eyes on Raven.

******** Damian's dream were unpleasant which he end up awake with heavy sweats and panting and he thought, perhaps, it  was the effect from the time and space travel. As he looked at Raven's bed, her face seems peacefully sleep despite all the beeping sound, machine were made.

Slowly he approach the bed and and sit on the chair has been recently placed there,  perhaps either by Dick or Kory. He rest his arm and his head at the edge of the bed while his finger tracing her palm and slowly wrap around her finger, then kiss her knuckle.

He sighed as he stared at her  that shown tranquility and peace. Seems like the sleepiness hasn't deserted him yet leading to few noded then he slowly land his head in the palm of unconcious Raven.

In a sudden, something awoken him. A twitch. He open his eyes as he seen her hands. Yes,  more responds!

He grab it with both of his hands discreetly and placed on his cheek as he observed her eyelashes begun to fluttered. His heart almost jumped as he seen her eyes opened. With all the hope and excitement, he take his breath and about to say something until...

"Who are you? And why are you hold my hand? "

*******

It's been months.

Raven now hang out at the justice hall after she's awaken is a good sign but the only thing that bothers him,  she... Doesn't remember about their relationship and their engagement.

She knew him,  the 'Damian Wayne' for his infamous brat attitude but what she didn't know that, both of them were suppose to be married two months ago and damn, he's a mess.

Sometimes she caught him staring at her while shes reading at the library,  sometimes when she walk in the garden.

Did they strike a conversation? Well, he tried but something kept holding him back like his father emergency meeting in Gotham,  Jon's calling from space mission. An ordinary person might throw their tantrum about it but Damian Wayne accept that now its not their time to have a deeper conversation. Yet.

******

She felt peaceful as she taking a stroll at the garden.  The flowers, trees, grass,  all of them seems like in heavenly. She remember something new today. A showdown. Something like that. She's fighting with something big.

It does ignite her magic and alter her appearance into the damn Queen of Darkness. She still wonder,  how did she end up on earth if she's already seal the dimension for good? She sighed and took a few step ahead and there, she saw him. A guy with complex aura surrounding him. Some of them are dark, some are sad, and the rest are bittersweet.

She's been wondering why she always bumped into him. Is he stalking her? Could it be, since he's the son of Batman. Maybe it's in their blood, she mentally chuckled.

"Hey, you! "

He look at her then slightly sneered.  "I have a name."

"Uh, Sorry, Mr. Damian Wayne. "

"It doesn't have to be THAT formal. "

Raven accidentally let out her snort. Quickly, she cover her mouth. She'd be damned if he heard... What? Is that a smile?

Before she's about to say,  his face change to his usual sour expression within nano second. "State your business then. " his stern voiced heard after a long silence.

"Oh uh... " she caught off guard.

"Well, nothing. Just wondering..." then her eyes caught up with a book he was holding that has pencil scribbled, more like doodling. "What are you doing?" she casually walk to him,  invading his personal space.

She could feel the intensity of his eyes as he gaze at her then shifted to the tree view. "Some research. " he blurted out automatically.

"Oh? " She was curious though. Everytime when she meet him, it feels like her body drawn to him like almost wanted to embrace every single of his being. She quickly discarded the thought. 'Damn twilight,' she cursed under her breath for reading cheesy supernatural novel.

"You seems tense?" Damian close the book and tidy up his tools.

"I don't know. I kind of trying to put up some missing puzzle of my memory. " Raven rubbed her chin as she stared blankly at Damian's shirt. Unintentionally.

Damian, uncomfortable of being stared, cleared his throat that made Raven jumped abit from her short daydream.

"You need help?" Damian, volunteer himself.

"You want to help me? " Raven in disbelief as the Son of Batman offered himself. This is rare.

"I could help to sketch out by the description, who knows, it might help you remember something," said the dark hair man as he casually dust off his pant and shirt.

"Well... Let's go! " Raven,  unconciously take his hand. She realise with sudden unusual movement as her eyes went wide just a second and slowly let go of him. "I'm sorry. I... Don't know what is happening. But it seems we kinda really close before I've lost my memory," she tried to laugh. Trying to make it less awkward.

When she saw his face, She saw something in his eyes; a melancholic, sad, and heavy gaze, of wanting to be acceptance.

"Perhaps. "

He turn his back on her, "Follow me."

Raven, bit her lips to keep her from being nervous, followed him as they making their way to Damian's specialize facility. A laboratory.

When both of them enter the building,  everything seems familiar to her. All the passage, the door,  the interior design; It feels like home. Damian put his sketch tool on work bench nearby the super computer and pulled out the chair and offer Raven to sit.

"I'm just gonna go fresh up abit,  then we'll start the session. "

"Got it."

"And... " Damian paused as he tried to remember something.

"Don't touch anything on that table. " he point out an area where it filled with microscope and some are advance machinery. Is that a laser?

"I am not a child, Damian Wayne. " Raven pouted.

"Then act like an adult. " Damian huffed and disappear into his room.

"Jerk." as the young lady fold her hand and sit on the chair quietly.

***** Its been 20 minutes, she looks at the clock then at the room where Damian disappear. She's rocking her chair back and forth while her eyes roaming everywhere.

Suddenly, she saw the sketch book on the table where Damian left earlier. The dark color seems intriguing for her to open its content. To reveal the mystery.

'I hate being curious cat but.... Why not take a little peek? ' her heart begging her to see. Raven take a deep breath then slowly she lean on the table to take a closer look on Damian's sketch book.

Slowly she open those black leather cover, and she almost fell off from her chair! The first drawing who greet her is her own potrait. Realistic and detail drawing of her face.

Her heart is pounding fast. 'What did I do to this guy? ' then she open up the next page. There were several person she could recognise like Dick,  Kory,  Mari,  some old man,  his other brothers and Bruce.

When she flip for more she saw her again,  this time she was hanging out with a creature,  a fluffy beast with batwing and ring on his nose.

As she flip,  she saw her,  sketches of her in simple line,  sometimes in complex mesh and shade. Different expression, even with dialogue. 'Did i ever said some of these line? ' as she read it because some of them are cheesy and romantic.

After almost all pages, her shaky hands close the book. 'Who is this guy to me? ' Raven feeling confused and nervous and her eyes looked at his door. This time,  she need to see inside for some answers.

She trust her instinct as she walked to his door. She gently knock but... No answer. Her hand slowly twisted the door knob and open the door.

She actually went into Damian Wayne's room. This is crazy, and her body made its own decision as if she's done it thousands time. She'll definitely in big trouble.

******** She's in his room. HIS ROOM!! Carefully she walking around, she saw a potrait of her hanging on the wall opposite to his bed. It was really her, in precise color. She felt her heart jump a little. "I don't think we're bestfriend. This is much more.... " her whisper trailed off as she mesmerized with his work.

"Are kidding me? What are you doing in my room?!"

Raven wince when she heard it.

"Look,  I'm sorry. I know i'm kinda bit annoying but your work did took my breaaaaaAAAAA!!!! "she quickly close her eyes.

Oh, dear.  Damian is in towel stood in front of her as he just come out from his shower.  Ah, no wonder he took a long time.

"What part you don't understand about..."

"Well, I didn't touch anything on that table. " Raven defend herself as she keep her eyes closed.

She could heard him sighed. "I did say 'act like an adult.'"

"Well,  Damian Wayne. Try to elaborate what act like adult means!" Raven then turn around from looking at him.

"Like talk to me like a person.  Not like a GODDAMN idiot who didn't look at me."

"I am not an idiot! " as she's annoyed as she facing him.

"Good. "

However, she tried not to focus on him,  his wet hair, those intense green eyes and his uncovered torso. Damn...

Damian crossed his arm. Amnesia or not, she has violated his personal space, not that Damian would care but still!

"I have so many question to ask. " Raven almost whispers.  "About the picture,  the sketch,  this familiar building. I... " she rub her arm as she try to sort out her mixture feeling. Embarassed, confused, happy, excited. What's with all of this whenever she's with him?

Damian arched his brow as he listen attentively. Tt, Of course she has seen his sketches.

"I feel... Happy whenever i see you. I feel like i want to hug you, some sort... Ugh this is sound insane." she closed her face with her palm. Damian definitely gonna call her pervert especially in this situation.

Damian slightly amused,  it was like listening to her first confession 8 years ago. Slowly he sit on his chair nearby.

"Why don't you take a seat? " Damian point out the chair in front of him.

"Uh... " Raven still feel nervous about it. Damian, in his towel. Sitting on that chair with arm and leg crossed.

"I won't bite."

She sneered then sighed as she landed on the leathered chair. "This chair is making me nervous. As i was saying..." she put her hands on her chest.

"I don't think you and I were bestfriend,  Mr. Wayne. I think its likely more than that. "

Did she Friendzone me? Damian's mind irritated by her statement. How dare she -

"I was so wrong about this, this miscomunication. Maybe I've interpreted it wrong. Maybe I didn't trust my intuition enough. I..I should have trust it but I'm afraid seeing you in sour expression and your cold atittude,  i'm afraid that i might only have one-side feeling. "

Yep. Definitely like the first confession, he mentally noted.

"Have you ever heard about don't judge a book by its cover? " Damian leaned on his desk as he close up to her. Seeing her red wine eyes sparkles against the light in his room. Her soft lavender color hair.  Her red ruby lip which he missed so much.

"Yeah, i know. But still,  who am I to you?" as she dared to look into his shamrock green eyes. Hoping to find the answers.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that, Miss Roth." Damian still exhibit his seriousness.  Raven hold up her emotion because something inside her like about to burst open and hell, she felt like she wants to give that jerk a thousand kiss on his face.

"But..."

"Uh?" Raven jumped a bit as Damian held his hand to her.

"You're an empath, right? I want you to feel it." She could feel heavy emotion behind his gaze. Slowly she reached out her hand towards him.

Damian,  grab her hand and begun to exhaled.

Raven were drowning.

Drowning with his emotion. Those heavy burden, sadness, bitter and anger hit her like  waterfall! After the intense wave, she suddenly felt butterfly in her stomach. This is so warm. This center feeling.

It feels like she wraping herself in a blanket on the cold night,  comforting and safe.

When she open her eyes she saw his vulnerable expression. She never seen him in that face before. A longing.

Then, she realise the scar that marked horizontally on his stomach. She touched it, unintentionally. "Home..."

"Home? " Damian almost lose out his emotion in his voice.

"Home is when you go there... " Raven remember the line.

"They have to take you in." Damian continue the quote from his favourite poet.

"This scars... I remember Hell, the titans, YOU. " as she squeeze out her memory.

"I was suppose to stay there,  to watch my father but why I'm... " Raven bit her lips. "Why? Why i'm here, Damian? I had to seal the dimension so that they could not harm the other dimension. " her tears start to blooming. "That is not your home. You deserve more than that hellish place, Raven. " Damian took his courage as he caressed her cheek, wiped out the tears.

"You doesn't seem content with the place. That is not your home. " both of his hand now on both of her cheek while he gaze into her eyes.

"Sometimes Home has a heartbeat, two arms and a soul. " he smiled. "It doesn't have to be a place. " he added.

"I... I.. " Raven getting choked up.

Tears start to rolled on her cheeks and without any hesitate,  Damian give her a kiss. Long and still.

She felt everything connected,  her memories, his emotion. Eureka!

Things in his room starts to float like its in zero gravity due to the intense emotion she felt. The bliss that makes her wants to reach for the stars.

Both of them withdrawn each other and placing their forehead together, savouring it. "I remember. " she whispers and yet she still cried.

Damian chuckled as he tug her hair behind her ears. He looked at her beneath his long lashes which made her heart fluttered.

"I am home with you. " she repeat her words during their depature from ruin of Azarath before their time travel goes wrong.

"All you need is a kiss to remember? " she can hear his giggle in his words. "A true love kiss. " as he peck her cheek.

"Since when Damian Wayne being cheesy romantic? " she teased him.

"Just come here. " as his arm wide open waiting for her. "I miss you. "

Raven scoffed then gloomped at the young man. "I'm home," she whisper as she bury her face at his collar,  inhaled his freshly after shower scent,  imprinting in her memory.

"Welcome back. " Damian wrap his arm on her body, it feels perfect. How he miss her so much! He give a kiss and landed his cheek on her hair.

Bonus:

[wemadeacrosswhereourshadowsmet]

David Berman - Self-Portrait at 28

I know it's a bad title but I'm giving it to myself as a gift on a day nearly canceled by sunlight when the entire hill is approaching the ideal of Virginia brochured with goldenrod and loblolly and I think "at least I have not woken up with a bloody knife in my hand" by then having absently wandered one hundred yards from the house while still seated in this chair with my eyes closed. It is a certain hill the one I imagine when I hear the word "hill" and if the apocalypse turns out to be a world-wide nervous breakdown if our five billion minds collapse at once well I'd call that a surprise ending and this hill would still be beautiful a place I wouldn't mind dying alone or with you. I am trying to get at something and I want to talk very plainly to you so that we are both comforted by the honesty. You see there is a window by my desk I stare out when I am stuck though the outdoors has rarely inspired me to write and I don't know why I keep staring at it. My childhood hasn't made good material either mostly being a mulch of white minutes with a few stand out moments, popping tar bubbles on the driveway in the summer a certain amount of pride at school everytime they called it "our sun" and playing football when the only play was "go out long" are what stand out now. If squeezed for more information I can remember old clock radios with flipping metal numbers and an entree called Surf and Turf. As a way of getting in touch with my origins every night I set the alarm clock for the time I was born so that waking up becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it. II two I can't remember being born and no one else can remember it either even the doctor who I met years later at a cocktail party. It's one of the little disappointments that makes you think about getting away going to Holly Springs or Coral Gables and taking a room on the square with a landlady whose hands are scored by disinfectant, telling the people you meet that you are from Alaska, and listen to what they have to say about Alaska until you have learned much more about Alaska than you ever will about Holly Springs or Coral Gables. Sometimes I am buying a newspaper in a strange city and think "I am about to learn what it's like to live here." Oftentimes there is a news item about the complaints of homeowners who live beside the airport and I realize that I read an article on this subject nearly once a year and always receive the same image. I am in bed late at night in my house near the airport listening to the jets fly overhead a strange wife sleeping beside me. In my mind, the bedroom is an amalgamation of various cold medicine commercial sets (there is always a box of tissue on the nightstand). I know these recurring news articles are clues, flaws in the design though I haven't figured out how to string them together yet, but I've begun to notice that the same people are dying over and over again, for instance Minnie Pearl who died this year for the fourth time in four years. III three Today is the first day of Lent and once again I'm not really sure what it is. How many more years will I let pass before I take the trouble to ask someone? It reminds of this morning when you were getting ready for work. I was sitting by the space heater numbly watching you dress and when you asked why I never wear a robe I had so many good reasons I didn't know where to begin. If you were cool in high school you didn't ask too many questions. You could tell who'd been to last night's big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway. You didn't have to ask and that's what cool was: the ability to deduct to know without asking. And the pressure to simulate coolness means not asking when you don't know, which is why kids grow ever more stupid. A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying for a letter from the class stoner ten years on but... Do you remember the way the girls would call out "love you!" conveniently leaving out the "I" as if they didn't want to commit to their own declarations. I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept and hope you won't get uncomfortable if I should go into some deeper stuff here. IV four There are things I've given up on like recording funny answering machine messages. It's part of growing older and the human race as a group has matured along the same lines. It seems our comedy dates the quickest. If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokes I hope you won't be insulted if I say you're trying too hard. Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Live seem slow-witted and obvious now. It's just that our advances are irrepressible. Nowadays little kids can't even set up lemonade stands. It makes people too self-conscious about the past, though try explaining that to a kid. I'm not saying it should be this way. All this new technology will eventually give us new feelings that will never completely displace the old ones leaving everyone feeling quite nervous and split in two. We will travel to Mars even as folks on Earth are still ripping open potato chip bags with their teeth. Why? I don't have the time or intelligence to make all the connections like my friend Gordon (this is a true story) who grew up in Braintree Massachusetts and had never pictured a brain snagged in a tree until I brought it up. He'd never broken the name down to its parts. By then it was too late. He had moved to Coral Gables. V five The hill out my window is still looking beautiful suffused in a kind of gold national park light and it seems to say, I'm sorry the world could not possibly use another poem about Orpheus but I'm available if you're not working on a self-portrait or anything. I'm watching my dog have nightmares, twitching and whining on the office floor and I try to imagine what beast has cornered him in the meadow where his dreams are set. I'm just letting the day be what it is: a place for a large number of things to gather and interact -- not even a place but an occasion a reality for real things. Friends warned me not to get too psychedelic or religious with this piece: "They won't accept it if it's too psychedelic or religious," but these are valid topics and I'm the one with the dog twitching on the floor possibly dreaming of me that part of me that would beat a dog for no good reason no reason that a dog could see. I am trying to get at something so simple that I have to talk plainly so the words don't disfigure it and if it turns out that what I say is untrue then at least let it be harmless like a leaky boat in the reeds that is bothering no one. VI six I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories, many of them having blended with sentimental telephone and margarine commercials plainly ruined by Madison Avenue though no one seems to call the advertising world "Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved? Let's get an update on this. But first I have some business to take care of. I walked out to the hill behind our house which looks positively Alaskan today and it would be easier to explain this if I had a picture to show you but I was with our young dog and he was running through the tall grass like running through the tall grass is all of life together until a bird calls or he finds a beer can and that thing fills all the space in his head. You see, his mind can only hold one thought at a time and when he finally hears me call his name he looks up and cocks his head and for a single moment my voice is everything: Self-portrait at 28.

[cherryfloyd-blog]

Jimmy Page - Behind Closed Doors

There are so many cookie crumbs to this story and I truly put as much research into this as my brain could handle. What started as a fun idea, soon turned into a late night adventure of notes sprawled across my bed, snacks to keep the energy going, glasses on; with a pen sticking of my mouth as I thumbed through as many pages of literature that I could get my hands on. There are several parts of this but for the sake of remaining unbiased I will keep it as straightforward and simple as I can. There has been a rumour floating around for fifty odd years, that Led Zeppelin; more specifically Jimmy Page, had made a deal with the devil. In this article, I will break down the events that have lead people to believe such things. In the end, it will remain impartial and will be open to interpretation which we can discuss further.

 To begin, let’s talk about Jimmy’s growing idolisation and obsession with Aleister Crowley, famous for being an occult leader and magician. For more back story, Crowley was a British occultist who became known for pioneering the practice of black magic (or magick as he would call it). Aleister called himself Beast 666 and wrote literature on black magic and the occult, making him a major cult figure. He joined a few popular organizations to begin with, but ventured off into his own self created philosophy. Crowley believed himself to be the prophet entrusted with guiding humanity into  the Eon of Horus, thus founding the Religion of Thelema. 

(Below is the logo of Thelema)

Pictures of Crowley have since been discreetly used in pop culture, as if a small tribute. For example; The Beatles featured Crowley on their album cover art for Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, he can be seen in the back row, if I’m correct. Building off of Page’s affinity for Crowley, which began to noticeably build by the mid to late 60’s, Page financed to own a bookstore in Britain which specialized in selling publishings of the occult and black magik. Needless to say, Jimmy was in deep at this point but still only scratching the surface of infatuation. The bookstore was named “The Equinox” which was also the name of a book that Crowley himself had written on the occult and magic. To this day, Jimmy Page has the second largest collection of Crowley memorabilia and literature, which is no small expense. His bookstore is now closed, but back in the day had been in stock of some very pricey and hard to come by black magik publications.

Another thing I found interesting, was Page being heavily influenced by very iconic blues artists, such as Robert Leroy Johnson (okay, maybe not that interesting, everyone in rock cites him as being the backbone of rock n roll today) nonetheless, Johnson died at the age of 27 from unsolved and suspicious causes. He never became famous while he was alive, but rumour has it that Johnson had also sold his soul to the devil in return for fame, at a crossroads, which Robert mentions in a few songs. A very small, unrelated tidbit of information, but it makes you wonder if our rock star idols gave up more than a normal life, to become internationally loved and recognized.

Around the year 1970, Jimmy had supposedly asked the band to perform a ritual with him, one that would bring them power and something along the lines of everlasting life? I know right, no biggie, just dabbling with some dark forces. Anyone that knows black magik, can tell you that spells like this are not something to be taken lightly or messed with. John Paul Jones was allegedly the only one to not take part in this pact, which you’ll later realize why that makes all of this so much more strange than it already is. If you think about it, had they made such a pact it would make sense. Robert Plant has made it to the list of top 100 best singers of all time in Rock history, not only that but made it to number one (1). Jimmy Page? Well he’s seen as a god and legend by almost every guitar player in the modern world, and has been ranked number two, only one spot behind Jimi Hendrix. John Bonham has been recognized as one of the best double kick drummers in history, quite literally, every drummer looks up to him as also an almost god like figure. As for John Paul Jones? There is no doubt the man is wicked talented, but not nearly as talked about or famed. We can all acknowledge the man has serious talent, and yet seems to be left in the shadows of his peers.

The first evidence of this pact can be seen with the album Led Zeppelin III, between the end of the last song and the paper label is the outro groove written into the vinyl was “So mote it be” on one side and “Do what thou wilt” on the other. The are basic phrases that are the core of Crowley’s belief system. By this point people were determined that Jimmy had become a member of O.T.O , and organization and cult who’s most influential and iconic member was none other than Crowley. More about the organization can be read about in a link below, but it should be noted that they have four pillar rules; one of which is to not speak of the organization to others or discuss the practices of which they studied. A rule, that Jimmy Page is believed to have broken at one point.

The second piece of evidence was apparent with the release of Led Zeppelin IV, when symbolism became a driving force. Inside the album is a painting of the hermit (a powerful tarot symbol), later in life Jimmy would refer to himself as being something of a hermit despite being a major public figure. The album provides no title, and shows no band name on the cover, but on the inside are four brightly printed logos across the sleeve. From left to right, these symbols represent Page, Jones, Bonham and Plant. Page has said in interviews that the symbols (for the most part) were taken from Rudolf Koch’s 1955 Book of Signs. Plant’s symbol is probably the easiest to decipher - as it is the feather of truth and courage, from the origins of Egyptian goddess Ma’at. John Bonham’s is believed to be either a drum kit, or the symbol of trinity of a family unit (meaning father, mother, child). John Paul Jones, which was likely picked by Jimmy, was the a celtic sigil for confidence and competence. However, Jimmy’s logo has always been the hardest to breakdown and figure out. While most people believe his logo represents saturn (which controls the Capricorn sign, Jimmy is a Capricorn so it would make sense), there is a certain level of mystery behind it. Page has famously said he will never tell anyone what it means. Thought Plant has once said that Page revealed the full meaning of all four signs, including a detailed discussion of what Zoso meant. Admittedly, Plant expressed he was too drunk to remember by the next morning, and when he had asked Page about it again, page replied with saying he couldn’t/wouldn’t discuss it. Now this could very well be Jimmy’s antics, or just general mysterious persona, or perhaps he simply cannot discuss or reveal information. Perhaps, this is the one of the four pillar rules of O.T.O that Page had broken. Jimmy is an all around very private person, who very rarely, if at all, talks about his religious or spiritual beliefs or practices.

It is worth noting that Sandy Denny (pictured below) of Fairport Convention, the voice on The Battle of Evermore track, was given her own sigil. The logo is translated to Godhead or the power of female.

According to Pamela Des Barres, Pages girlfriend of this era, has said that at this point Jimmy got very deep into the studying of Crowley, and had even asked her to search San Francisco and Los Angles for Crowley memorabilia. She had not fallen short on this task, and managed to dig up some very impressive artifacts, manuscripts, and even “magical” robes that Crowley has worn. In 1970, around the time of the ritual, Page had dropped a large chunk of cash to acquire Crowley’s mansion, Boleskine, located on Loch Ness. The home, once owned by Crowley, had a large history of suicides and an even bigger turnover rate of employees as they found the home to be no doubt inhabited by dark entities. Regardless of what one may believe, the house holds a sinister vibe. Page later sold the home in 1992, and had actually been very wary of ever living there and had left the estate in a caregivers possession. Of the 22 years that he had owned the house, he only spent 6 weeks in total living there. In 2016, the house unexplainably burned down. (pictured below is Jimmy at the mansion) 

 Now this next part is where shit gets bonkers, so to speak, the rest so far has been rumours and back stories and alleged encounters. Just a man with an obsession, and depending on your personal beliefs, you may find that he took his practices too far. Perhaps his intentions were pure, but looking at his life in general, what did Jimmy have to sacrifice to become quite literally a noteable person in history. Well let’s see.

Introducing Kenneth Anger; a fellow Crowley disciple and filmmaker, drug taker and subversive. He spent most of his time drawing magic circles, burning incense and chanting spells in Enochian - trying to do a real ritual exorcism. Plans for his film Lucifer Rising began to fall apart when Bobby Beausoleil (lead actor) - had to quit. Bobby, who later stole rough cuts and cameras from Anger would soon regret this. To take revenge, Anger supposedly made a talisman to curse Bobby. Within a year, Beausoleil had ended up convicted of murder with a life sentence for the murder of Sharon Tate as part of the Manson family murders. Wild, I know. Possibly just a coincidence, or even just a tall tale.

Cue Jimmy Page, who had agreed to do the soundtrack for Angers film, and the music Jimmy had produced is exactly what you’d expect. Dark, eerie, and perfect for a film of satanic proportions. Some of which can actually be heard in the intro for “In The Out Door”, his melancholy and devilish sound coming through in the song “In The Evening”. Kenneth and Jimmy had a love/hate relationship, and what started as a mutual appreciation and dedication to Crowley’s practice and image, soon turned to ugly turmoil just as quickly. Anger moved into Boleskine, where him and Page shared a love for Crowley memorabilia. However, as their friendship deteriorated, Anger was asked to leave the Crowley mansion. At the height of Led Zeppelin’s career, Jimmy had pulled out of the film project in 1975. Allegedly, Anger soon stated that he had cursed Page and Zepp with a major spell, a spell so big that it took all of Crowley’s teachings he could muster up, to cast upon them.

 Almost immediately, the band started to experience turbulence and the eventual downfall of their career as one tragedy after another struck them to the core. Robert Plant was in a car crash, plunging off a cliff in Greece in 1975, nearly killing himself, his wife and his son Karac. Which meant cancelling the Physical Graffiti tour and having to record in a wheelchair. The make up tour was littered with negative events starting with Plant getting Laryngitis. Followed by ticketless fans in Cincinnati rioting and storming the gates. In San Francisco, manager Peter Grant and John Boham had gotten into a fight with Bill Graham, and nearly beating a Bill Graham employee to death. Both Grant and Bonham narrowly escaping serious charges and incarceration. Karac eventually fell ill, and no amount of money would make him better, as doctors had no idea what was wrong, by 1977 Karac had passed away and the tour was cancelled. At this point, Plant had quit the band and music in general in response to Page and Jones not showing up to his sons funeral.

Around this time, Page was nearly comatose on a daily basis due to a crippling Heroine addiction, and Bonhams alcoholism was raging out of control, becoming increasingly violent and unpredictable. In 1978, Sandy Denny, the goddess of the Battle of Evermore, drunkenly plunged down a flight of stairs; breaking her neck and died. The tip of the iceberg was the incident that occurred in September of 1980. Handlers had tucked Bonzo into bed after a band rehearsal, following a night of heavy drinking; assuming he would be okay, he’s done it a million times before, right? But as well know, John tragically died in his sleep from asphyxiation. It’s worth mentioning, that in the middle of all of this mayhem, John Paul Jones had remained completely untouched. While the loss of Karac and Bonham had affected John, being as they were family, he was never really directly affected. Could this be because he stayed as far away from the pact as possible? Could these events be natures way of taking something, in return for giving something such as power? Is this all the work of Angers alleged curse?

Robert Plant once addressed these very claims, as some people point fingers at Jimmy being the cosmic reasoning behind the passing of Karac and Bonham. Though, he says it’s a cheap shot. This is what Plant had to say about the matter - “The comments about how it was all connected with Jimmy’s dalliance with the dark side or whatever, that was cheap. I’ve never shared the preoccupations with him and I don’t really know anything about it. Fate is already written”. I suppose it has less to do with whether Page “sold his soul” and more to do with the possible repercussions of playing against nature, and whether such practices have a domino affect. The piling strange circumstances does make one wonder how involved Page really was, and how much the involvement took a toll on the band. Just how much of it can account for Led Zeppelin’s massive success, to the point of making history in music forever (everlasting life?). At the end it could all very well just be a bunch of mumbo jumbo non-sense. I am curious as to what you all think, feel free to leave comments or shoot me a message!

*Note; Do not take this too seriously, it’s all speculation and open for interpretation. Below are some interesting sites that I used in my search!

Resources:

https://forums.ledzeppelin.com/topic/15027-jimmy-and-crowley/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleister_Crowley

https://carwreckdebangs.wordpress.com/2015/06/09/aleister-crowley-jimmy-page-and-the-curse-of-led-zeppelin-when-myth-magick-and-weird-facts-collide/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ordo_Templi_Orientis

https://zososymbol.com/

[teamcalamity]

Okay, newbie. Let's move!

A new competitive season has started, Opus VIII is about to launch and Team Calamity has a blog... BOOYA!!

If you want to see more variety than a dialogue with Squall, topics that hit harder than Sephiroth into the back of a flower girl and tips more useful than Vaan's point in the story, then this is the blog for you.

In this first article we thought it might be best to introduce you to some of the team who will be regular staples on here. Hopefully this brief insight will help put some of their upcoming content into perspective.

First up is our resident judge - Mitch.

How did you first get into FFTCG?

It was a dark time in my life; I had just finished one of my favourite TV series for the 15th time and worst of all I had a piece of apple skin stuck between my teeth. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

I received a call from the UK Champion (but not world) Peter Sherratt, he spoke to me like a true champion with grace and honour “you alright dickhead?” he told me that he had just gone to a new comic book shop, the infamous Calamity Comics. Peter knew I always had a creepy girlfriend affection for Final Fantasy and our recent card game was now just an OTK shit show. So we thought let’s give it a go.

Pulled Bahamut legend, fire seems strong; I bet this card will be good for a long time, 10000 damage AND removed. Peter got Foil Light Cloud. This card is also future proof, if there’s one thing I know about card games, is that removal is key and this has it in spades…

From that day I was hooked, scratching at my arms for the next fix of spoilers, tapping the vein, breathing FFTCG and dealing with my new addiction.

What style of play do you favour?

I like to win, but more importantly I like to be a smug prick and to do this, I love my combat tricks. Nothing lifts the table up on my side more than doing something your opponent cannot see coming. I also love removal and drawing cards so if someone could explain to me how to play earth that would be great. Thank you.

Biggest hype of Opus 8?

While all the cards aren’t out yet, I am especially excited for Lunafreya, the stuff that she can enable; it means your opponent will not want to kill off some of your best forwards. That said this will all change depending on the new Garnet, if there is one.

Peter - the 2018 UK Champion (not world)

How did you first get into FFTCG?

I played yu gi oh at the time and I saw FF being sold at Calamity Comics in Hatfield.

Eric the store owner said they were doing a tournament on Friday night's (an attempt to remove the magic the gathering crowd) .

I had played FF7 and I've never liked mtg so sounded like a win win for me. All that was left was to convince mitchell to go with me to hold my hand through it all.

Didn't take long to convince him and off we went to go purchase some cardboard crack. First pack I opened....foil Cloud L!! Wooo

First deck I played was fire ice. We didn't have a clue what we were doing but got it after a couple of goes.

Mitch went home that night to learn the rulings. It became an obsession of his for a while. He would wake up in the middle of the night about illegal plays the night before.

What was even better was we convinced our mates Joseph and Azlan to join also. Fucking great game. Needs more cleavage though.

What style of play do you favour?

I really like all 3 of the main tropes. They all have a special place in my heart because of the decks ive played with.

Mono wind has generally been a control deck. Midrange ice is tempo. Discard ice is quite aggressive.

I'm gunna vote for tempo. After a short amount of set up I do love using dull freeze or discard mechanics for those cheap easy wins. It's like eating 20 mcnuggets. You know it's bad but it feels so good.

Biggest hype for Opus 8?

Sherlotta, Fina, Alexander, Lasswell & Time Mage.

The one I will talk about is Time Mage though because I honestly think it's perfect for what ice needs right now.

Wind earth is an awful matchup where we can't choose Zidane, get fucked by big daddy etc etc. So we're investing 5cp for a huge tempo swing. Huge. I'm a big big fan. It's a multicard too so extra copies may be played.

Mono ice will return with a vengeance!!!

Rich - Team Calamity's synergy specialist.

How did you first get into FFTCG?

I have zero history of playing card games, so my interest in FFTCG was purely as someone who had played nearly every game released under the title, who just fancied trying it out. I bought the starter decks on release date to gauge if it was something that I was going to stick with, and pretty soon I was part of the Opus I stock disaster, hunting the shelves of every Toys'r'Us in driving distance trying to find packs (I'm not proud to admit that). Two and a half years, and many £'s later, here I am writing my first blog post after years of being a lurker on the fan page.

What style of play do you favour?

I have always run decks that I find genuinely fun to build, play and tweak. Sometimes that means I run stuff closer to the meta, and sometimes I run more obscure decks. The vast majority of decks that I run revolve around combo cards such as Yuri/Chelinka/Alhanalem or Seifer/Raijin/Fujin. Nothing turns me on more than the text "If you control card name "X"".

Biggest hype for Opus 8?

Just give me 3 Lasswell in foil. I love that the card has been made with a specific purpose in mind (Fire/Ice deck), and all 3 abilities feed into what those elements want to achieve. I'm not quite sure how best to make Lasswell work, but I'm sure someone much smarter than I am will find a way to make him a beast!

Tom - Blog editor, specialist subject the 'Tombo Combo'

How did you first get into FFTCG?

I got into the game by chance around Opus 4. I'd never played a TCG before but out browsing for a cheap PS4 game in the January sales I spotted Cloud and Squall booster packs in the bargain bin at a local game shop. A Final Fantasy card game, what even is that?! Went home, googled it, rushed back the next day, bought the lot and ordered all the starter sets. I still remember opening my first packs and getting so excited by how many shinys I was getting, like one in each pack, I must be so lucky! Next step a venture to Calamity as the only local place to play. I didn't win a game for about 2 months but was having the best time!

What style of play do you favour?

I like to do things differently so for me I'm all about the meme life and unashamedly so. I like to shy away from the meta (to my own detriment) as I get much more enjoyment from doing things myself and if someone tells me something is shit, it just makes me want to play it more. That said I still believe you can meme and be successful and hope to go someway to proving that this competitive season (here's to 0-X at every major tournament this year)

Biggest hype for Opus 8?

Not seen the full list yet but I'm buzzing for the new FF7 starter deck. I'll probably look to take the Earth parts into an Earth/Fire setup maybe utilising the new 15 characters if space. For me a big part of enjoying the game is using characters I actually know of and love so this should fit nicely. I've also got some ideas for a Fire/Water rush style deck and a new Opus launch wouldn't be complete without me trying to make FF8 work (where are you Cid Kramer!).

I hope this is the set where things really open up and we don't see the same few decklists dominating the circuit.

Team Calamity's OP runs every Friday from 7pm at Calamity Comics in Hatfield (North of London). You can also follow us on YouTube, Twitter and Facebook (teamcalamityfftcg) or contact us on email (teamcalamityfftcg@gmail.com). Alternatively just write anything on the FFTCG Fans Facebook page, Team Calamity's James Stevenson will no doubt comment on it.

[malcolmreeds]

malcolmreeds’ creepy story masterlist!

ive been reading scary stories for as long as i can remember and have read many great entries. since it is currently the spooky season, i have decided to compile this list of stories i love for you all to enjoy - click through on the story title to read the entries! feel free to reblog and add your recommendations to the list!

Personal Favourites

The Showers - "Tim fuckin', he didn't make it, Jack," he laughed; his laugh turned suddenly to tears. "Fucking took him, they did. I don't even know. Cops told us we were just drunk, that he wandered off and got taken by the wildlife. He didn't know. He didn't see it, Jack."

The Visitor (J. Ford) -  Did he deserve the burial and not the bonfire because he proved his humanity unlike those poor creatures? And if they too were human, what were their names?

Ted the Caver (Original web page, beware of popups! Can also be read here) - Just as I started into the squeeze I felt the wind in the passage increase, and with it the most nauseating stench I have ever experienced. It smelled like damp, rotting, rancid, putrid, DEATH.

The Penpal Series - I was in every photo. None of them were close shots. None of them were only of me. But I was in every single one of them—off to the side, in the back, bottom of the frame. Some of them only had the tiniest part of my face captured at the very edge of the photo, but nevertheless, I was there. I was always there.

I Watched Video Footage of a Camping Trip That My Friends Never Actually Went On -  There's a strange, howling noise from the outside, but it's not a coyote, not an animal--it sounds like two or three people mocking wolves, but warped. Something hits the window with a hard thud and I wince--there's blood spattered across it and through the smears, I can see somebody with oddly-shaped limbs standing by the fire.

Uncle Gerry’s Family Fun Zone -  I’ll never forget it. Seeing her car pull up. She should have been forty miles away. But here she was. And that’s when I knew. There was something wrong about her, something wrong about that old man, something wrong about that place ...  it exists because she believes it exists.

Runners Up

Candle Cove - Oh God. Yes. The little girl, Janice, I remember seeing her shake. And the Skin-Taker screaming through his gnashing teeth, his jaw careening so wildly I thought it would come off its wire hinges.

The Search and Rescue Officer Series - It's a staircase. In the middle of the fucking woods ...  'Get used to it, rookie. You're gonna see a lot of them.' I start to move closer, but she grabs my arm. Hard. 'I wouldn't do that.' She says. Her voice is casual, but her grip is tight, and I just stand there looking at her. 'You're gonna see them all the time, but don't go near them. Don't touch them, don't go up them. Just ignore them.’

Captain’s Log (Elliot Avery) - What have we become? Or is it becoming? Is it simply revealing? Has the boredom and isolation made us like this or is this what we all are deep down? Savage beasts camouflaged in clothes and words and gadgets just biding their time until they have the opportunity to pounce?

The Disappearance of Ashley, Kansas -  When state law enforcement arrived at what should have been the outskirts of the farming community, they found a smouldering, burning fissure in the earth measuring 1,000 yards in length and approximately 500 yards in width. The depth of the fissure was never determined.

Huntsville Camping Trip -  When I was leaving to go home I turned to wave. He had black eyes and an open mouth like he was in pain. When I started to walk back he shut the door and bolted it. I stayed there knocking and knocking. Nothing. I called him, his phone was disconnected.

Rocking Horse Creek -  Teddy broke through as soon as he hit the ice and the rope and tree branch followed him down into the darkness below. I felt my feet moving under me as I slipped and slid my way out to where he’d gone in, sheer panic crushing my chest like a vice. 

Additional

The Story of Her Holding an Orange Series -  Rose started rocking back and forth. Every time she’d rock back, she’d reveal red shoes hidden underneath her white dress. Her teeth were grinding. Then she pulled out an orange.

Mayhem Mountain -  But in the dull, yellow edges of the light I saw something that registered in me a horror beyond death. Far away from us, in a section of shadowy track, I saw the high crest of a peak hill which reached almost the ceiling of the giant room. And then the track just…ended.

The Lost Town of Deepwood, Pennsylvania -  The police report says we were found at 4am – by our sense of time about 3 hours after the sun had set. We had spent less than an hour in the chapel and yet we seemed to have lost 10 hours there.

Psychosis -  I screamed in uncontrollable terror. I stomped on the old webcam on the floor. The door shook, and the doorknob tried to turn, but I didn't hear Amy's voice through the door. Was the basement door, made to keep out drafts, too thick? Or was Amy not outside? What could have been trying to get in, if not her? What the hell is out there?!

The Strangest Security Tape I’ve Ever Seen -  At exactly 12:03, out of nowhere, Jeremy's face pops up on camera. I don't mean he moved his head into view, I mean that one second the store was empty, the next second his face was all I could see. He wasn't looking at the camera, he was looking at me, I was sure of it.

Ten Years Ago, I Taught Sophomore Creative Writing - I spoke with the school administration, they contacted the authorities, and the police had conversations with Jake and Kate. It went nowhere. It didn’t matter that Abby had lived across the street from Jake. It didn’t matter that we had words on paper. They were just stories, the kids said.

On A Hill: Part I, Part II - It circled slowly, coming closer then retreating as if searching the ground meticulously. Then finally, the sound of its cumbersome footsteps grew distant, and then ceased. John breathed a sigh of relief. Then a hand touched his face.

My Son Brought Something Home From the Woods -  ... my hand ran straight into a mess of tangled, greasy hair. My eyes opened in shock. It stared back at me for only a millisecond. In that millisecond, it spoke. Not with words. But in my head. ‘Do you know how the clock ticks? It is fed by death.’

Notes -  On a square piece of paper I found at the bottom of a box I was moving out of my basement, it read, “HELLO? PLEASE RESPOND”. I had no idea how long the paper had been there, those boxes had sat in my basement since I moved in.

I Found a Hidden Door in My Cellar -  He held his foot still in the air, before slowly moving it a step backwards. His movements were unnatural and jerky, like someone who didn’t fully understand how to walk. He stayed like that for a moment, completely still, one foot placed back.

[trinuviel]

Mother of Dragons, Bride of Fire...

(Daenerys the Unburnt. Art by Michael Komarck)

When Dany visits The House of the Undying in Quarth she has a number of visions – and at one point she is called “Mother of dragons, bride of fire…” (A Clash of Kings, Daenerys IV)

Many readers assume that this sentence means that Daenerys will becomes someone’s “fiery” bride. However, @thewesterwoman points out that:

“The grammatical construction ‘bride of’ is not meant to refer to a description of the bride, but rather to signify who the bride’s husband will be. Thus, rather than ‘bride of fire’ being a poetic way to describe Dany as a ‘fiery’ future bride, it seems instead to predict that she will be a bride who somehow ‘marries’ fire. For example, the Bride of Frankenstein isn’t a description calling the Bride ‘Frankenstein-like,’ it’s a title announcing the person who the Bride is a bride to: i.e., Frankenstein. Similarly, Dany has here been prophesied to be a bride to fire.” (x)

However, it is worth asking if these words “bride of fire” is a prophecy or simply a description of who she is? At this point in the story, Daenerys is already known as Mother of Dragons, so the first part of the litany “mother of dragons, bride of fire” simply refers to who she is. I would argue that the second part of the litany, “bride of fire” has the same function – because Daenerys became the bride of fire when she lit the pyre that hatched her dragons! What’s more, Daenerys had to become the Bride of Fire in order to become the Mother of Dragons.

It is not whimsy that leads Dany to placing her dragon eggs on Khal Drogo’s pyre, neither is it simple revenge that prompts her to burn Mirri Maz Duur alive. Dany has a plan:

“…it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life." Dany to Mirri Maz Duur (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys X)

But is blood magic enough to awaken three petrified dragon eggs? Dany is not the first that has tried to hatch dragon eggs from fire and magic. Other Targaryens before her have tried, from Aegon III to her own father Aerys II. The Tragedy of Summerhall, (the Targaryen summer residence was destroyed by a fire that claimed the life of Aegon V), was possibly related to a scheme to hatch several dragon eggs.

(Summerhall burns. Art by Marc Simonetti)

Aegon V became consumed with restoring dragons to the world and fragments from Archmaester Gyldayn’s history of House Targaryen suggest that it was a botched hatching attempt with a tragic result:

“the blood of the dragon gathered in one … seven eggs, to honor the seven gods, though the king’s own septon had warned… pyromancers… wildfire… flames grew out of control … towering …burned so hot that…”

Death pays for life – yet none of the eggs at Summerhall hatched, despite numerous deaths. It seems that death and fire by themselves are not enough to hatch living dragons from petrified eggs (dead stone). Daenerys sacrifices Mirri Maz Duur but she doesn’t perform any specific ritual, rather it is her mystical union with the fires of her husband’s funeral pyre that facilitates the birth of her dragons. 

THE BRIDE IN THE PYRE

Let’s have a look at the chapter (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys X) where Daenerys lights her husband’s funeral pyre; the pyre that hatches her dragons. Here, the text explicitly makes the connection between the dragon eggs and the pyre and likens it to a wedding:

“She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought.”

The language here links the fires of the pyre with her first wedding to Khal Drogo: “The flames writhed before her like the women who danced at her wedding.” Then there’s this: “This is a wedding too.” Who or what does Daenerys wed on the funeral pyre? She weds fire itself as the title Bride of Fire implies. Interestingly enough, Rh’llor, the god of the Red Priests, is also called the God of Flame and Shadow as well as the Heart of Fire and the Lord of Light. One could say that in this religion, Rh’llor is perceived as an incarnation of fire itself. Daenerys being the bride of fire, i.e. fire’s bride, connects her intimately to Rh’llorism and the hatching of the dragons can indeed be interpreted as the outcome of Daenerys performing a sacred marriage with fire itself.

In an article on the blog Lucifer means Lightbringer, Daenerys climbing Drogo’s funeral pyre is called an alchemical wedding because the principle of alchemy is transformation. Through fire (the pyre) and blood (the sacrifice of Mirri Maz Duur) Daenerys transforms dead stone to living dragons. Dragons are fire made flesh – and Dany is “the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.” That line is given after a description of the funeral pyre in a language that evokes dragons:

“The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur's screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.”

Then there’s the sexual language that colours an earlier passage where the heat of the fire is described as “a lover's breath” and then given metaphorical meaning for sexual passion:

“And now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing took fire, and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils of curling smoke, grey and greasy. Dany's lips parted and she found herself holding her breath. Part of her wanted to go to him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames to beg for his forgiveness and take him inside her one last time, the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, forever.” 

At one point Dany has a vision of Khal Drogo rising from the pyre on horseback, wielding a fiery whip:

“Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.”  

MOTHER OF DRAGONS

It is after this vision of her husband of smoke and flame that the eggs crack and the dragons hatch. One could say that the fire takes on the visage of her husband, another symbolic linking between fire itself as Dany’s lover and bridegroom, just like that image is invoked when Dany first lights the fire:

“Dany took the torch from Aggo's hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover's breath...”

As Drogo’s pyre burns, Dany moves closer and closer to the fire. After a initial step back, she stands her ground against the heat but then she slowly begins to move closer and closer, step-by-step, as her clothes catch fire.

Immediately after her vision of Drogo wielding his fiery whip, the eggs hatch:

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.”

Viserion hatches first.

“And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.”

“The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.”

In what order does the two remaining dragons hatch? I think it is quite reasonable to assume that Drogon was the last of the eggs to hatch – he is the largest and most aggressive of the dragons, He is thought to be Balerion the Black Dread born again (A Clash of Kings, Daenerys I), the largest and most powerful of all the Targaryen dragons.

The show even made a nod to this matrimonial aspect of Dany entering her husband’s funeral pyre by having Dany wear her wedding gown. In the books she wears traditional dothraki garb: “Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame.” 

Daenerys entered her husband’s pyre clad as a bride, caressed by the heat and fire as by a lover. 

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt. 

It is as Fire’s Bride that Daenerys enters her husband’s funeral pyre and she emerges from the ashes as the Mother of Dragons, unburnt because she is wedded to fire on a mystical level.

[thevirginchronicles]

Self Portait at 28 by Dave Berman

I know it’s a bad title

but I'm giving it to myself as a gift

on a day nearly canceled by sunlight

when the entire hill is approaching

the ideal of Virginia

brochured with goldenrod and loblolly

and I think "at least I have not woken up

with a bloody knife in my hand"

by then having absently wandered

one hundred yards from the house

while still seated in this chair

with my eyes closed.

It is a certain hill

the one I imagine when I hear the word "hill"

and if the apocalypse turns out

to be a world-wide nervous breakdown

if our five billion minds collapse at once

well I'd call that a surprise ending

and this hill would still be beautiful

a place I wouldn't mind dying

alone or with you.

I am trying to get at something

and I want to talk very plainly to you

so that we are both comforted by the honesty.

You see there is a window by my desk

I stare out when I am stuck

though the outdoors has rarely inspired me to write

and I don't know why I keep staring at it.

My childhood hasn't made good material either

mostly being a mulch of white minutes

with a few stand out moments,

popping tar bubbles on the driveway in the summer

a certain amount of pride at school

everytime they called it "our sun"

and playing football when the only play

was "go out long" are what stand out now.

If squeezed for more information

I can remember old clock radios

with flipping metal numbers

and an entree called Surf and Turf.

As a way of getting in touch with my origins

every night I set the alarm clock

for the time I was born so that waking up

becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do

is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like

when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn

the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it.

II two

I can't remember being born

and no one else can remember it either

even the doctor who I met years later

at a cocktail party.

It's one of the little disappointments

that makes you think about getting away

going to Holly Springs or Coral Gables

and taking a room on the square

with a landlady whose hands are scored

by disinfectant, telling the people you meet

that you are from Alaska, and listen

to what they have to say about Alaska

until you have learned much more about Alaska

than you ever will about Holly Springs or Coral Gables.

Sometimes I am buying a newspaper

in a strange city and think

"I am about to learn what it's like to live here."

Oftentimes there is a news item

about the complaints of homeowners

who live beside the airport

and I realize that I read an article

on this subject nearly once a year

and always receive the same image.

I am in bed late at night

in my house near the airport

listening to the jets fly overhead

a strange wife sleeping beside me.

In my mind, the bedroom is an amalgamation

of various cold medicine commercial sets

(there is always a box of tissue on the nightstand).

I know these recurring news articles are clues,

flaws in the design though I haven't figured out

how to string them together yet,

but I've begun to notice that the same people

are dying over and over again,

for instance Minnie Pearl

who died this year

for the fourth time in four years.

III three

Today is the first day of Lent

and once again I'm not really sure what it is.

How many more years will I let pass

before I take the trouble to ask someone?

It reminds of this morning

when you were getting ready for work.

I was sitting by the space heater

numbly watching you dress

and when you asked why I never wear a robe

I had so many good reasons

I didn't know where to begin.

If ou were cool in high school

you didn't ask too many questions.

You could tell who'd been to last night's

big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway.

You didn't have to ask

and that's what cool was:

the ability to deduct

to know without asking.

And the pressure to simulate coolness

means not asking when you don't know,

which is why kids grow ever more stupid.

A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises

to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness

of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying

for a letter from the class stoner

ten years on but...

Do you remember the way the girls

would call out "love you!"

conveniently leaving out the "I"

as if they didn't want to commit

to their own declarations.

I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept

and hope you won't get uncomfortable

if I should go into some deeper stuff here.

IV four

There are things I've given up on

like recording funny answering machine messages.

It's part of growing older

and the human race as a group

has matured along the same lines.

It seems our comedy dates the quickest.

If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokes

I hope you won't be insulted

if I say you're trying too hard.

Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Live

seem slow-witted and obvious now.

It's just that our advances are irrepressible.

Nowadays little kids can't even set up lemonade stands.

It makes people too self-conscious about the past,

though try explaining that to a kid.

I'm not saying it should be this way.

All this new technology

will eventually give us new feelings

that will never completely displace the old ones

leaving everyone feeling quite nervous

and split in two.

We will travel to Mars

even as folks on Earth

are still ripping open potato chip

bags with their teeth.

Why? I don't have the time or intelligence

to make all the connections

like my friend Gordon

(this is a true story)

who grew up in Braintree Massachusetts

and had never pictured a brain snagged in a tree

until I brought it up.

He'd never broken the name down to its parts.

By then it was too late.

He had moved to Coral Gables.

V five

The hill out my window is still looking beautiful

suffused in a kind of gold national park light

and it seems to say,

I'm sorry the world could not possibly

use another poem about Orpheus

but I'm available if you're not working

on a self-portrait or anything.

I'm watching my dog have nightmares,

twitching and whining on the office floor

and I try to imagine what beast

has cornered him in the meadow

where his dreams are set.

I'm just letting the day be what it is:

a place for a large number of things

to gather and interact --

not even a place but an occasion

a reality for real things.

Friends warned me not to get too psychedelic

or religious with this piece:

"They won't accept it if it's too psychedelic

or religious," but these are valid topics

and I'm the one with the dog twitching on the floor

possibly dreaming of me

that part of me that would beat a dog

for no good reason

no reason that a dog could see.

I am trying to get at something so simple

that I have to talk plainly

so the words don't disfigure it

and if it turns out that what I say is untrue

then at least let it be harmless

like a leaky boat in the reeds

that is bothering no one.

VI six

I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories,

many of them having blended with sentimental

telephone and margarine commercials

plainly ruined by Madison Avenue

though no one seems to call the advertising world

"Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved?

Let's get an update on this.

But first I have some business to take care of.

I walked out to the hill behind our house

which looks positively Alaskan today

and it would be easier to explain this

if I had a picture to show you

but I was with our young dog

and he was running through the tall grass

like running through the tall grass

is all of life together

until a bird calls or he finds a beer can

and that thing fills all the space in his head.

You see, his mind can only hold one thought at a time and when he finally hears me call his name he looks up and cocks his head and for a single moment my voice is everything:

Self portrait at 28.

I am once again thinking about this amazing poem.

[menagerie-rpg]

「 NOAH FANG LIU 」

STRATUM: One AGE: Twenty-six OCCUPATION: Magician SUGGESTED FCS: Yang Yang

CREATURE FORM.

SIREN is a bird-like sea creature, possessing wings on their back and scales on their arms and legs on a human body. Their voice creates a beautiful, yet sad melody, that entrances any who listen. But, their lyrics are filled with only truth.

ABOUT.

You were an image first, boy second. The undead kid, fame having consumed the souls of your family. But you always were much too impulsive to be Hollywood’s puppet, and that was apparent by your eighteenth birthday. Scandals, drugs, romantic partners that weren’t yours. All of this occurred not just because you felt trapped, but your hands itch for anything you did not have. You wanted to take risks, to fly into the sun, for at least it would be your choice to burn. So when your beast form leaked into the press, a typically poetic you thought it was a sign. A sign to stop being an image, and live instead.

BIOGRAPHY.

All under the cut.

I. Who are you? The son of two industry tycoons. A trophy child, set atop a pedestal and caged in a glass case for all to admire. Look, but do not touch. Adopted, the papers cry, rescued from the same land his mother once called home; snatched from the grasping claws of pain and hardships just as she was years ago. What a gracious woman his mother is. What a generous man her husband is. What a lucky boy he is. And what a pretty picture the three of them paint. Oh how the cameras love them.

( Illegitimate, the tabloids hiss as rumors fly, the truth mixed in with veiled envy, the honeyed skin and dancer’s grace are the mother’s, but whose cunning smile is that? His father’s gaze is blue. Where did those sly black eyes come from? )

II. Who are you? His name was his mother’s first, and last, gift to him. Liu Fang–virtuous and beautiful, with a killer’s legacy in his bloodline. She’d understood long before any of them, had looked into the baby she’d birthed and seen what swam under his soft pink skin.What a fitting name. How well he wears it now.

( He is his mother’s image, skin-deep beauty too thin to hide the ugliness inside. We breed disaster beneath civility. The rest of the world will learn too, sooner than later. )

III. Who are you? A face without a title. An image without a story. The masses make what they like of him each day: the rebellious heir to a music empire; such a charming little troublemaker, this well-mannered mutt with the designer pedigree; an addict chasing his next high, easily tracked by the bodies he leaves behind, emptied, on dirty white sheets each night.

( Love me. He’s never been a picky eater. Come one come all, step up to the plate if you’re feeling brave. Let him strip you of everything you have, then watch him pick your heart out from between his perfect teeth. Ah my pretty, pretty baby, I only wanted your bones for my altar. He will be whatever you desire of him. Are you proud of me yet? I am everything you never wanted me to be. )

IV. Who are you? He’s changed his skin so many times, shedding endlessly in trying to become what the headlines desire, he no longer knows. Did he ever? The reflection in his mirror mocks him every morning with the ambiguity of his existence.

( Oh but he can’t complain. Not really, not when everyone stresses how much ‘worse it could be’. You want for nothing. Never mind that his mother only holds him close when the cameras flash. Never mind that the man he calls ‘father’ only meets his eyes when there are angles to be played. He wants for nothing, and still the time-bomb in his chest keeps tick-tick-ticking, counting down the days until he self-destructs. )

V. Who are you? Oddity. Monster. Unnatural. Animal. Beautiful. He comes into his father’s legacy in stages: the scales that bloom over his legs and arms at four, smooth and cold to the touch–not so different from the marble they carved him out of; the wings that unfurl from the hollow of his spine at nine, too light to carry his heavy bones–you’re no angel, as if he needs the reminder; the voice that began as a hum at five, only to crescendo into a scream of a song at fifteen–they weep at his feet, fear warring with enchantment, and he grows heady on the power he wields.

( Human beings are such fragile things. He learned early on you don’t need your fists to break a person, but this, this gift he’s inherited, is a different kind of weapon altogether. Something vaguely alive begins to stir in his gut. )

VI. Who are you? A liar and abuser, a user and manipulator. But it wasn’t always that way. Some dusks, he recalls his father’s cadence, a familiar tune curbing his tongue and singing him to sleep. Be kind, he’d tell the boy on the verge of dreams. Be strong. Don’t let them make a demon out of you. If only you had more of your mother in you. I’m sorry. Maybe one day you’ll forgive me.

( Most dawns, he relives the moment his sanctuary came crashing down. Six years old, waking up to rubble and ruins. His father had disappeared overnight. Nothing missing from their home, nothing out of place. He was simply gone like he’d never been. Perhaps he’d thought he was doing right, protecting his child by removing himself from the picture. But normalcy was never written into their genes, and no amount of cruelty to be kind could change what would inevitably come. )

VII. What are you? The bastard son of a woman too self-absorbed to be a mother. The abandoned offspring of a man too afraid of his own shadow to be a father. A patchwork monster with bones ground from the sorrows of everyone he’s ever consumed, swallowing hearts like they played god with his. How many more will it take to sate the hunger within?

( His mother tried. Not very hard, but still, an attempt was made in those beginning months, and he will give her enough credit to acknowledge such. But maternal instincts can only do so much for the both of them. Something starts to tear inside him. How much pain will it take to stitch you back together? )

VIII. What are you? His face is plastered on the front page of every paper, magazine, and news source of worth. The shot is blurry at best, taken by a hand made unsteady with alcohol and pills. But witches have been hung for less, and by the next morning, the hunt is on. Golden child turned monster-in-the-dark; the press is having a field day, and his mother goes blind. He supposes he should be more concerned, afraid even. He’s never seen his step-father so angry, and it makes him laugh, loud and manic.

( Twelve years it took for him to bend past the breaking point. He blames the chemical cocktail coursing through his veins that twilight, and the fight with his mother in the hours leading up to his big reveal. You’re just like your father. He wishes that were true. You’d better be careful. Hasn’t he always? Crunching on eggshells, molding and remolding the masks he wears to play his part. You’ll end up buried like him. So be it. )

IX. What do you want? The man sits across the table from him–Metzger is the name given–innocuous in appearance, well-dressed, but a snake knows its own kind, and he is wary of the hidden fangs. 10 PM and the coffee shop is mostly empty. They’re tucked into the very back corner, far from the curiosity of nosy passerby. Such a simple question, yet it gives him pause. What does he want? Nobody has bothered to ask that one before.

( He’d had his father’s eyes, black and warm as an August night. Too quickly, summer faded into winter, no spring in sight. And so he keeps spinning his silken lies, digging through what remains of the crime scene between his ribs, hoping to rebuild a person resembling human from the wreckage. )

X. What do you want? Self-destruction is nothing more than another show, and what show is complete without eager spectators? He’s spent his life catering to crowds of spectators–that much hasn’t changed; he’s simply switched out one stage for another, one pair of shackles for another set of chains. At least this time, it was his choice to be made into a pyre. And that makes all the difference.

( I want to burn. )

[mst3kproject]

1102: Cry Wilderness

Cry Wilderness is, in my humble, unprofessional opinion, the worst movie of Season 11.  Every other film on the list had some kind of redeeming quality.  Avalanche had nice scenery.  The Christmas that Almost Wasn't took a look at the weird relationship between generosity and greed during the holiday season.  At the Earth's Core had Peter Cushing filling the caverns of Pellucidar with the fucks he did not give.  The Beast of Hollow Mountain proved that dinosaurs really do make everything better, even boring cowboy movies.  The only serious competition comes from Carnival Magic, but I'm giving the Garbage Crown to Cry Wilderness on the grounds that Carnival Magic was a bit less racist.

Last summer a boy named Paul met Bigfoot, and they became best friends – or at least, Paul became Bigfoot's coke dealer.  In the autumn when Paul has returned to boarding school, he wakes up in the middle of the night to see Bigfoot standing outside his window, telling him to go find his father immediately.  You don't just ignore a message like that, so Paul hitchhikes across the country to the national park where his dad works.  There he learns that the park rangers have been ordered to hunt down a mysterious predator that's decimated the local wildlife.  Could that be Bigfoot?  Paul certainly seems to think so, and he does everything in his power to thwart the hunters' quest.

This movie's Bigfoot looks really, really stupid.  Remember that episode of The Simpsons when Homer got covered in mud and moss and mistaken for Bigfoot?  If you've ever wondered what that would look like in real life, this is the movie for you.

It's tempting to compare Cry Wilderness to Pod People. Both are set in the woods, have weirdly irrelevant titles, and are about a lonely child's sugar-based friendship with a furry humanoid that doesn't talk.  I find, however, that Cry Wilderness reminds me more of Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders, in that it's just uncomfortable to watch.  The movie feels forced, as if the actors are doing all that awkward laughing at gunpoint.  The best metaphor I can think of to describe this is to draw your attention to the skin tones the makeup people used for Red Hawk and Jim – these don't look so much 'Native American' as they do 'nasty sunburn'.  The whole movie is like that. Everything it aims for, it misses its marks in ways that are gross and kind of painful-looking.

Yet for all Cry Wilderness is tremendously, tooth-grindingly terrible in every possible respect, I have to say that it actually does one thing pretty well.  It is better than Boggy Creek 2 at making us wonder about Bigfoot's status within the animal kingdom.

If you'll recall, in Boggy Creek 2 Lockhart spent a lot of time wondering if Bigfoot were man or beast, while events completely failed to back him up.  The Bigfoot of that film stole food, defended its territory and its young, investigated new objects, and feared fire.  The audience got the impression that Bigfoot was probably about as intelligent as a bear, which really isn't bad – any zookeeper will tell you bears are bright, curious animals that learn quickly.  What Boggy Creek's Bigfoot was not was especially human-like, not even in the ridiculous way sometimes presented in killer animal movies, like when the creatures of Bats somehow know that attacking power lines will leave humans unable to see in the dark (more on this when I get around to Phase IV).

Cry Wilderness, on the other hand, sets Bigfoot up as an ambiguous figure right from the opening scene.  When Paul describes his friendship with Bigfoot, he mentions two things the creature really likes: Coca-Cola and a radio.  A lot of animals, from insects on up to great apes, like soft drinks, and for exactly the same reason humans do – namely, soda pop is full of delicious diabetes and since sugars are the easiest source of calories the brain is programmed to seek them out.  One can imagine a monkey or raccoon learning to open a pop-tab can to get at the contents.  That doesn't really require a lot of higher cognitive ability, just dextrous fingers.  The radio, however, tells us that Bigfoot likes music.  A lot of science has been done about how animals react to music, but we still tend to think of it as characteristically human and that is how it is used in Cry Wilderness.  The suggestion is that a Bigfoot who enjoys listening to the chart-topping hits of 1987 can't be all beast.

Having thus established Bigfoot in this netherworld of 'neither man nor beast', the movie then goes to some trouble to keep him there. As the hunters close in, Bigfoot tries to evade them but leaves tracks and traces they can follow and makes no attempt to outsmart them, suggesting that he possesses no more than an animal's cunning. At the climax, however, he turns back to save Paul's father in an act of human-like altruism.  If this movie had Lockhart narrating at us about The Creature being More Man Than Animal, it would... well, Lockhart himself would still be an insufferable jackass, but he would at least seem to have a point.

But you guys have all seen the movie, so you're just waiting for me to get to the part where Bigfoot fucking talks.

There are two scenes in which Cry Wilderness presents Bigfoot as more of a supernatural entity than the mere undiscovered primate that the History Channel has sought so long and so fruitlessly.  The first is early in the movie, when Bigfoot appears outside Paul's window in the middle of the night to deliver his message in spoken, colloquial English.  This is very uncomfortable, as it makes Bigfoot just a little too human.  If he can talk, it becomes incredibly creepy that he's tracked a little boy down to where he sleeps.  The school principal argues that this sequence was nothing but a dream and I want to agree with him.  I feel better about it that way.

The second scene is at the end of the movie, when the formerly strict and skeptical principal gets a complete personality transplant and Bigfoot reappears, surrounded by deer and raccoons, to the delight of all.  I want to say this is a dream, too.  It seems like a piece of wish-fulfillment for Paul – he gets to prove that he's right, and the principal turns out to be not so bad after all. Unlike the previous dream sequence, however, it doesn't begin and end with Paul in bed.  It is presented as something that happened in the movie's real world, as if Bigfoot appears like Bloody Mary when you say his name.

If this is so, we seem to have a third possible identity for Bigfoot, which would make him neither man nor beast, but some kind of forest spirit.  This is actually not at all unprecedented as an interpretation.  Folklore is full of creatures that look like furry humans and act as guardians of the woods – there's the European woodwose, the Russian leszi, and the Chinese yeren, and of course the tales told by many Salish-speaking peoples of the American west coast, which are generally treated as Bigfoot stories.  Even the gorillai of Hanno the Navigator may be a version of this archetype, rather than a reference to what we now call gorillas. Such creatures are often described as tricksters or shapeshifters, and sometimes said to abduct or even eat misbehaving children.

Bigfoot as a sort of tutelary forest spirit, however, would seem to be very much at odds with Cry Wilderness' opening scene.  Here we see a Bigfoot-like humanoid in a museum, labeled as a species of primitive man.  This seems to offer a Bigfoot much more like the type cryptozoologists hunt for, a flesh-and-blood creature that could have its hair analyzed and its genome mapped and be placed firmly on a branch of the primate family tree.  Then again, maybe this, too, is intentionally ambiguous.  Maybe Cry Wilderness is telling us that we are simply not meant to know whether Bigfoot is man or beast, spirit or flesh, legend or reality, or that it can indeed be all of them at the same time.  The fact that we can't tell if Paul's school encounters are dreams or not may tie into this theme.

And that is one hundred percent of what's interesting about Cry Wilderness.  The rest of the movie is a lot of pointless bullshit, animal abuse, forced laughter, and boring Noble Savage stereotypes that will have your eyes rolling so hard you'll be staring yourself in the frontal lobe.  Looking around tumblr, it seems that a number of MSTies with Native American ancestry were very uncomfortable with its inclusion in the new series.  I kind of understand why.  Some things just don't deserve a wider audience, even if that audience is going to make fun of them.  A movie in which a child tells a man he's “just a dumb old Indian” and is never even reprimanded for it is arguably one of those things.

In closing, I would like to say that as a resident of the Rocky Mountain foothills, I do not believe in Bigfoot and I've never met anybody who does.  I've found evidence of bears, bobcats, cougars, and porcupines in my back yard, but nary a sign of Sasquatch.  Besides which, we live in an age when almost everybody has a camera on them constantly, and a near-unlimited capacity for sharing the photographs they take – if Bigfoot existed, we'd be slapping puppy ears on him in snapchat. You know we would.

[realm-of-dragons]

Staff App - Hawks

Played by Admin Grimm

OOC:

Name: Grimm

Age: 21

Preferred Pronouns: Any!

Timezone: PST

Discord: N/A

Any topics you want added to the content warning list?: Pandemics

Second choice character?: Bakugo 

IC:

Name: Takami Keigo AKA “Hawks”

Age: 27

Gender ID / pronouns: Trans Male, He/Him

OTPs, BroTPs, or NoTPS?: EndHawks baby… As far as BroTPs go I’m down for basically anything- I’m hoping for friendship between him and Rumi, but ultimately will be up for whatever has good chemistry/history in the setting of the group.

Race: Skyfolk

Appearance: Hawks is of average height and has a narrow but athletic build. Despite his small size, he holds a great deal of muscle packed into his form, and could probably crush a skull between his thighs if he wanted. He has large, terra cotta colored wings, although he mostly keeps them folded against his back nowadays. His hair is long, messy, and blond, but typically tied back into a braid. 

Role: Prince Consort of the Elves, Elven Ambassador to the Skyfolk, Former Skyfolk Chieftain, and Royal Pain in the Ass.

Skills:

Hawks was once one of the fastest and most acrobatic flyers in his tribe; he still retains some of these skills, although he is limited by his injured shoulder.

Hawks can use both a sword and a bow with deadly accuracy mid flight, and has hunted all sorts of animals to feed his people.

When it comes to grounded combat, however, he is average at best with a blade. He’s still learning to compensate for his newfound lacking mobility.

He is excellent at reading others, a skill which helped him serve as chief, and is dedicated to helping others - it should be noted, however, that his communication skills are solely diplomatic. When it comes to his own personal thoughts and feelings he is garbage at communicating.

Backstory:

( i. )

There exists a species of bird which possesses exceptionally colorful tail feathers. It’s just a pheasant and it struggles to fly, spending most of its days grounded. It poses little threat, but it’s feathers are bright and vibrant and serve as a warning to would-be-predators. ‘Danger,’ they say, and though a bluff, they are quite effective. For the most part, the birds are left alone.

Sometimes(all the time), you’re that bird.

So maybe your feathers are dull, and your wings are average size at best, and you’re nothing particularly special to look at - But that’s not the point.

You’re just like that bird, because all you have to do is flash a vibrant and energized smile, and suddenly you’re the picture perfect representation of what your peers should aspire to be. Never mind your struggles, your anguish, or your pain. Never mind your lost childhood, your missing parents, and your failure at making friends. None of that matters in the slightest. You’re not angry. You’re not upset. You’re not in despair. 

You smile and wave and suddenly, you’re not just some orphaned, washed out, failure of a replacement chief - suddenly, you’re a warrior. A leader. Determined. Hard working. The child prodigy who took over an entire tribe at fourteen. A man who never lets anything drag him down.

It’s better this way.

( ii. )

There’s a species of bird which is preyed upon by anything and everything in its environment. It lives in constant stress and fear of being caught out, torn apart, and eaten - or, it probably would, if it possessed the same sentience as people. It’s small, fluffy, and even as an adult, appears to be newly hatched. It spends most of its life seeking out small bugs and seeds. It hides, in hopes that a predator of its own predator will grant it just a few moments longer.

Sometimes(just today), you’re that bird.

You’ve grown into your role now, more than you thought you might - and maybe the discomfort and the emotional volatility doesn’t really go away, but you’re good at hiding it, and you think that’s good enough.

But you’re just like that bird, helpless in your own environment.

You’ve heard of dragons. You’re not stupid, you know what they are. A dragon took your parents and injured countless others, naturally you’ve been educated. But education and preparation are two very different states of being, and you’re not sure any amount of knowledge could have possibly prepared you. 

You’re meeting with the other elders about something or another. You don’t really remember, after, and it’s probably not important, anyway - the sudden roar and burst of wind warns you too late to completely dodge the claws lunging your direction. 

Dragon.

The aftermath is chaotic; since you’re injured, you’re responsible for leading the evacuation, not for fighting. Every part of your body aches with discontent at running away, but there’d be no point in forcing yourself into combat. It would be stupid, and no matter how chaotic your thoughts might be, you’re not suicidal. So you obey, you lead your people to safety, and you watch as another fells the beast.

After, all you can think about is that you didn’t do anything. But it matters little. The beast is gone. You’re alive. You let a healer see to your injuries.

( iii. )

Today, you’re a fledgling bird about to leave the nest for the first time.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve already learned to fly, that you’re a leader and a warrior, or that you’re more adult than any of your peers will ever be- Today, you leave.

There’s a tradition amongst your people that all must go through before becoming chief - you skipped that, before, because your predecessor expired prematurely and your tribe was desperate for leadership. You had big shoes to fill, and you filled them as needed, but now, it’s time to move on. The dragon plaguing your people is dead, and though you still loathe your lack of involvement in the affair, you’re doing your best to move on with life. That means following tradition. 

It is custom for would-be-chieftains to travel for one year in solitude, surviving entirely off the land and the world around them. When they return, they are given a new title befitting of a leader, and they are welcomed with open arms back into their family.

You don’t really need to do that, all of your tribesmen already accept you as their undisputed leader, but you feel utterly useless when you remember how quickly the dragon struck you down. So you make a decision, and you place someone else in charge as interim leader as you prepare yourself for a long journey.

The thing about fledgling birds, though, is that they very rarely return to their nest of origin. You intend to return, so maybe you’re not like a fledgling at all- 

When you take flight, you feel dread seep into your bones. You keep flying, but you don’t look back, for fear that any glance home may be your last. 

( iv. )

You process the sound, first. Then there’s light, followed by pain, followed by delirium and the sensation of falling. You hit several tree branches as you descend - you know, because you feel the leaves and twigs rake against your flesh - but it’s difficult to determine how many. You hit the ground hard, pain exploding through your young body, and think to yourself, ‘this is it. This is death.’

Then, there’s void.

But you don’t die.

You drift in and out of consciousness for several weeks before you do finally wake. Your surroundings are unfamiliar, full of soft fabrics and lush plant life. You’re… In what appears to be a bed - you think - you know that humans and Elves keep different bedding from your own race, but you’ve never seen one quite like this. It’s soft and much larger than you’re used to, and it seems reflective of wealth and status. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position takes incredible effort, and you realize with great disdain that your wings are injured. You manage, though, and find yourself looking up at a large Elven man.

So, here’s the state of things: You were struck by lightning. You’re recovering with the Elves, in the king’s guest chambers. This man is the Elven king himself. You’re making good progress. But.

And there’s always a but.

You might never fly again.

It’s… A lot to process. And even in the following weeks, as you regain your strength and begin moving about and exploring your new surroundings, you still struggle to wrap your head around it. Flying has been second nature to you. Instinctual. Another part of your existence as a Skyfolk. You can’t fathom a life without it.

You’re a caged, flightless bird, right now. Enji is nice. Extremely nice. Nicer than he really ought to be, all things considered. You refuse to call him King Todoroki because you like pushing his buttons, and secretly, you think he likes it too. But… There’s still something missing. This isn’t right. You need to finish your journey and return home, but you can’t do that without your flight. No matter how accommodating Enji is, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re lounging around a golden cage and you really do not belong here.

So when your wings are deemed as healed up as they’ll ever be, you start sneaking out. You can’t get off the ground. Not yet. But you hope with enough practice, someday you’ll soar once again.

( v. )

You’re a hawk, now.

You don’t believe it, personally. Hawks are fierce, powerful, and incredible flyers - you’re weak, emotional, and barely able to slip off the ground on a good day. But Enji insists you’re a hawk, and you can’t bring yourself to argue, because nobody has ever seen your real persona before and thought so highly of it. 

Maybe that’s the nature of your relationship, though. It’s difficult to tell. 

You’re a fighter. You keep trying no matter how many times you fall, because you hate the idea of remaining grounded. Enji is there to catch you, to patch up your scrapes and bruises, and offer encouragement in how own unique way. And finally, when you do manage to take off and soar above the trees, you feel alive. This is what you were missing. 

This is who you are.

But.

You wouldn’t be here without Enji. You’d be dead, or worse - and you’re grateful, you really are, but you don’t know how to ever repay him. Soon you’ll be stable enough to continue with your life, and you’ll need to leave and go home. Enji can’t go with you. He has a kingdom to run, and you’ve accepted that. You tell yourself it’s what’s right. That it was inevitable and this is the way things are meant to be.

But. 

In the months you’ve been with the Elves, you’ve learned their culture and their customs. Maybe you don’t really fit in, but you enjoy their way of life, and you love the people you’ve met. Back home, you had friends and family, sure, but there was so much pressure - For the first time in your entire life, you feel free. Freedom is terrifying. Powerful. You crave it.

You reach a crossroads. Go home and face your responsibilities or stay and learn to enjoy your life. It’s not an easy decision to make - there was so much resting on your shoulders, and maybe there still is, because you’re expected to return, sooner or later.

But.

You’re a hawk. You’re fierce, determined, and you follow your heart. 

So you stay.

Extras:

Hawks can still fly, but he reaches his limit much faster due to his previous injury. He chooses to just walk most places instead, keeping his wings tucked against his back when he’s in motion to better balance the weight. 

He is a little spoon at heart, but tends to be a big spoon in practice due to his absurdly large wings. He has to sleep on his stomach or his side to get comfortable.

Hawks loves fried foods, particularly fried birds; he’s been told this could be interpreted as cannibalistic, but refuses to stop eating meat anytime soon.

Keigo was his birth name, and although he is trans, he does not find discomfort with it because of dysphoria; it’s a remnant of his parents, and Skyfolk gender is wonky anyway.

In spite of that, Hawks only allows his former tribesmen to call him Keigo; he much prefers to be called Hawks.

Writing sample:

Keigo’s been in a weird sort of state lately. The injuries haven’t exactly helped his energy levels, sure, but given he’s mostly recovered, he should be able to get out of his bed and wander. And still, he’s skipping meals. Choosing to lay around. A stranger might consider him lazy. Enji doesn’t berate him for the behavior, and Keigo considers that a miracle. He doesn’t know if he could handle judgement over this melancholy. Not like he can control it, anyhow. 

So they spend the days talking. Sometimes Enji reads to him. Keigo had never imagined how deep and rich the Elven culture is - he’d heard some things, in passing. The Elves were mostly isolated, before, so whatever he had heard was mostly secondhand, and, as Keigo is now learning, incorrect.

They’re sitting in bed, Keigo pressed firmly against Enji’s side. He’s been told that Elves don’t ordinarily allow this type of contact, but Keigo’s never been pushed away, and it’s one of the few things that keeps him grounded. Enji sets aside the scroll he’d been reading from and gently runs a hand over Keigo’s feathers.

“I’ve told you much about my people, but I’ve not heard much of yours.” 

Keigo stiffens. “I didn’t think you’d want to learn about them.”

“I do. I don’t even know why you ended up so far from them.” 

Well, that’s fair. Keigo supposes that, at the very least, he owes an explanation. That much information is hardly a concealed secret, just… Emotional? No. That’s not the right word, but he doesn’t have any better way to describe it. He shrugs. “It’s tradition for future chieftains to travel for a year, prior to taking charge. A right of passage, you know. When they return home, they take a new name, and are given the honor of leading.” He smiles softly as he speaks, the familiarity giving him some small comfort in this bittersweet reality.

Enji frowns. “You were to be chief, then?”

“Oh, yes. I was. I won’t be, now. I can’t fly.” As if to prove his point, Keigo attempts to move his left wing, the one that took the brunt of the lightning strike. It barely twitches.

“You still could. My healers don’t know much of your anatomy, your wings might still recover.”

Keigo really, truly wants to believe him, but he’s sick and tired of getting his hopes up. He’s probably not going to regain his flight. There’s no point fixating on a fantasy. Not when it only brings disappointment. He leans closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of Enji’s neck. “Please don’t… I can’t...”

“Keigo.” Enji’s voice is strong, firm, and determined. Keigo bites at his lip, muscles tensing. “You’re strong. You want to recover, and you will.” Then, after a pause, he asks, “you’re given new names when you return, as a sign of strength?”

Hesitantly, Keigo nods. “Yeah…” 

“Then allow me to give you one now. You’re a fighter. You’ve shown me that much with your… Fiery attitude.” 

Oh, that’s one way to phrase it.

After a nod, Enji continues. “You’re a bird of prey, fierce. Powerful. Agile, fast, cunning, and a bit of an ass sometimes, even when you’re still recovering. But you’re a creature to be revered and awed. Like a swarm of hawks.”

“Hawks…” Keigo says, the name foreign on his tongue. “My name is… Hawks.” 

Maybe, just maybe, he can get used to it, in time.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Oh, How We’ve Grown (4/4)

Title: Oh, How We’ve Grown Pairing: Bucky x Reader Rating: General Audiences Word count: 2.6k (oops?) Warnings: nostalgia galore Spoilers: None

Here we are, end of the line. Again. I can’t even begin to thank you all for indulging me in this plot bunny, for all the kind words and encouragements. Just like with the final part of Chasing Promises, this one kinda got away from me. It’s twice as long as any of the previous chapters, so I hope it makes up for this being the end. You are the best.

| chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 |

IV

And I'm on my way, I still remember these old country lanes When we did not know the answers And I miss the way You make me feel, it's real

Life never works out the way you plan. For all your years spent studying, you end up in a career almost opposite of what you have a degree in. It's not necessarily bad. It affords you a roof over your head, food in your fridge, material comforts in moderation. It's not exactly something that lights your heart on fire with passion in the morning, but it's safe. Convenient.

You're in your mid-twenties when once again you're summoned back home. It's your first time back in a couple of years, having fielded holidays spent there. You've dutifully showed up at the ones hosted by Clint and his family, but going back hasn't really worked out, and you're not sure why. It's not bad memories. In the grand scheme of things, you had a happy childhood. Maybe it's the echoes of happy memories, of laughter shared that makes the heartache too taxing to come home to.

Still, it's necessary. Your parents are leaving suburbia, the house much too large for their aging bodies. Clint and his family live too far away to visit outside holidays. You don't have a family of your own, and your mother has all but given up on asking you when you'll find someone to settle down with. The house is going up for sale, and you and your brother have been summoned home to wrap up your childhoods and neatly place them in boxes as if cardboard could contain them. Returning home has your stomach in knots as you speed down the roads leading into the belly of the beast. Suburbia is forever.

And yet nothing is the same when you get there.

The street is quiet when you pull up, new names adorning some of the houses that used to belong to your friends and their families. You spend that first night in your old room, for the first time realizing that you could see past the thicket and across the fields. There, in the distance, a smudge that has your heart in your throat, but the castle's no longer a castle, just a bunch of rocks.

You try to go to bed early, telling yourself that you're gonna need it, but sleep evades you, and when you look out the window again at 1 am, you see the outline of someone moving towards the rocks, the soft beam of a flashlight illuminating the path before them. You squint your eyes, but can't make out anything aside from a guess that it's a man. Maybe Clint's snuck out and you didn’t hear it. Wouldn't be the first time. You smile as you remember that one time where Natasha suddenly turned up outside your window, suspended upside down from a rope, cursing your brother for not knowing left from right.

The lone figure pulls at your heart, awakens that sense of adventure that's long lain dormant. Before you know it, you're dressed and sneaking down the stairs, still knowing exactly how to tread to avoid creaking. The hedge is both smaller and a lot trickier to get through, hair snagging on branches and brambles, but you finally emerge and despite so many things having changed, that sensation of entering a different realm still remains. It's with an evergrowing sense of nostalgia, of sense memory kicking in, that you follow the path up to the castle, only to stop dead in your tracks when you see the man perched on top of the largest rock.

Because it isn't Clint.

”Bucky?”

He visibly jerks at the sound of your voice, but his face refuses to betray it when he turns to you. His eyebrows knit together for a moment before realization floods his eyes and he breaks into a smile.

”Barton junior.”

You scrunch up your face. ”Seriously? I mean, it's better than Baby Barton, but really? Would it kill you to call me by my name.”

Something about your quip makes his smile fade, settling into an indifferent line.

”Heard you were coming back. Folks selling the house, right?” he says, taking a swig from a bottle he's kept by his right side.

”Yeah. Feels strange,” you reply, inching closer to him. ”Can I join you?”

Bucky shrugs, but shuffles to the side to allow you space next to him. It takes a few attempts, and a helping hand from Bucky, to get you up. It leaves you snickering, because you're sure these rocks were not this difficult to climb when you were younger.

”Didn't expect company, otherwise, I'd've brought another one,” Bucky says, scraping absentmindedly at the label on the beer bottle.

He's different, not that you'd expected him to be the same. Still, it's vastly different. The others, the ones you've seen or heard from in recent years, they've all retained some of the traits you remember them for. Clint will always be an annoying big brother. Sam still has his charm, Steve a strong sense of duty. Natasha could probably still scare the living crap out of you, and Tony has proven his worth at several tech fairs. But Bucky, something has shifted in him, taken him away from the sweet boy who stayed by your side when you broke your leg, who held your hand and led you home in the darkness, who kissed you sweetly on the cheek and then disappeared into the world.

You gently pull the bottle from him, taking a swig and instantly remembering why you hate beer. Still, you swallow it down with minimal cringing before cracking a smile.

”Don't you remember? I never got my own drink, I just stole from you guys.”

That draws a snort from him as he takes the bottle and tips it back to take another swig.

”That was one of the best nights of my life,” he offers, looking out toward the horizon. ”Last time I was really happy.”

The confession stings at you, because what must have happened for that night to be his last happy memory?

”Steve said you joined the military.”

Bucky nods, but doesn't elaborate, and the realization why he blanched at your initial jibe hits you. Why the fuck would you word it like that?

”Home on leave?” you prod carefully, taking in his silhouette.

His hair is short, a bit tousled maybe, but pushed back into a messy coif of chestnut brown. There are muscles bulging under his thin henley and the stressed denim jeans; he's not as massive as Steve when last you saw him, but enough to fill out his clothes in a way that, yeah, is easy on the eyes.

”Honorably discharged,” comes the clipped answer, followed by a slow exhale. ”Sergeant James Barnes.”

”I'm glad you're home,” you offer, not sure what else to say.

”I'm not,” Bucky bites out, and suddenly, the words flow from him. ”Too many tours to count, and by the end of it, I wasn't even sure what I was doing there anymore. Got out last year and had to move back home, couldn't stay anywhere else. My sister's out conquering the world, and I'm stuck here because too much noise freaks me out.” His voice trembles at the last part, and he lets his eyes fall closed, clenching and unclenching his left fist.

”If it's any consolation, I didn't want to come home either.”

Bucky looks genuinely surprised when he opens his eyes again and fixes his gaze on you. ”Really?”

”It's... weird. This place, I remember it so differently and coming back would mean having to face the fact that nothing will be as it was and... and I didn't think I'd see any of you. Well, except for Clint. I didn't want to face that we... I dunno... changed.”

”What's Clint doing? He was in some sport program at college, right?”

You nod affirmatively before answering. ”Got hit by the economy. Not hard, just... He ended up managing a store. Sells sports clothes. Got a wife and two kids.”

”Steve's got two kids, too,” Bucky supplies, smirking when he sees your eyebrows rise. ”His wife died a few years back. Long-term illness.”

”What about the others? Last I heard, Tony was married.”

”Yeah. Still is. To wife number two. I think they're happy. Natasha's somewhere on the westcoast. Probably killing people with a stare and making an assload of money, you know her. Sharp as a tack. I've talked to Sam a bit after... after I got back. Works at the VA, helped me move. Kinda knew what I was going through.”

”Sam? Sam Wilson?”

”His brother died, did you know that?”

You'd been vaguely aware growing up that Sam had an older brother, Riley. He was five years older, and never hung out with your group. Even so, the announcement comes as a shock.

”Military man, too. Came back from his first tour right after Sam graduated, didn't handle the shift to civvie real well. He... he OD'd. Sam found him, kinda lost his way for a little while.”

Your heart breaks, and you think back to Sam the time he ended up in your order line. Happy, drunk Sam, flitting around the room, puking out a window. Had this just happened then?

”He's doing okay. Straightened out eventually, got involved with the VA. He's a good man.”

”And what about you? You doing okay?”

He looks at you, appraising you, deciding the level of truth he can hit you with. The lines in his face eventually soften, perhaps recognizing a kindred spirit as he brings up his hand to gently caress your cheek. The soft touch makes you shudder, distant memories of longing for a moment like this clawing their way to the surface.

”I'm getting by. Barely, but I'm trying. I've still got this place, right?” He motions to your little fortress, the fields that hold a magic able to suspend reality.

”Yeah,” you breathe, pulling at your cardigan. ”Yeah, you do.”

The two of you sit quietly, unaffected by the slight chill in the air. At some point, you doze off, sleeping through dreamless darkness leaned up against Bucky for a good thirty minutes, waking up as the sky slowly starts to darken towards the western horizon. The sun is a mere sliver at the very edge, hanging on desperately. You're too tired, head still too sluggish to even feel embarrassed about it.

”Evenin',” Bucky greets you, and finally you see part of him as he used to be in the soft smile that graces his lips. ”Saved you this.”

You blink a couple of times before you find focus on the beer bottle, a half inch of liquid still at the bottom of it. Maybe once, you would have emptied it, but now you only punch him lightly in the arm, grabbing the bottle and holding it to your chest as if it's a treasured keepsake.

”Hey,” you mumble, trying to blink away the lingering sleepiness. ”You said last time you were happy it was here. The night the cops came.”

”Yeah, so?”

”That was my first time drunk,” you muse, giggling at the memory. ”Why is it your last happy memory?”

Bucky ponders the question for a while, his eyes roving the field and the sharp colours of the sky that steadily bleed into the darkness. You begin to regret asking, fearing you've overstepped your boundaries.

”Because we were all here. We were all still kids. There was adventure and...”

”And what?”

”I kissed you.”

Objectively, you know it happened. You were there, you've lived in the memory of it since. People tend to remember their first kiss, but for as much as you claim it as your first, you never really thought Bucky would remember it. It wasn't a kiss on the lips, you weren't together, and yet that evening, that moment has stayed in his mind; his last happy moment.

Bucky lets out a shaky laugh. ”I was so nervous. Steve kept teasing me, told me to just go ahead and do it, even if it was gonna get me killed. I was... not really embarrassed, but, you know, hesitant...”

”Hesitant?” you parroted, staring him down because the words coming out of his mouth don't seem to translate correctly in your mind.

”No, shit, I mean- You were my friend's little sister. We grew up, and then you were there, and you weren't a little kid. Well, you were, kinda, and that was another thing. I couldn't- I wanted to kiss you, really kiss you. Clint would have had my head, you have no idea how protective that guy is of you.”

”I don't need him to fight my fights for me,” you pointed out sourly.

”I know. Look at you,” He finally meets your gaze, motioning to your form and you pulls your knees up against you, ”you got out of this hellhole mostly unscathed. Just trust me when I say I wish that kiss could have been more. It was the best I could do, and it was the best I ever got.”

There is a sense of nostalgia as he breathes out the last part, not looking at you, but out towards the open sky. Something stirs in your heart, a small part you were sure had been extinguished or at the very least resolved. It's that small glimmer of longing that flickers to life with sense memory of his lips against your cheek, the shadow of a younger version of yourself, hoping against hope that there could be more.

”It doesn't have to be.”

For a moment, you think Bucky hasn't heard you. He's still got his eyes trained on the fading sun, and it's only when you lean forward that you see his eyebrows are knit together, the right side of his lower lip caught between his teeth. Maybe you're not the only one stunned by something said. You're about to repeat his name, lips already pressed together to pronounce it when he finally turns, scans your face and quickly dips forward to kiss you, really kiss you. It's a kiss you have waited for since 15, a kiss you finally realize you can't anticipate, can't prepare for, because it's magical. It's magical like the suspension of time soaring through the air when you were six, it's magical like this place that seems to exist both beyond reality and smack dab in the middle of it. It's magical because life slots into place with the soft undulation of lips against lips.

You kiss like it's the end of the world, you kiss like it's the very beginning of it. Bucky lets out a breath through his nose, the warmth of it fanning softly across your face. Arms come up to wrap around your shoulders, angling you more toward him and you melt, knees going lax and sinking downwards until they dangle over the edge of the rock once again. Gradually, the kiss becomes sweet pecks becomes foreheads resting against one another becomes a hug tucked tightly against the crooks of the other's neck.

If there was a chill in the air of the impending night, you don't feel it. Bucky's body is warm against yours, his hands splayed over your back, holding you to him. You nuzzle into him, pressing a kiss to the soft skin before remembering the bottle in your hand. Smiling, you squirm out of his grip to hold the bottle out, tipping it upside down and letting the stale beer water the grass beneath you.

”To getting by,” you smile, and this time, your instincts serve you right.

Your eyes flutter close and Bucky's lips meet yours again in a kiss that promises to last a lifetime.

And I miss the way You make me feel, and it's real We watched the sunset over the castle on the hill

@loup-malin, @ursulaismymiddlename, @bakexprayxlove, @callamint,  @mrshopkirk, @tatortot2701, @ceebeetumbles, @avengerofyourheart, @booksandshowsandmovies-ohmy, @themcuhasruinedme, @creideamhgradochas, @feepsmoothie, @nuvoleincielo, @wellfuckbuck, @mellifluous-melodramas, @bovaria, @sebbytrash, @ouatalways, @awaitingjudgementx, @thelastjedl, @4theluvofall, @just-another-fangirl777, @avengingnights, @softwhispers, @therealgingermermaid, @c-maximoffs, @ipaintmelodies, @reniescarlett, @mizzzpink, @winter-in-wakanda, @seargantbcky, @dishonourablethief, @the-overly-attached-fangirl, @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme, @lostinspace33, @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel, @mirkwoods—princess, @lenavonschweetz, @ourpeachskies, @v271828, @caitsymichelle13, @noticulous, @abigrumple, @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli, @skeletoresinthebasement, @captainmqmeep, @vvintersouldier, @ayeputita, @netflixa, @theloveablesociopath, @themistsofmyavalon, @bailieinabottle, @thatisstilltheterm, @thedevilreadsbooks, @lenia1d, @prplprincez, @whenhumanityislost, @cleanslates, @finhabastos

[dangan-ronpa-imagines]

Hospital - Fuyuhiko x Male! Reader

Hospitals - Fuyuhiko x Male!Reader (Reader is in the hospital since the first day, and they all had heard about the student, but has never seen them. Fuyuhiko gets sent to the hospital before it gets unlocked, and he starts to walk around, hearing a heart monitor, and finds him.)

More than 5k words in this.

“Monokuma!” Monomi shook slightly as the bear appeared.

“Ah! Almost all of you are here. Where’s the seventeenth?” Monokuma looked around like he was expecting to find someone.

“Who are you talking about? Who are you?” Someone spoke up, and Monokuma grinned.

“I’m Monokuma! Your headmaster!” Monokuma gleefully shimmied. “And you all will have to play part of the Mutual Killing Trip!”

“W-what?!” All of the kids cried.

“Well, all sixteen of you all.” Monokuma tilted his head. “The last one seems to be unavailable right now.”

“Monokuma, is this the time to talk about Y/N?” Monomi shook slightly and tried to coax the bear into quieting down.

“Alright, alright.” Monokuma huffed. “We’ll discuss this later.”

-

Fuyuhiko groaned as his eye fluttered open. Where was he?

He looked around and saw the blank walls of a hospital room. He then reached a hand that was attached to an IV up to his right eye. It was bandaged.

Oh. He survived.

Fuyuhiko sighed. She really was dead. And he couldn’t save her.

Fuyuhiko heard a quiet beeping and sat up. It wasn’t coming from his room. There wasn’t anything in his room that’d beep.

Fuyuhiko stood up carefully, adjusting the hospital gown before holding onto the IV holder and walking across the room. He opened the door and peered out.

A decently lit hallway met his eyes and he stepped into the cold air. Fuyuhiko shivered as he made his way towards the beeping noise. He passed many hospital rooms before he came across a more secluded room. The beeping was clear now, and right behind the door. What was behind there? No one else was supposed to be on this island yet. It wasn’t unlocked. He could see the Monobeast from his window. Maybe someone else got injured?

Fuyuhiko grabbed onto the handle and turned it slowly before pushing it open. He was rather shocked at what he saw.

A boy, around the Class’s age, laying on a hospital bed surrounded by monitors. He had short h/c hair that was wrapped with white gauze and laid on pale s/c skin. An oxygen mask was on his face, along with IV and cables coming from him.

Fuyuhiko pulled along his IV as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. The door shut with a soft click as he pulled a chair up.

Fuyuhiko sat on the right side of the boy, next to the half drawn curtains. A clipboard with patient papers. He glanced at the boy before picking up the clipboard.

“Y/N L/n. Age sixteen. Class 77. Title: Ultimate Seamstress. Diagnosis: Amnesia, Arrhythmia, and Comatose. Patient got into an accident the first day and was thrown into a cardiac arrest. Patient fell into a coma and finally woke up three days ago. Patient sleeps all day and seems to forgot everything like the others. Patient seems to be skittish, but open to his caretakers. Cannot be released back into the Class.”

A picture of Y/N sat at the top of the page, him smiling in his Hope’s Peak uniform. His eyes a dazzling e/c.

A rustling came from in front of Fuyuhiko and he looked up to see the boy’s eyes opening slowly. They stared at the ceiling before blinking and noticing Fuyuhiko.

“Oh… Hi.” Y/N smiled. “Usami and Kuma didn’t tell me I’d have visitors.”

“Usami? You mean Monomi’s original name?” Fuyuhiko tilted his head.

“Well, Kuma calls her that. He insisted I called him Kuma. Monokuma is his real name, I think.” Y/N smiled. “They argue a lot so they don’t come together often. They argued when I first woke up.”

“You’ve been here this whole time?” Fuyuhiko looked amazed.

“Yeah. I don’t remember getting here. They told me that there’s a game going on outside but I can’t join.” Y/N took off the oxygen mask and tilted his head towards him. “What happened to your eye?”

“I… got hit with a sword by someone I trusted.” Fuyuhiko put a hand over his eyes, brushing his fingers over the wrapping.

“Ah. You’re the one who I saw sprinting down the beach. Did the upset looking sword lady hit you?” Y/N reached out a hand. “I’m sorry if she was close to you.”

“Do you know what’s going on outside?” Fuyuhiko took his hand into his own.

“Not really. But I know that people are dying and that two people got executed for something bad. I heard Kuma and Usami arguing over it.” Y/N looked at Fuyuhiko’s hand and played with his fingers. “Did she save you?”

“… Yeah. She did.” Fuyuhiko watched him closely.

“She gave you another life, y’know? Treat it well. You wouldn’t want to waste the life she gave you.” Y/N looked up and smiled. “I can make you an eye patch. If I ask Usami to bring me fabric, she will. Do you like Dragons? You look like you would.”

“Dragons are associated with my family. My name is Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, the Ultimate Yakuza. I’m the Heir to the Kuzuryuu Clan.” Y/N nodded and smiled as he told him.

“I’ve heard about your family before. I knew a girl named Natsume Kuzuryuu. She would sit with me during lunch outside. Then… She stopped coming. Then she was found dead…” Y/N had a blank smile, one that looked sad. “I can barely remember her. I can’t remember a lot of things.”

“This clip board says you’re an Amnesiac. You also have Arrhythmia and where in a Coma since we got to the island.” Fuyuhiko pointed out and Y/N hummed.

“Makes sense. I don’t remember my childhood. Only a small part of my teenage years. I don’t know who I am. I was only told that my name is Y/N L/n and I’m the Ultimate Seamstress.” Y/N smiled and laced fingers with Fuyuhiko before smiling brightly, going up beat. “You should probably go back! I can hear Usami fighting the monster outside, and that only means there’s an hour or so left until they flood the island!”

“You can hear it?” Fuyuhiko turned to the window to see Monomi finish of the mechanical beast.

“Usually. And Usami will be here soon after. I suggest you come back later, after they go through and find you. The door should lock behind you. I’ll ask Usami to unlock it after they leave.” Y/N kissed his hand.

“I- thanks.” Fuyuhiko looked away and stood up. “I’ll be back later.”

“Can’t wait.” Y/N smiled and put his oxygen mask back on, eyes already lulling back to sleep.

Fuyuhiko kissed his hand back and sat it down before grabbing onto his IV and leaving. Once the door clicked shut, it did in fact lock and he adventured back to his bed and played down, positioning himself like he never left.

-

“Kuzuryuu?!” Y/N heard a screech of a female and smiled as he embroidered the dragon into the eye patch.

He also put a small padding on it to not irritate the eye lid. He held it out to look at it.

“It’ll fit him perfectly.” Y/N mumbled and smiled.

“Is that for Kuzuryuu?” Usami’s light voice filled his ears and Y/N smiled and took off his oxygen mask.

“Yeah. He found me earlier. I promised him an eye patch.” Y/N sat it down in his lap.

“Y/N… You do remember that even if the others find out about you, you cannot leave?” Usami sat at the foot of his bed and Y/N sighed.

“I know… I just feel like I knew him somehow. I keep seeing flashes of people who are with him. Some of them are pleasant… then the other times make me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t stop them from doing bad things. Was… I once in a wheelchair?” Y/N looked conflicted and Usami sighed.

“I can’t answer your questions, Y/N.” Usami pats his leg and hops up. “I am going to unlock the door once they leave, like you asked. Stay safe.”

And then she disappeared.

Y/N slipped his Oxygen mask and let himself drift to sleep.

-

“Hey, Y/N.” Fuyuhiko shook the bed ridden boy and spoke in a soft tone.

When Fuyuhiko got there, Y/N was asleep. He also was flinching, making small noises.

“Y/N.” Fuyuhiko shook him again.

After the others found him, he did a lot of thinking. And he decided to be nicer and open. And they asked about the beeping from this room. He only answered that it IS a hospital. But he went rigid when someone mentioned the extra podium and the mentioned other student. It wouldn’t be good if Y/N was found out. He could get killed easily. Then it could be pinned on him.

Y/N let out a small whine and Fuyuhiko sat on his bed before shaking him again then hugging him.

“Shhh, you’re okay.” Fuyuhiko tried to wipe away tears that fell slowly.

Y/N opened his eyes and looked up at Fuyuhiko. His eyes widened when he saw him and flinched badly as he reached up an arm to protect himself.

“Woah! Calm down!” Fuyuhiko put a hand to his face and Y/N took a deep breath as he looked around.

“Hospital… I’m in the hospital… Jabberwock Island… Yeah… You won’t hurt me now…” Y/N looked back to Fuyuhiko.

“Are you okay?” Fuyuhiko sat closer to him and Y/N nodded.

“Bad dream.” He picked up the eyepatch. “Finished it.”

“Thanks.” Fuyuhiko smiled and let Y/N fasten the eyepatch into place. The material was soft and didn’t feel irritating. It was surprisingly light.

“You’re welcome.” Y/N smiled and then took in his clothing. His normal clothing was replaced with a thinly striped black suit. “Are you leaving the Hospital?”

“Yes… I have to leave sometime and have important things to do.” Fuyuhiko put a hand on his face and smiled. “I’ll come back and see you.”

“You better. It’s boring here.” Y/N smiled.

Fuyuhiko nodded and grabbed hold of Y/N’s hand. “You want to talk about your dream?”

“Oh... Sure.” Y/N went to speak but Monokuma popped up and tsked.

“You can’t just tell him that!” Monokuma shook his hands at him. “No no no!”

“Okay…” Y/N looked at the best sceptically and laid back down.

“Now you get back to everybody!” Monokuma started to push him out of the room, and handed him a key with a small golden pendant on it.

-

“Oh! Kuzuryuu is back!” Someone cried out as he walked into the restaurant. “Nice eyepatch!”

“Heh. Yeah. I wanted to say sorry, by the way.” Fuyuhiko held the knife tightly in his hand. He was going to go back to the hospital for this and he knew he could stand the pain.

“Why would we want an apology from you?” Saionji scoffed and he shrugged.

Fuyuhiko quickly dug the knife into his skin and dragged it across, holding in a scream as he fell to the ground.

“Oh gosh, he’s bowing?” Souda’s voice was suspicious.

Then they saw the blood.

“Oh fuck. Get him to the hospital!” Akane shouted and Fuyuhiko stood up, his teeth gritting.

“I’m fine. This is my apology.” Fuyuhiko shook as he held his arm across his stomach.

“N-not really! You’re bleeding out!” Mikan ran up and supported him as they brought him back.

When they got there, he had passed out and Hajime helped undress him, as he was the closest to him. The key fell out of his pocket and Hajime picked it up. It had a number on it and he recognized it as the locked room.

“P-please put that down and help me!” Mikan stuttered and brought out the needle and threat.

“Sorry!” Hajime sat it down with his cloths and turned to help.

-

“I think Fuyuhiko had a key to the locked room.” Hajime spoke out to the others.

“What’d ya mean?” Souda’s frowned and tilted his head.

“Maybe Monokuma gave it to him.” Sonia pointed out.

“But why would Monokuma give it to him?” Gundham frowned.

“Maybe it’s something important and he gave him a responsibility?” Chiaki pointed out.

“I don’t know…” Hajime seemed defeated. “We just need to get into the room.”

-

Fuyuhiko unlocked the room and peered in. His stomach was fully hurting and it was cold out in the hallways.

“Fuyuhiko is that you?” Y/N smiled as he took off his oxygen mask.

“Yeah.” Fuyuhiko stepped in.

“What happened?!” Y/N sat up quickly and looked panicked as Fuyuhiko sat down next to him.

“My stomach got cut.” Fuyuhiko lifts up his hospital gown some to show the edge of the sewn cut.

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry!” Y/N leaned down and kissed the seen flesh.

“Thanks… But I’ll be fine. I promise.” Fuyuhiko put a hand on his head and ran his fingers through the exposed part of his hair.

“You better.” Y/N pouted.

“HE’S GONE!” A shriek resonated through the hospital and Fuyuhiko flinched. It was Mikan.

“Who’s that?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Tsumiki Mikan. Ultimate Nurse.” Fuyuhiko sighed. “I have to go now. Don’t want them finding you.”

“Alright.” Y/N leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Fuyuhiko smiled and got up and walked out, turning and locking the door behind him.

“Kuzuryuu! There you are!” Fuyuhiko turned to see Hajime.

“Oh. Hi Hinata.” Fuyuhiko held onto the key and walked up, his stomach hurting from being stretched.

“What’s in that room? I noticed your key earlier.” Hajime walked next to Fuyuhiko as he walked. “And you’re not supposed to be up.”

“I had to deal with something.” Fuyuhiko shrugged.

“That doesn’t answer anything…” Hajime sighed. “You just made us panic.”

“I’m sorry. This was kinda important and I promised Monokuma and Monomi I’d do it.” Fuyuhiko rubbed his finger over the inscribed number.

“Just make sure you don’t randomly disappear again.” Hajime ruffled Fuyuhiko’s hair.

-

“It’s the Despair Disease! Currently four cases have appeared! Stupidity Disease makes you think everything is true. The Liar Disease makes you lie. The Weak Disease makes you act like you’re weak. And the Cured Disease makes you think you’re cured!” Monokuma clapped. “I hope more come!”

“Four? Only three people have it?” Sonia pointed it out and Fuyuhiko felt dread spread through him.

-

Fuyuhiko was standing in the lobby of the hospital with the others. They were dividing into teams and Fuyuhiko was one of three staying for the sick, but Fuyuhiko felt like he was more or less staying for Y/N. He was sick. Right? He counted.

“Let’s go check on them.” Hajime lead them to the other rooms and they helped Tsumiki care for them.

But the most notable thing was Fuyuhiko disappearing, claiming to having to use the bathroom.

Fuyuhiko looked around as he stuck the key into the lock and clicked it open. When he opened the door, he gasped.

Y/N was awake for once, and was trying to take out his IV’s.

“Y/N stop!” Fuyuhiko ran up and grabbed his hands.

“I feel fine though… I’m cured!” Y/N exclaimed and tried to get up.

“No! It’s the Despair Disease! You’re really not!” Fuyuhiko sat on the boy quickly. “Y/N you can’t get out of this bed. Whatever is wrong isn’t gone.”

“You… Mean I still won’t be able to walk?” Y/N looked up with blurry eyes

“… No. I’m sorry.” Fuyuhiko kissed his face and the tears started to pour out of Y/N’s eyes.

“Please don’t cry!” Fuyuhiko brought Y/N closer. “I’m sorry!”

“I-I feel fine! Maybe a little hot, but I don’t feel numb or anything!” Y/N hugged up to Fuyuhiko.

“Do you want me to get Mikan? She’s a nurse.” Fuyuhiko asked and Y/N shook his head no. “Not unless I get bad.”

“Alright.”

-

It came to night and the hospital was cold and quiet again, the darkness creeping from under the door.

“Little Mouse, Little Mouse!” A voice called and Y/N sat up strait.

“I know you’re in here! I remember you~! You should be out here with our classmates!” The voice tried to coax him out of his hospital room.

“Little Mouse~ are you in here?” The voice was outside of his room.

“You’re the closest thing to her, other than Hinata. Will you forgive me?” She whispered through the door. “I know Kuzuryuu has the key to you. We all know something is in here that he won’t tell us.”

And with that, she stalked away and Y/N couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

-

“The nurse… Mikan… knows I’m in here.” Y/N looked scared and it scared Fuyuhiko. “She knocked on the door and started to call for me. She said she remembered…”

“Maybe… We should move you. No… I’ll take watch tonight. I’ll make sure she doesn’t come after you.” Fuyuhiko kissed his hand. “I’ll protect you.”

Y/N smiled at him as he put the oxygen mask back on his face.

-

Fuyuhiko had brought a wheelchair to his room that night, as he was on guard and he wanted to take Y/N out of his room.

He started to hang the IV’s onto their special slots on the wheelchair and lifted Y/N up and into the chair. Y/N ended up not being able to use his legs, so it was the best option for a wheelchair.

“Want to go meet three of your classmates?” Fuyuhiko asked as he pushed Y/N out of the room. “Remember though, they are sick with their own Despair Disease.”

“Sure!” Y/N smiled and Fuyuhiko pushed him to Akane’s room first.

“Her name is Akane Owari, she has Coward’s Disease. Be nice to her or she’ll start crying.” Fuyuhiko warned.

Fuyuhiko opened the door to see Akane staring at her hands.

“Akane, I brought a visitor.” Fuyuhiko announced and she looked up.

“Who’s that?” Akane sat up.

“His name is Y/N. He’s one of our classmates. Ultimate Seamstress.” Fuyuhiko pushed Y/N to next to Akane.

“Hello, Owari-Chan.” Y/N smiled at her.

“No need for formalities…” Akane teared up some. “It makes me remember home!”

“I’m sorry… You must miss your family. There’s no shame in crying.” Y/N held his hand on hers. This made Akane sniffle.

“Really? You don’t think I’m weak?” Akane looked up at her with her big green eyes.

“No. Everybody cries.” Y/N smiled and she nodded before quickly passing out from her condition.

“They randomly come conscious then unconscious. You’re the only one who hasn’t.” Fuyuhiko whispered as he pulled Y/N away and over to Ibuki’s room. Ibuki’s was fun to watch her say and do the random things you asked.

But when they got in front of Nagito’s door, everything changed.

“His name is Nagito Komaeda. He's… normally a nut case. His is Liar’s Disease, so don’t take anything to heart. Think about the opposite of what he is saying.” Fuyuhiko pushed the door open and Nagito automatically looked over.

“I brought a visitor to see you.” Fuyuhiko kept Y/N close to him as he sat him next to Nagito.

“I know who this is. I’ve met him before. I don’t want to meet him.” Nagito’s words came out plain and his face scrunched up in annoyance, probably from his false words.

“This is Y/N L/n. He is our Ultimate Seamstress. He’s in our class.” Fuyuhiko ruffled Y/N’s hair.

“I don’t want him to speak for himself. Continue.” Nagito looked up at Fuyuhiko before back to Y/N. “It’s a horrible instance to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Komaeda.” Y/N smiled, but felt uneasy. He was a face he recognized from his dreams. The one who replaced his hand with the girl’s.

“Ah, your voice is ugly.” Nagito snorted.

“Thanks.” Y/N nodded and looked up to Fuyuhiko.

“Are you feeling okay, Nagito?” Fuyuhiko looked at the health monitors.

“Fine and dandy. Rather hot.” Nagito sighed.

“I’m sorry you’re cold.” Y/N pat his fluffy hair.

“I know why you have that wrapped around your head. You’re obviously okay. You don’t need more attention from Mikan.” Nagito said Mikan’s name and Y/N face visually paled and they noticed. “You like Mikan?”

“She… Was calling for me rather creepily.” Y/N sighed. “It was nice to meet you, by the way.”

“It was opposite to you.” Nagito nodded and Y/N smiled.

“C’mon, Y/N.” Fuyuhiko grabbed onto his chair and wheeled Y/N from the room and back to his own.

“I’m going to get shut eye once I put you back in here? Okay?” Fuyuhiko whispered it as he helped the other boy onto his hospital bed.

“Okay.” Y/N yawned and smiled.

Fuyuhiko ended up falling asleep against Y/N. Little did they know, someone looked into the room, a crazed look in their eyes.

“Found you Little Lamb.”

-

Many days passed and Y/N woke up with a jolt.

“Y/N-chan. You’re awake!”

Y/N looked up to see a dark purple choppy haired girl standing above h. Her eyes looked crazed. She had on a uniform that mimicked a nurse’s.

Y/N knew this face. She was one of the ones to start it all.

“Tsumiki Mikan…” Y/N breathed out and a look of terror came over his face.

“Don’t look like that, please!” Tsumiki wailed almost in pain. “Forgive me! You remind me so much of her!”

“Y-you’re the one who-” Y/N stopped talking when Tsumiki touched his face.

“Please forgive me.” Tsumiki pressed her lips onto Y/N’s cheek.

“What do you want from me?” Y/N pushed her away slowly.

“Ah! Ibuki come here!” Once Tsumiki called out, the multicolored haired girl walked in, a dead look on her face.

“Is this the person who needs help, Mikan?” Ibuki looked to Y/N. “Y/N can’t walk.”

“He just needs our help, Ibuki. He wants to go out.” Tsumiki smiled and Ibuki nodded and brings the wheelchair over.

Ignoring the protests, the two load Y/N into the wheelchair and start wheeling him out.

“Tsumiki please!” Y/N cried out. He knew what these teenagers could do. He relives it in his dreams every day. Memories on memories of the Despair days.

Y/N couldn’t do anything as they wheeled him to the music venue. Ibuki opened the door for her to roll him into the venue.

“Oh, Y/N. I miss her, you know. You two were so close. She took pity on you.  Why don’t you be a dear and sit front seat?” Tsumiki left Y/N facing the stage.

Tsumiki told Ibuki to stand on the stage before she walked into the storage room and a scream comes from there and Tsumiki drags out a small girl with blonde pigtails.

“PIG! STOP IT!” The girl screamed and Y/N kept a mortified look on his face as Tsumiki laughed and brought her to the stage.

“Lookie, Y/N! I found another one of our friends!” Tsumiki smiled at Y/N and the girl looked at Y/N.

“Tsumiki no! Stop it!” Y/N cried out. “I know you want to see Enoshima again but killing them won’t make you see her!”

“It will! I’ll kill for her like I did when we were all good friends and understood one another.” Tsumiki brought out a scalpel and cut the girl’s neck before getting Ibuki to help. Then she hung Ibuki and rolled Y/N back to his room.

Y/N sobbed the whole way back. When he saw the door handle was busted, it made him sob harder.

Mikan just left Y/N so cry in his wheelchair until morning.

-

“Hey! Mikan! Hajime! What’s wrong?” Fuyuhiko frowned as the two rushed out of the hospital.

“I-I just saw someone get hung on the transmitter. We can’t find Ibuki!” Hajime looked shocked and he automatically thought of Y/N.

“I’ll be back!” Fuyuhiko yelled it before he ran into the hospital, making it to Y/N’s room to see the handle busted and heard sobs.

“Y/N!” Fuyuhiko opened the door to see the boy in his wheelchair and crying.

“S-she killed them!” Y/N wailed and grabbed onto Fuyuhiko when he got close enough.

“Who killed who?” Fuyuhiko pet Y/N’s head as he pushed his face into Fuyuhiko’s chest.

“Mikan killed Ibuki and the short blonde girl!” Y/N sobbed. “She made me watch.”

Fuyuhiko felt shocked. Why did she? Why’d she get Y/N especially?

“P-please go back and find them. The girls in the right pillar. Don’t let it cool you.” Y/N pushed Fuyuhiko back and he nodded.

-

During the whole investigation, Fuyuhiko stayed with Chiaki or Hajime. He stared Tsumiki down whenever she was near and she just kept up her charade, only sending a smile to him once in a while.

When they investigated the hospital, he quickly relocated Y/N so they wouldn’t find him and they investigated the room quickly before leaving and Fuyuhiko moved Y/N back.

“I know you know~” Tsumiki whispered into his ear. “Don’t stop me.”

-

“I don’t get it though, how does this all piece together? Who filmed it and why does the busted room have to do with any of this?!” Souda looked frustrated.

“Did you not see the files?” Tsumiki asked.

“There were patient files on there. A male’s.” Chiaki hummed and put a finger to her chin. “But I didn’t recognize him. And it only had the picture of the boy and basic info and injuries. He was probably from the old residents of the island.”

“But that was Kuzuryuu’s locked room.” Sonia pointed out.

Everybody looked to Kuzuryuu.

“Did he do it?” Nagito inquired.

“I was in my cottage sleeping!” Fuyuhiko yelled. “Besides, it couldn’t have been Y/N either! The door was busted!”

“Who said anything about a name?” Gundham let out a chuckle.

Fuyuhiko went pale.

“It couldn’t have been whoever it was. They’re most likely long gone. And they couldn’t have done anything anyways. They’re disabled.” Hajime put the information forward.

Idle chatter ensued from there about who it was until they pinned it on Tsumiki and they started to piece it all together.

“It can’t be me! Why don’t you ask the other person who was there!” Tsumiki seemed irritated. “Actually!”

Tsumiki smiled and put her fingers together.

“Yes! Ask him! You’ll get your answer. He knows I wasn’t there!” Tsumiki looked pleased.

“Who the hell are you talking about?” Souda frowned and Akane and Nagito looked at each other.

“Are you telling us that the wheelchair boy wasn’t our imagination?” Akane looked creeped.

“I… Remember a boy in a wheelchair too. Fuyuhiko pushed him around to see us.” Nagito admitted.

“Hey!” Monokuma yelled, making everybody jump. “He’s not in this game! You weren’t even supposed to meet him!”

“He’s in the investigation now. Please present!” Sonia asked politely.

“I can’t-” Monokuma started but got cut off by a voice.

“No. I’d like to present.”

The voice was quiet and male, but it cut through the yelling like a hot knife.

Everybody turned to see a h/c haired boy with e/c eyes in a wheelchair rolling himself up. There was an IV stand attached to his wheelchair and a hospital gown thrown over the back of his wheelchair, his cloths being a standard Hope’s Peak Academy Class 77 uniform, tan and fitting. He had puffy red eyes like he was crying and looked tired.

Everybody gasped besides Fuyuhiko, who ran from his podium to help him.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Y/N!” Fuyuhiko scolded and pushed him to his podium, which was next to his own.

“I tend to break rules a lot.” Y/N smiled.

“Who are you?” Gundham narrowed his eyes.

“My name is Y/N L/n and I am the Ultimate Seamstress. I have been in the hospital all this time. I remember our school memories through dreams. And that’s it. I may be an amnesiac but that was long before now.” Y/N bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all!”

Everyone was quiet for a second before chaos broke out, questions being thrown out left and right.

“He remembers?”

“Why wasn’t he in the game?”

“What happened to him?”

“Did Tsumiki almost kill him also?”

“Hey!” Chiaki’s voice silenced everybody and they all looked to her. “Thank you.”

Chiaki turned to Y/N and smiled at him.

“Can I ask what happened?” Chiaki asked politely and Y/N nodded.

“This morning, Tsumiki broke into my room with Ibuki. She got Ibuki to put me in my wheelchair and wheeled me to the music venue, where they found Saionji and killed her. I couldn’t get away or help. She killed Saionji then killed Ibuki before bringing me back to my room and leaving me there.” Y/N raised a hand and frowned at Tsumiki.

“Tsumiki Mikan! You killed Saionji Hiyoko and Ibuki Mioda!” Y/N cried out, imitating Hajime almost perfectly.

“H-Huh?!” Tsumiki cried out. “M-me! Y/N I thought you forgave me! Please, forgive me!”

Tsumiki let out a heartbreaking wail and grabbed at her hair.

“Oh, Mikan. I’m not Her.” Y/N smiled and Tsumiki let out another cry.

“Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive ME!” Tsumiki then slammed down her hands onto the table. “You were supposed to be here with us! You promised Her!”

Everybody backed up from Tsumiki as she had her little breakdown.

“Who are you two talking about?” Fuyuhiko scoffed, giving a shaky look at the two.

“My Beloved.” Tsumiki suddenly stopped and smiled. “Oh, she was perfect. She understood me. She cared about me. Understood me. You did too, Y/N.”

“Who is she?” Sonia tilted her head.

“Our Ruler.” Y/N stared at Tsumiki, who stared back just as intensely. “The greatest ruler to rule the world.”

“Such nice words, Y/N!” Monokuma chortled and clapped his hands.

“We’re getting off topic!” Souda yelled. “She’s obviously guilty! We can debate this later!”

“Souda has a point.” Nagito sighed. “Such Despair. Having Remembrance Disease and becoming that.”

“But you were that.” Y/N mumbled under his breath and Fuyuhiko cast a confused glance down to him.

“Tiiiiime to vote!” Monokuma jumped up and landed in the middle of them, his lottery machine popping up next to him.

The whole class glanced around before pressing a button. Y/N didn’t bother looking at anyone and pressed the Guilty button.

The slots spun until they all landed on Tsumiki and the execution played out in front of them all.

At the end of it, Y/N just stared off after her, and could feel multiple eyes on his body.

“…” Y/N had a blank face. “How Despairing.”

Y/N then smiled slightly.

“Such Hope.”

-

“Hey, Y/N…” Y/N was being pushed by Fuyuhiko to his cottage, which was originally a blankly labelled cabin, now labelled with L/n F/n and his pixelated version.

Y/N turned to see Chiaki Nanami walking down the sidewalk towards them.

“Oh! Hello Class Re- Nanami-Sama.” Y/N smiled and Fuyuhiko stopped them.

“Hello, Y/N and Fuyuhiko.” Nanami half bowed and Fuyuhiko sent a small, Hey, her way and leaned against Y/N’s wheelchair.

“What’d you need, Nanami-Sama?” Y/N smiled and clapped his hands together.

“I needed to talk to you alone, if you didn’t mine.” Chiaki smiled sweetly.

“Of course! You can wheel me the rest of the way to my cottage. I’ll see you later, Fuyuhiko!” Y/N smiled brightly up at the blond male, who smiled softly back and nodded before wandering off.

In silence, Chiaki pushed Y/N to his cottage. When they got there, Chiaki left the door half shut, as the room was stuffy.

The room was also set up like a hospital room. Monitors and IV’s were placed around the bed, and some other things laid around haphazardly. One thing that stuck Chiaki as odd was that the bathroom had no door, along with his closet.

“So, Nanami-Sama, what’d you want to talk about?” Y/N pushed himself to the dresser and pulled out a box from a drawer and opened it.

“I know you know the truth.” Chiaki was straightforward. “Y/N… I know you’re not like the rest. If they had what happened to you done to them, they’d all be different too. Pure.”

“Chiaki… I miss you.” Y/N looked up from the box and had tears in his eyes.

“I know. You won’t see me after all of this, and that makes me sad. You don’t deserve this.” Chiaki put a hand on his hair and slid it through his h/c hair before retracting a hand away.

“You didn’t deserve this.” Y/N picked up one of the silver scissors that laid inside of the box.

“Are those supposed to be…?” Chiaki leaned forward and ran a finger down the blade of one.

“My sewing scissors from real life? Yeah. And they were based off of Genocider Syo’s.” Y/N smiled before slipping two into his school jacket and one in his pocket for safekeeping.

Y/N looked up and smiled again before stashing the box back again.

-

“Ney! Future Foundation!” Y/N called out as he rolled around on the main island in the park. It was late so everybody was already in their cottages. “Enoshima!”

Y/N heard rustling in the bushed and passed it off as the wind.

“I’m done with your game! I’m done!” Y/N frowned. He was another dream earlier and he felt rather shaken up. “Why am I here?!”

Y/N hit his hand against his arm rest.

“I don’t care about this killing game! I know what’s going on! Hurry up Naegi!” Y/N had tears going down his face now.

“Y/N…?”

Y/N turned to see Fuyuhiko walking towards the upset boy slowly.

“Fuyuhiko!” Y/N pushed himself towards Fuyuhiko.

“What were you doing? Why are you out here? We’re exploring the new island tomorrow and we need to get sleep.” Fuyuhiko put his hand on Y/N’s face and leaned down some to be face to face.

“Okay… Let’s go back. I’ll explain later on.” Y/N smiled up at him and Fuyuhiko nodded before pushing Y/N back to his cottage.

When they got in the cottage, Fuyuhiko went around to face Y/N face to face and started to talk.

“The new island is coming and I wanted to warn you that something bad always happens. To influence us or something.” Fuyuhiko huffed and Y/N placed a hand on his cheek.

“Hey, listen. They’re not going to let me get hurt. I’m unstable already, and I’m too valuable to them to kill me off. They won’t. Trust me.” Y/N smiled at him and brought Fuyuhiko’s face closer. “Just stay with me, okay? Whatever happens next, you have to stay calm and not get in conflict with anyone.”

“… Alright. As long as you say it’s okay.” Fuyuhiko let out a sigh and Y/N pressed their foreheads together.

“Of course! I’m your lucky star!” Y/N giggled and pulled Fuyuhiko towards him and pressed his lips to Fuyuhiko’s.

Fuyuhiko let out a small and shocked grunt, shocked mainly at the sudden movement, but relaxed and placed his hands on Y/N’s smaller hips. Fuyuhiko had never truly noticed how small and fragile Y/N was until now, finally being able to kiss and put his hands onto him.

After two minutes of hastily kissing, Fuyuhiko backed away, and looked to the side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” That was all that Fuyuhiko said before he rushed out of Y/N’s cottage.

-

Everybody was called to the rollercoaster.

“You all need to ride it so you all can get the prize!” Monokuma cheered and half of the students grumbled, the other half cheered, as they climbed in. Y/N was placed in the seat next to Fuyuhiko and it took off quickly.

“Woo!” Y/N screamed and laughed as he held his arms up, wind whistling through his hair.

“Haha!” He heard Fuyuhiko laughing. That was until they went into a tunnel and their vision started to blur.

“Fuyu-” Y/N started and held a hand out.

“Y-”

-

When Y/N woke up, he was being picked up by someone.

Flashes of Ultimate Despair picking him up to lug him somewhere while he was barely conscious flash before his eyes, memories being triggered out from the back of his mind. Y/N let out a terrified scream and used his arms to push away and get free.

“N-NO!” Y/N swung his arm and punched someone in the face, making them grunt and drop him before more hands grab him.

“PLEASE! NOT AGAIN!” Y/N let out a cry before someone yelled something back.

“-n! Calm down!”

Many hands pressed him to the plush ground, mainly his torso due to his useless legs.

Y/N took a stuttering breath before the scarring images cleared his brain, his pupils retracting from their dilated state.

Many people stood above him.

Fuyuhiko, Nekomaru, Hajime, and Sonia could be seen. Other figures stood in the distance.

“Are you okay? Guys, give him room.” Fuyuhiko glanced at the others as they backed away.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.” Y/N pushed himself to sit up and looked at everybody’s faces. Most held shock and concern. Y/N also noticed that both Hajime and Fuyuhiko had red marks on their faces, from when Y/N started to swing at them. “I… You guys scared me.”

“PTSD.” Akane spoke up and everybody turned to her. “It sounds kinda stupid, but he may have it. One of my siblings have it. He must have been kidnapped or something.”

Everybody sat in silence before Nagito brought over makeshift crutches.

“We made them from things we found lying around.” Nagito nodded and Y/N smiled.

“Thanks.” Y/N grabbed them and pushed himself up. “Have you guys explored then?”

“Yes! We have!” Sonia smiled. “You wouldn’t wake up, so we explored and situated rooms. We are sad to inform you that we are not in access to food or water. And we believe that the amount of gas they used to knock us out kept you out for so long because you’re so small and it had to knock out Nekomaru also!”

“Oh… That’s not that bad.” Y/N sighed. He was inside of a video game, basically. He just had to tell himself that he didn’t need to eat, that it’s fake. He’d survive.”

“The reason why Hajime tried to move you was because Fuyuhiko was still walking with Akane, and we agreed you’d stay with him. You looked uncomfortable on the floor.” Souda explained.

“Oh… Okay. I’m sorry for punching you, by the way.” Y/N smiled at the boys and they nodded.

-

Days had past, and Y/N was able to stop the thoughts of simulated hunger from going into his head. He also got used to his makeshift crutches. He just had to put the crutches in front and throw his hips forward. Well, he most got carried around by Fuyuhiko.

But now, it was early and he woke up with Fuyuhiko not in the bed with him. His internal body clock had woken him up like always, his mind telling him he had to go to whatever type of tai chi crap that Monokuma held. Even though he just sat in the corner.

Y/N grabbed his crutches and crutched out of the door, only to trip and fall in front of Mechamaru.

“Oh! Y/N! Need help?!” Mechamaru asked and Y/N shook his head.

“No. I was to make my way around myself. I’ll be down in about ten minutes.” Y/N smiled and got up.

He wanted to try the Final Dead Room.

Mechamaru nodded and handed his stray crutch and left.

Y/N made it rather quickly to the room and swiftly went in. It took him about ten minutes to finish and he held the gun to his head, and it clicked with nothing in the cocked barrel.

Y/N sighed and got into the hexagon and looked around. Weapons everywhere. But items were missing.

Someone had already made it.

Y/N frowned and checked everything out. The window. The files. The poisons.

Then he just… Left. He still had his scissors, so no need for weapons.

Like he promised, Y/N met Mechamaru by the tower and let the robot carry him into the room, only to see Gundham with his back towards them.

“Gundham?” Y/N said it quietly and it caused the other to turn around to face them.

Silence rung between the three and Mechamaru sat Y/N down before turning to fight Gundham.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Gundham seemed indifferent as he spoke out. Y/N realized he was talking to Mechamaru. Y/N was almost always the first to get there. So of course he’d be able to get Y/N.

“You’re not hurting him.” Mechamaru fought it out with Gundham, until Gundham struck him down and turned to Y/N.

“Hello, Messenger. It’s time to die.” Gundham brought the hammer down, and Y/N rolled away. He pulled out his sharp scissors, one in each hand.

“Come at me, hamster freak.” Y/N growled and Gundham attacked again, and Y/N stabbed his exposed hand.

Gundham let out a scream before Y/N pushed away, getting near Mechamaru, but not as close.

“You vermin. Come here!” Gundham managed to his Y/N’s right arm and Y/N cried out, stabbing his other scissors into Gundham’s left leg.

Gundham let out a noise kin to a hiss before raising his hammer all the way up, and put a landing blow on Y/N’s head.

Gundham then heard a broken cry from Monomi, who had stumbled in after hearing Y/N’s distressed cries.

“YOU DOOMED US ALL!” Monomi wailed and Monokuma popped up and looked like he was seething with anger.

“YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!” Monokuma ran up and tried to bring him back to life.

Technically Y/N’s body would still be responsive. He didn’t get his head bashed in, just a bit of initial damage. If he could put his conscious back in, it’d save him.

Monokuma put his hands onto Y/N and transferred it back in. Y/N started to breathe again, but didn’t initially respond. His body would recalibrate it all.

Monokuma then turned to Gundham.

“If he dies one more time, I will end you.” It was a serious threat that shook Gundham to the core. “With or without a vote.”

Gundham nodded, his hand and leg bleeding now. He quickly finished the scene to make it how we know it, and ran off.

When Hajime stumbled across the body, he screamed loudly and ran up to the bodies. He sent Akane to answer the phone and tell them they found the two missing bodies.

Fuyuhiko’s heart almost stopped when he heard bodies.

“What do you mean? Y/N can’t be dead. He had immunity to the game.” Fuyuhiko bit out at the phone and shocked the others who crowded around. “He said Monokuma would revive him back to alive. God dammit! Whoever did this sent him into another coma!”

“H-he is alive!” Hajime took the phone from Akane. “I checked! But Nekomaru didn’t make it.”

Fuyuhiko repeated everything and everybody sighed.

After what happened was a blur for Fuyuhiko. They managed to get over and find Y/N asleep on a luxury room bed.

For the trial, that Y/N didn’t remember. He testified for what he was awake for.

Gundham was executed.

But Y/N kept falling in and out of consciousness after that. He was mostly stuck in a sleep. Fuyuhiko often wheeled him outside of the hospital so he could get air, even asleep. But it wasn’t until the last hour before the trial that Y/N had finally died.

His heart stopped beating and he couldn’t be saved by Monomi or Monokuma.

This broke everybody’s spirits. They slumped around for the rest of the investigation.

“Y/N died naturally. No one was near him since he fell back asleep.” Hajime has summed it up.

Fuyuhiko cried hard that night.

But when everybody woke up, Y/N was last behind Nagito. But his dreams were projected to everyone.

Scenes of everybody killing people, being horrible to Junko’s body, and the most of all, Y/N getting hurt by them.

Once the trauma part was gone through, it made a cute little scenario where everybody was normal. No Despair. That Junko was a normal girl.

But when people died, it sent him into panic, and it shocked him awake.

Fuyuhiko quickly ran over and hugged him, crying.

“Oh my gosh I missed you!” Fuyuhiko kissed him. “I love you!”

“I love you too!” Y/N cried and hugged onto him.

Overall, Y/N felt numb. His legs didn’t work. Part of his left hand was missing, sewn shut with sloppy stitches.

But after he got out, Souda made him new parts for his hand, and opted to stay in the wheelchair.

“Hey Y/N.” Fuyuhiko looked down to Y/N.

“Yes, dear?” Y/N hummed.

“I love you. And how can you forgive everybody?” Fuyuhiko asked. “Especially in the game?”

“Sometimes, I don’t forgive them. But then sometimes I forget the bad times. They’re so careful not to set me off.” Y/N nodded. “And sides. I ignore the past. Force myself to accept the truth. They changed.”

“That’s a good strategy.” Fuyuhiko hums and nodded.

“It is.” Y/N smiled and agreed.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Fuyuhiko.”