#i like to dissociate and enter the flow state

[mariotennispowertour]

ummm. they are making your mutual work for her money today. its unconscionable isnt it

[hrrtshape]

why do people who don't believe in shifting or don't know about shifting still shift — how can i be one of them?

because belief is not the cause. awareness is not the cause. effort is not the cause.

conscious attention has never been the mechanism.

you shifting has nothing to do with what your conscious mind is doing. shifting is a default function of consciousness itself. it's like blinking. or breathing. or rerouting a dream. people who don't ‘believe’ in it or don't ‘know’ about it shift anyway because it has nothing to do with having the language or the framework. the human mind is always selecting realities. 99% of the time it just does it passively, via emotional assumption or unconscious focus.

those people shifted because their state of consciousness naturally entered a dominant assumption or immersive focus. no method, no faith, no affirmations. they just slipped, like how you can lucid dream without trying to. or how a child can dissociate so completely they form entire inner worlds with continuity. this is not evidence against shifting, it proves that it's innate. you do not need to know about shifting to do it. you just need to exit the state of monitoring it.

so. the reason so many people don't shift after learning about it is because now they're trying. now they're watching themselves. now they're adding thirty-step techniques and waiting to feel something specific. they've left the natural, permissive flow-state and replaced it with a checklist.

they've moved from consciousness to supervision.

and that's the disconnect.

people who shift accidentally aren't better or more special. they're just unbothered. they're not in the loop of: is it working? what does this mean? am i good enough yet? they don't audit every state like it's under border patrol review. they drift. they imagine. they believe something lightly or not at all, and it stabilises anyway, because consciousness doesn't gatekeep itself.

the more you analyse the process, the less you're inside it.

and it IS annoying. you already do shift. all the time. but you don't count it, because it doesn't match the scenario you planned. so you say: “i'm stuck.” when really, you're shifting to a version of you who believes they're stuck.

so what do you do now?

you stop tracking your stats like this is a loyalty card. you stop waiting for proof. you stop narrating “trying” like it's a process that builds up credit. shifting is not a job you get promoted at. it's a door you decide is already open.

here's what works:

law of assumption. or at least it worked for me, and i’ve shifted, so idk take this however you want.

not because it's cute or because it's easy. but because it's the only thing that matches the structure of reality as self-reflecting consciousness.

law of assumption = you experience what you assume is true.

it's not positive thinking. it's not wishful delusion. it's literally how reality renders, based on your internal state being mirrored outward.

your reality does not respond to your effort. it responds to your baseline conviction. not what you want to be true. not what you hope to manifest. what you accept as the structure of your life, your identity, your world.

when you say “i am in my dr,” and then wait to feel something, that's not law of assumption, that's law of evaluation.

when you say “i'm going to shift soon,” and then search for signs, that's not law of assumption. that's law of limbo.

when you say “i hope this method works,” and treat it like a pass/fail exam, you're not assuming, you're surveilling, and worst of all, not understanding your full potential.

assumption is full saturation. it's not hopeful. it's done.

you shift when you decide that you already did. not when you “feel like it.” not when your body tingles. not when the method checks out.

you shift when the state becomes final.

you shift when the inner narration stops waiting for outer evidence.

you shift when the thought becomes law.

so here's how to shift:

declare it as done, not affirm like a question, affirm like a fact. “i'm in my dr. this is done.” no waiting. no checking. no conditions.

no “if this works,” “once i shift,” “after i shift,” “when it feels real.” drop the qualifiers. stop building futures that assume the present isn't it, you're either in or you're not.

sustain the state - not with force, but with the refusal to contradict it. if the thought “what if it's not working” shows up, ignore it. if you feel normal, say “ok, i feel normal in my dr.” stop letting your interpretations collapse your decision.

if you want to know how to set an assumption and make it come true, read here.

belief is acceptance. just let the truth sit. don't poke it. don't prove it. don't fix it.

law of assumption or shifting isn't a religion. it's not something to “have faith in.”

it's how consciousness works. it's not asking you to be worthy. it's not asking you to trust it. it's just asking you to pick something, and stay picked.

[abyssal-maiden]

Serpent's Hearth Pt. 2: Bereft of Favor (18+)

Fem!Reader / Messmer

!!!MDNI!!!: 18+ ((future xbloodplayx xsmutx xpregnancyx xothersinsx))

XTouchStarvationxLightYanderexEnemiestoLoversxSizeDifferencex

Hey all! Bonus chapter tonight for contextual meat. The real fun begins tomorrow ;)! Please enjoy this pregame as I prepare your feast.

~~~<3

The scorned son sits in his darkened chamber as the movement of his serpent kin interupt his dissociative state. He was lost in yet another daydream reliving his childhood. His mother once ordered him to end his incessant whining, oh how the serpents coiled in his nascent ribs! She shoved a golden flask in his hands spiting vile as she did so.

“Avaunt from thine visage, knave mongral! Cease thine vex of thy presence known.”

He turned the flask over in his left hand, something between longing and abhorring twisted along the slithering within him. He holds his forehead in his palm, covers the tears that evaporate just outside of his eye duct. A lord who's curse would not allow the sanctity of expressing such desperation. A monster imprisoned in the flesh of a tool for an unforgiving order.

Even thine own mother detest me!

His lip pulls in the dark, trembling with self loathing. He was holding on to the hope she would whisk through the door any minute to accept him at last, but such thoughts were akin to the delusion of frenzy. He knew she would not come, yet felt the stinging of languish in the still air of his forgotten keep. The quivering ceases for a moment, he was sure you would return despite his solitude. The thought of your darkened eyes and your flowing hair, the disconnected look of violence encapsulating your gaze.

Why doth mine mind's eye plague with such visions?

A forked tongue brushes against his brow, he uncovers his golden gaze to the green stare of his larger constrictor. The soft flickering and bobbing of its head indicate concern. He cups his face, running his hand down and sighing.

“Tis not a worthy concern, Purkoy.”

The serpent sways in disapproval but presses no further, facing away in its own trance of disconnection. Miel, the other, sleeps on the opposing armrest to the one Messmer drapes over.

“Thy verdict is ill favored, cur.” He chuckles.

The man reminiscent of a phantom stands, moving silently from his perch through the darkened staircase adjacent his throne room. In the entrance hallway he waves his hand across the brick, the flame burning away the illusion that conceals his bedchambers entrance. The rhythmic sound of his ascension coupled with soft hissing occasionally. His body stoops and shifts as he works his way to the once extravagant garret in the rear tower of his throne house. The room is unkempt, surely, but opulent, a large circular bed across from a grandiose stone hearth. Above it a painting faded by age, the young Messmer standing shyly in front of his mother, a gaze of disinterest displayed on her face. He glances at her everwatching eyes as he moves to stand in the window, overlooking the path to the ruins of Enir-Ilim, his final charge. He looks tiredly into the ravine before settling in a warn armchair that had cracked severely over the decades. There he spent most sleepless nights, staring off into the void of his existence , reliving old memories.

~~~

Fate would have it your presence was not so unwelcomed the next morning. You enter as you always have, materializing at the unseen grace and pushing the door open. He stands and says nothing, spear poised in his grasp. He leaps to the ground and strides towards you, stopping to stand upon his crest in the center of the desolate hovel.

Why isn’t he attacking?

Your eyes narrow through your helm, usually trained on his hand movements. You peer upwards to find his eye boring into your own pair. His expression unsurprisingly reserved, yet a hint of uncertainty as his eye darts to different details in your armor.

Why is he looking at me like that?

No matter, you huff and lunge toward him, the clang of his spear indicates he accepts the flurry. That recognizable heat which licks at you through the joints in your armor. As you engage you swear a faint smile appears on his face.

Is he…enjoying this?

You try to shake off the thought as a swirling of flames barrel’s toward you. His limbs could reach you across the room, and they do, giving little time for you to roll away. Your blows never seem to slow him down, but today he is clumsy. His head keeps ducking to view your eyes through the slitted metal face. The way the reptilian orb peers at you sends shivers through you.

What the fuck is he doing?

The distraction is enough for him to grasp you in flames tossing you like a rag to fall flat into his spear. You slide down onto the cold blackened metal gurgling and moaning in agony. His breath is hot and brief on your ear. A silken tone laced with the menace of authority.

“Below mine domain lies a ruined place forgotten by all but mine pets. An audience with thee at high moon.”

You're unable to respond before you experience the flames ripping through your core with ferocity, burning you to embers as you hang from his fiery impalement.

“...Fuck…you...” your words rasp gently against his ear canal as you dissipate.

He savors the insult and laughs to himself as he’s left alone, pinching his brow as his head falls back.

“What manner of folly doth I wrought upon mine self?”

Master List

Previous // Next

[caprisunnydays]

Adventures of a not so average Voxtech employee : Chapter 1

You're an average corporate slave in hell to the most popular place of Voxtech. However, will you continue to be a basic worker when you slowly are entangled in your boss's personal situations?

Most of these chapters will be kinda stand alone, though connected through an over arching story, more on my ao3 when I can!

Word count : 1.7k

Life in hell wasn’t THAT bad. Well, it was still hell, but you’d come to appreciate the afterlife you’d made for yourself. Considering the unfortunate circumstance, you were able to find comfort in the twisted familiarity. It felt like being trapped in a tidepool, where the ebb and flow of the water brought fleeting moments of relief from the frigid depths. Yet, in this hellish existence, there was no escape from the relentless cycle. At times you weren’t drowning in the anguish of your existence, but just like the ocean's chill, you felt a constant, dull pain. But things had been worse before you got this “job”.

You had no purpose for quite some time. Running around in search of suitable shelter each night, scavenging for food, and busting your ass to avoid bigger, more powerful demons was no way to live. Even now, you were new to hell. It had only been about a year since you died and fell into this horrid place, and for a few months, you were scrambling for a scrap of stability. Then in a turn of luck, you landed a job as a janitor in a Vox tech store, then worked your way up the totem pole (which wasn’t too hard when the boss of that store fired and killed people left and right if they looked at her funny) to where you sat today. 

A cubicle in Voxtech’s news script writing department for!

MUCH better than when you had no job and no place to sleep! Now it was just a 5-minute walk to the Voxtech building from your apartment every morning, work until you’re done, and hopefully get back home before 3 am! You weren’t so lucky this time, but you had accidentally fallen asleep on your 30-minute lunch break and turned it into an hour and a half, so maybe the overtime was karma. 

You sat hunched in your chair, a fluffy blanket from home wrapped around your shoulders, and the taste of cold coffee was on your tongue as you typed corrections on the last of your assignments. When you discounted the burn of the blue light in your eyes, you entered a meditative state that combined focus and dissociation into the killer combo known as your “work mode”. It got you through the days, nights, and mornings you spent doing overtime with no extra pay. Your eyes wandered to the clock in the corner of your screen.

3:15 am

Eh, not as bad as it could be.

Even once you finish this, you’ll probably end up sleeping in your makeshift office bed, which consists of your blanket and a flat-ass pillow being shoved under your desk so you don’t have to deal with going home just to come back in 3 hours. You stretch, pushing your rollie chair away from the desk and groaning at your stiff joints. You stood up and looked over the rows of dividers to see empty cubicles. This was probably the first time in forever that you had been the only one in the office, even at this late hour. The glowing of your singular computer screen and the hum of the AC bordered something you’d see on a Lofi study video, bringing a sense of comfortable isolation to your dead heart. That was until you heard the clicking of shoes against the office floor and doors being slammed.

“Mother FUCKING useless pieces of shit! The one day they say they can come in for maintenance checks and their sorry asses flake AGAIN?! I swear to Satan I’m sending someone to burn down that company for making ME do this bullshit myself because like hell am I gonna deal with shit in my company not working and costing me money-”

 You froze at the aggressive rambling as it approached your station. You slowly sat back down and turned off your computer, sitting silently. Your fingertips brushed the handle of your bat, which you kept under your desk for cases like this. In case one of those nut jobs with much less sanity than you decided to throw themselves in the building and go on a rampage. You gingerly picked the weapon up as the angry ranting got closer. The footsteps crescendoed until a figure was nearing the opening of your cubicle, and you shot up, bat drawn back ready to swing.

The TV demon screamed, jumping back in a laughably cartoonish way, arms over his face and one leg off the ground. His screen buffered, his scream lagging while a code ‘HOLY SHIT’ flashed across his screen.

“AH SHIT! What the fuck are you doing here?” You stood there in the dark for a beat, before putting the bat under your desk and turning your computer back on.

“Work.” You yawn and sit back down. You accessed the man, your brain slowly catching up to reality despite its drowsy fog. 

TV demon…loud…angry…oh shit this is my boss.

In your entire time working for this man, you seldom saw him in the flesh…or, circuits rather. That made sense, he’s VOX. Owner of Voxtech, one of the most powerful overlords in hell, and from what you could tell, a workaholic. He built this empire that you only played a minuscule part in. It was something to marvel at, if you thought about it deeply enough, but you also knew he had a habit of slaughtering anybody disrupting the machine he kept so well-oiled. Maybe that’s why the manager of your department was such an asshole all the time, but you’re sure that she was born to play the role of a narcissistic, cold-hearted bitch. All that aside, you didn’t want to set off the big man who controlled your life standing right next to you, so you just sat in your chair, awkwardly waiting to be spoken to again.

“And your “work” has you sitting in the dark with a bat like a lunatic?” He groaned and rubbed his face. “I mean seriously, I’m surprised you’re still here when I specifically told everyone to get their asses out of this office before 3am.” You squinted in confusion. You were never usually told to leave by a certain time. Everyone above you 

ALWAYS wanted you and the other corporate slaves working around the clock to keep making money. You quickly opened your email.

Nothing about that in there.

Maybe they had an announcement that you just didn’t hear? But you’d been working your ass off the whole day and didn’t-

They had a meeting while I was asleep on my lunch break and NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT IT?! These people really are fake as hell.

You knew not getting screamed at and almost killed by your boss for your unprompted nap was strange. She must have just let it slip so you’d have to deal with someone much worse. Vox was looking down at you with a furrowed brow and tapping foot. You considered your options, and the most rational thing you could think of was just to try and slowly extract yourself from the office. You grabbed your phone and turned off your computer, keeping your gaze down as you attempted to creep away.

“I am looking right at you, stop trying to sneak away as if I can’t see you.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Halting your movements, you began mentally preparing to be maimed. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that happened to you in this office. Your manager handed out physical punishments like candy, and while she had never killed you and forced you to respawn, you had been given horrific injuries countless times. You turned back to Vox, studying his form in the low lighting. He didn’t look THAT mad, more like he was contemplating something. His scrunched expression morphed into a charming smile, the one he’s known for. Was he about to use his eye on you?

“I could use your help with this inspection I’ve gotta do. You know this place best after all.” It was not a question, and since you were just preparing for a second death, you’d take this option with no complaints. You gave him a nod and he clasped his hands together, before grabbing one of your shoulders. “Greaaaat,” His smile dropped, “Let's get this shit done with.”

You proceeded to show him around the office, stopping at places that could be hazardous and require maintenance. The lights, electricity, and everything else that made this unit function was in order. You were only checking the places that made this place run smoothly, but that was to be expected. You ended off your maintenance tour by turning on every single computer to make sure they were functioning. You had only gotten through three when suddenly the office exploded with white light. Vox shot you a cocky smirk.

“It’s much faster that way,” He held out his hand, blue claws sparking as tiny bolts of electricity danced between his fingers, “but your manual technique was cute enough.” He stomped and let electricity surge through the floor again to shut off all the computers. Then he scoffed and pulled out his phone, texting someone aggressively. “Thank god that’s over with. I’m out, you should be too.” He pocketed his phone and began striding out the door. “Oh, and thanks for the help or whatever.” 

Just like that, he was gone. A breath of anxiety pushed out of your lungs, one you weren’t even aware of until the pressure of Vox’s presence was lifted. You had expected much worse. After all, the consensus among you and your peers was that he was a massive prick. But at least he didn’t grab you by the horns and throw you around till they cracked like your manager.

“…mission successful.” As you mutter under your breath some passive-aggressive comments you'd like to say to your colleagues, you gathered your belongings to head back to your apartment. Nearly stumbling over your improvised bed, you briefly consider just crashing there for the night. Mentally though, you’re so far gone that you might end up doing yourself even more of a disservice by staying. “Fuck it, I’m going home.” You chug the rest of your watered-down coffee and throw the mug in the office kitchen sink. 

As you stepped out into the vibrant streets of the entertainment district, you savored the moment when you closed the back door to the Vees' headquarters. There’s nothing like the sound of the lock clicking when you turn your work key in the knob and head off for the night.

I'm gonna make multiple chapters and post em on Ao3 whenever I get around to working on it. Links here!

[nrdmssgs]

The dropouts (part 3)

Masterlist

Part 1 I Part 2 I you are here I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, action, slow burn.

Pairing: Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova (OC) x Nikto

Summary: Nikto accidentally finds his way into Chimera

TWs: This whole series will be revolving around a person living with an acute dissociative disorder. Mention of an act of self harming. Swearing.

Weeks of an aimless wandering around turn into months. Of course Nikto is still much present in every major KorTac operation, he even keeps signing for private gigs, still going with the flow. But he is constantly somewhere else, deep in his thoughts. Sometimes he replays his last meeting with Zhar for hours, sometimes he just drowns in almost rhetorical questions.

What was that he wanted from her? Is there anything, people like them even can share with each other?

On rare occasions, their paths with the Chimera cross. Even more rarely does Nikto see their second in command. Each time she’s on the move elsewhere, surrounded by her men, in the middle of a conversation, too busy to notice him. He himself doesn’t help it, keeping a good distance between them, wanting to see Zhar, but not daring to stand in her way.

Scars on his arms multiply. Nikto can’t do anything about it. Not all of his voices actually heard of that woman, but those who did are painfully unanimous with their hysteria when it comes to her. The only way to make them forget about her for some time is to break his own skin and push and cut until they howl in pain.

It’s true that despite his condition, Nikto is still in control of his body, he’s a deadly opponent, a highly skilled soldier. But this has its cost, and with Zhar's appearance the cost skyrocketed. He keeps going in circles from managing his mental state to maintaining his duties, until they meet again.

***

It is a wide scale operation: KorTac mobilized its best soldiers and provided each with the finest gear. But what really sparks Nikto's interest was König's commentary at the briefing.

“Chimeras are also awaited. If you meet them - just let their units do their thing, we have different objectives, but we all win if nobody interferes in other's business.”

***

Nikto receives last reports from his squad mates and waits for the Colonel to command all their groups to return to their transports, when a chain of explosions rolls down the next street, each one sending up a plume of smoke and fire. The ground trembles beneath him, the concussive force of the blasts rattling his bones. For a moment, Nikto freezes and watches in awe as the shockwaves shatter windows, sending shards of glass raining down onto the empty street.

“Tired again?” Nikto would recall Firebrands voice in any choir of voices. This is a friend, a safe person. Nikto turns around, but someone grabs his shoulder and pulls him unto the nearest alleyway that offers a semblance of cover. His friend's voice dissolves in clouds of dust and cacophony of sounds of destruction.

Nikto darts forward after the man, that dragged him away from the open sight, and recalls Krueger's military patches and the tactical net.

“The hell you forgot on Chimeras worksite?” Krueger's breath comes in short, ragged gasps. He peeks around the corner, not letting go of Nikto.

“Not that you have put a sign over your part of a playground,” a missile flies over the alley with a whistle so loud, Nikto has to make a pause “What’s going on?”

They both crouch and scurry between vehicles that got flipped like toys. From pieces of Krueger's barks, mixed with swearing in three languages simultaneously, Nikto can only make out something about the final stage of their operation going south. It doesn’t help that Krueger seems to have his lip split, as he constantly pauses to spit out the blood.

After taking a few turns and leaving the destructed street with burning car carcasses far behind, they finally emerge from the cloud of dust. Echoes of distant destruction noises still reach them, when they enter a two-story building that the Chimeras use as their temporary shelter. Nikto feels concerned gazes glued to his figure in an instant and hopes, that Krueger's reassurance will keep things from escalation. They go up to the second floor, make their way to the far corner of the hall, when a low grumbling voice reaches their ears.

“You were supposed to come back with my SIC, Krueger. Last I checked - she didn't look like this.” 

Nikto turns back and faces a tall dark haired man. His face expression remains unreadable due to aviator glasses hiding his eyes and a cigarette in his mouth.

“She specifically commanded me to retreat alone!” Krueger wants to tell the man something else, but has to stop to spit out the blood.

“There is a reason why Zhar is the second in command! That reason be me, her bloody boss! What I say - goes!!” 

Nikto heard about Chimeras commander before, but this is the first time he actually sees the notorious Nikolai. Maybe he should worry about Nikolai's clear irritation about the fact, that a stranger stepped in his quarters. Maybe he should worry about Krueger gradually toning up every next phrase in an unraveling fight with Nik. Maybe. But everything Nikto cares about is what he heard about Zhar. She's left behind, although Krueger was supposed to bring her back? The hell is going on in this company if they can't work out their own hierarchy? But most importantly.

Why are they wasting their time arguing, while she is somewhere out there alone?

“I'll extract her!” Adrenaline kicks in and doesn't let Nikto analyze his own spontaneous will, before these words leave his lips. 

Nikolai and Krueger fall silent and turn to him.

“You? Waste time saving my soldier? What would your Colonel say?” Nik smirks, puffing smoke him in the face. Nikto is not surprised, this man knows about his commander, after all Nikolai has quite a reputation of a guy who always knows a guy.

“He doesn't have to know if I make it quick enough. Just point me in the right direction and tell me, what am I about to face.” Nikto actively ignores other soldiers gathering around them, waiting for Nikolai's response.

“You have twenty minutes to make our girl happy - after that, we opt to other, more radical means of extraction.” Nikolai reaches out for a handshake, and Nikto catches his hand.

***

Olga crouches low on the roof of a small, dilapidated building, her breath coming in shallow, controlled gasps. She can hear the voices of her enemies below as they systematically search the area. It's only a matter of time until they discover her. Every beat of her heart is now just a countdown until the inevitable. She presses herself flat against the roof, hoping the smoke and rubbish scattered across the roof would cloak her presence. Her mind races, calculating escape routes and potential strategies.

“Didn't survive my ass getting burnt to end it all here. Didn't live through all the missions going sideways to give up now.” Zhar mutters, feeling the cold metal of her weapon pressed reassuringly against her side. However, she knows that a firefight against such odds would be suicide.

“Didn't survive meeting that-” She falls silent, when a movement catches her eye. 

Through the gaps in the crumbling roof, she sees a figure emerging from the darkness, moving with lethal precision. The newcomer is clad in a pressure suit, but Zhar already knows, this one hasn't been ejected from a fighter plane. Because she already saw this strange uniform twice. This and the mask, leaving his victims nothing but a cold shine of a blizzard roaring in his eyes.

Before she can fully process what is happening, the soldier strikes. With brutal efficiency, he dispatches her pursuers one by one, their muffled cries cut short by swift, lethal blows. He moves like a shadow, his actions quick and silent, leaving no room for retaliation.

Olga's breath catches in her throat as she watches the scene unfold. Her shoulders flinch with every his blow. She has more than a dozen years of experience, yet a cold fear grips her by the throat. Somehow, this man feels worse than being burnt alive. And as the last soldier falls and Nikto's figure straightens, his eyes scanning the area, Zhar realizes with a jolt of terror that he is looking for her next.

She fights off the urge to stand up and run and clutches her weapon tighter. Olga would swear on anything that right now she remains unseen for him, but some animalistic feeling nudges him exactly in her direction. 

Nikto scales the side of the building with a predator's agility, and within moments, he is on the roof. Zhars's heart pounds louder, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears. But despite the all-consuming fear, she raises her gun.

He searches for her in a dense smoke covering the roof. Olga holds her breath and exhales only when his eyes meet hers.

“It's you or me again,” she thinks and fires a warning shot.

Nikto flinches and for a moment Zhar believes, she somehow managed to hurt him despite clearly aiming a good two meters away from him. But before her concern get confirmed, he does the last thing, she could have expected - he slowly raises his hands.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Nikto says, his gaze glued to Olga's face. "Nikolai sent me. Told me, where to find you."

Zhar curses under her breath. As crazy as this sounds - it's in the very Nikolai's nature to improvise in search for solutions of emergency problems. As much as she doesn't want to trust Nikto - his words sound like a truth. 

"Why should I believe you?" she manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because," Nikto's hand slowly descends to his face, "if I was to kill you - I would do shoot you from the next roof. It's easier this way: faster, less fuss with the extras."

“Only when it comes to me - you have this funny tendency to opt to the steel arms.” Zhar points her gun at him. “Now stop moving, before I eased you of your right hand.”

“You can take everything.” Despite Olga's command, he reaches for the straps connecting his mask to the rest of the uniform and loosens them. “Two knives on the back, another two at the front, two pistols. Take everything. And if I give you even the smallest reason - one shot in my face would be enough.”

She watches him undoing his mask in silence. Visually it doesn't make a big difference because he wears a balaclava under it. Olga realizes, that this gesture is aimed more for his comfort, as a bullet fired in the mask may turn it into dozens of small pieces piercing his skull. But something about Nikto taking off his mask just to earn a drop of her trust feels disarming. 

Zhar tries to not think about the vulnerability, Nikto brought himself into, when she steps closer to take his weapons. He stands completely still as she opens his holsters, obediently waiting for her to check every pocket. He only lets out a quite sharp inhale, when Olga's hand leaves a feather-light touch against his face. Guilt stings Zhar as soon as she hears that: as if it wasn't enough that he already gave her that much control.

“Sorry. Need to make sure, you're not delirious. I'll return your stuff, when we are back at Chimeras disposition.”

On their way back, both Zhar and Nikto stay silent: too much going on around them, too little reasons to talk. Each of them secretly debates if it would be reasonable to thank the other for being more or less cooperative, but nobody finds a strength to break the silence.

Olga visibly transforms as soon as they enter the Chimeras hideaway: something about the way she walks, carries and places herself around shifts, becomes colder and harder. She maneuvers between other soldiers, not paying any attention to Nikto anymore. He even thinks, that if he were to sneak away right now - she wouldn't notice. For some reason, this idea irritates him.

“Nikolai! Care to explain, since when do we hire KorTac people?!” Her voice, low and grumbly catches a few soldiers off guard, but Nikolai keeps his unbothered face expression, not even turning back to Zhar.

“Since my second in command gives orders that intentionally conflict with mine.” Nikolai finally turns back to them and notices all the extra ammunition in Olga's hands. “Olya, be nice, give the poor guy his trinkets back - he saved you after all.”

She hisses something unintelligibly and finally turns to Nikto just when he is done readjusting his mask back. Zhar leads him to the nearest table and lays out his knives, guns and magazines on the table. Then she freezes for a moment and shakes her head. Nikto doesn't want to interrupt whatever is going on in her head, so he just silently observes as she changes swaps two knives and frowns. He just takes the slightest step closer to her, just in case she would like to tell him anything, that is not meant for any other ear. Nevertheless, she stays silent and swaps a gun and a knife. 

“Everything alright?” He asks and Olga raises her gaze at him. She looks lost.

“Yes. I just... There was something else, wasn't it? First it was this knife, then this one… Ah, fuck it.” She unstraps one of the holsters from her vest and puts another knife in the row.

And only then does he understand: she is trying to remember everything that she must return to him, arranging things in the order in which she took them. It's been a damn long day for her, she needs a rest, so her nerves are playing against her right now.

“Hey, it's ok. We are fine,” he starts calming her down and for the smallest moment, not longer than a few seconds, she closes her eyes and visibly relaxes. “We two are fine. You're fine.”

If he could, he would pat her back, give her any reassuring touch. But Nikto is not out of his mind. At least not to this point. So he stays still, watching her coming back to normal and turning to face him.

“Alright then. Thank you. Solid work back there,” she blurts out in one breath and disappears somewhere deep in the hall among other Chimeras.

Nikto stands still with eyes still fixated on the place, where he saw her last second, for some time until Nikolai's voice brings him back to reality.

“So, now that you, charmer, made so many friends among my Chimeras - you can call it a day. Give König my regards.”

Nikto realizes, this means ‘goodbye’ or, more realistically, ‘get the f out of our place, so we can keep working’. Only he doesn't want this all to end like that. He wants more. He deserves more.

The idea appears in his head so fast, it feels like an insight. Nikto doesn't let it sit for too long before he starts regretting getting it.

“Nikolai? Hire me.”

“I'm not interested in stealing KorTac peop-” Nik follows the direction of his gaze and stops short. “Or you have anything that might interest me?”

“Short-term work. I can teach your people how to survive long captures.” Nikto feels as everything within him already hates this idea, but keeps talking.

“I heard about you and Zakhaev. But I'm wondering, who survived his long capture? The one who literally calls himself ‘Nobody’?” Nikolai cannot deny himself the pleasure of teasing Nikto, knowing full well what he really wants.

“One of the best KorTac soldiers, one of the most high paid mercenaries in Europe and the Middle East. The one, who made your SIC happy in less than 20 minutes.”

“I'd dispute on the last one.” Nik chuckles. “But I'm willing to give you another shot. Maybe you need a full evening. I'll contact you later.”

[shifterdomain]

He comes home again / Jonah Hauer-King X Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Jonah had been in Sardinia for the past 9 months to film The Little Mermaid after finishing the scenes they shot at Pinewood Studios London, while you stayed behind in your guys’ apartment to watch your cat and dog. He wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow afternoon, so you were fairly surprised to see him standing in your doorway. Warnings: Fluff and some implied smut if you squint. Word count: 960

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Dancing around the kitchen with music blasting from the speakers you were busy stirring the batter for the welcome home cake you were making for your boyfriend. He had been away for months to film The Little Mermaid and you couldn’t be more proud of him.

Spinning away from the counter you picked up Y/Cat/N and twirled around with him in your arms, singing along as your favorite song played on the radio. The same song that was playing in the bar when you first met Jonah.

You were sat behind the bar, holding a drink in your hand and swirling it around slightly as you laughed at your friend’s joke.

“I just cannot believe he would do such a thing,” your friend commented, feeling sorry for you after your high school sweetheart had broken up with you through text message. “And that with Christmas around the corner. I’d go and slash his tires.”

“Well, that’s your solution to everything,” you laughed softly at your friend’s violant answer to your sorrows. “But I’m gonna be the bigger person and merely drink my problems away,” you proclaimed, holding up your glass to clink it against hers. Chugging your drink down before ordering another one.

The alcohol flowed heavily that evening, but you hadn’t been able to get your now ex-boyfriend out of your mind just as easily as you had hoped. And now, a few drinks in, you had gotten to your sad stage of being drunk. Slumped in the bar stool, your friend talking to some guy in the back after you had assured her that you would be fine. You were just about to call it a night, paying your tab and swinging your purse around your shoulder when you turned towards the door.

It took only a second for you to forget about your ex now as everything around you faded away, your eyes landing on the man who had just entered the bar with his friends. His stormy blue eyes managed to captivate you even from across the room. His eyes landed on yours as the first tunes of a new song started playing on the radio. Your favorite.

You stayed a while longer, hoping that the guy had gotten the same feeling of you as you did of him, but when he didn’t come over and an hour passed you decided to simply blame the jitters on your slightly intoxicated state. Turning back to the door and this time walking out.

Pulling your coat a little tighter you tried to keep warm in the winter cold, snow slowly fluttering down from the sky as the lights around town twinkled brightly. Quietly humming Christmas tunes to yourself you dissociated yourself from the world around you, not even hearing a voice call out. Not realizing that it was calling out to you.

“Miss,” you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning you around. Instinctively you punched your fist forward, punching the guy who had stopped you in the stomach, making him bow over. “you forgot your scarf,” he told you, holding out the black wool. His voice sounded out of breath as he spoke, making you feel a little guilty about punching him.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Thank you,” you smiled awkwardly, taking the scarf. Trying to excuse yourself by thinking that it was partly his fault for grabbing a strangers shoulder on the street, but it didn’t take the feeling of your guilt away. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled quietly. “You’ve got a mean right.”

“Sorry about that,” you apologized again.

He waved his hand dismissively, standing up straight again. “It was kinda my fault,” he replied. “I’m sorry for startling you. And I don’t wanna sound like a creep, but I saw you in there and I kind of wanted to come over and talk to you. Maybe it was fate that made you leave your scarf.”

“Fate?” you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the cheesiness of that, but you had to admit that he really was a good looking guy. And something about him made you feel comfortable, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Could fate maybe give me your name?”

“Y/N/N,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand for him to shake, deciding not to tell him your full name just yet.

He gladly took your hand, shaking it as he introduced himself: “Jonah.”

You were dancing around the kitchen, smiling at the memories that surfaced when you heard the song. Setting Y/Cat/N down on the kitchen floor again you poured the cake batter into the baking mold before pushing it into the preheated oven.

Turning around you jumped slightly, clutching your hand over your chest before a wide smile spread across your face. “Jonah!” you exclaimed happily, jumping into your boyfriend’s arms as he spun you around in a hug. Pressing kisses to your cheek and temple before setting you back down and kissing your lips deeply.

“How’s my little princess doing?” he murmured against your lips, pecking them multiple times as his arms remained around your waist. “Miss me much?”

“Very much so,” you smile up at him, your arms hooked around his neck as you pull him down for another sweet kiss.

“Yeah? How about you prove it?” he grinned mischievously, his voice a little hoarse, sending shivers through your body. “I just wanna take you to bed and never get out again.”

“I was baking you a welcome home cake.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll get out of bed for the cake,” he replied jokingly. He picked you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you into the bedroom, which you did not leave for the next few hours.

[thenightlymirror]

I think I only mentioned this to Patrick, and didn’t write it down. I listen to Otherworld all the time, and I guess it gets you into a certain mindset where you just spontaneously understand “Well of course you should never fuck with a Ouija board.” But… I don’t actually believe that, do I?

I, technically (I feel like I say this a lot these days), don’t believe in anything supernatural, period. In practice, in my daily life, I’m basically a mystic Quaker and amateur demonologist. I am constantly aware of angels entering the room, the thoughts of God, his dumb jokes, geomagnetic flows creating psychic channels. I just wave this all away as latent schizophrenia. I’m a radical anti-theist. Surely.

But, I’ve had some theories about a few things. One, my theory is that the Ouija board is a very effective method of giving yourself dissociative identity disorder. There are probably quite a few ways to break your own brain, but for some reason, distributing accountability to a few comrades while all having your hands on the planchette allows your ego to detach in such a way that it takes a little while to forget this new ability.

I felt this about the HEMI-sync meditation I did. I only did one, because it was so powerful. I know my blog is not as exciting as it was before I had a CPAP machine so I was dying in my sleep and having prophetic lucid nightmares every night. A guy needs to sleep, you know? And I need a certain amount of sanity to continue going to my god awful job because being homeless might be slightly worse than not having psychic powers. There’s just some sacrifices you have to make. (You sometimes hear people with profound psychic abilities say, “I realized I was here on earth for a reason, to experience what it was like to be a human for a while.”)

But after the meditation, all I would need is to hear some pink noise, and I would enter right into that state of unearthly calm and attention again. Thanks CIA! And it became clear to me, maybe I should chill on this. Come back to it when I’m a little more stable.

With the paranoid life, there are all these security measures people take to protect themselves from demons and fairies and jinn who might want to take advantage of them as they are, say, standing in a doorway too long in the office. Harper literally complains about this every day. And my thought was, as a pantheist, I don’t have these problems.

It would never occur to me that the world is secretly full of demons that want to take advantage of you, because in the background of my mind is the unconscious belief that there is only one consciousness that is shared by everything, and identities are just blockages and illusions.

It made me wonder if monotheism really was a huge leap towards reason by virtue of being just one god short of atheism. Close enough to elide superstitions that would make reason impossible to hear over the noise of every paranoid haunted thought. Which became two thoughts. One, pantheism as a necessary illusion to pacify your own mind. And two, that reality is a kind of metaphysical polytheism, a gesture like the one Badiou makes where God becomes impossible because there is never only one infinity. There is an infinity of infinities, and you just have to accept the chaos, the decentering of all minds into a clamor of demons with no true north.

When you can no longer make decisions of any import to affect your actual, material life, what difference does it make?

[madeunmaderemade]

a random, post-party morning. (1)

Enter the cafeteria kitchen. Through these double doors you see Tetris on his knees, scrubbing stained blood off of the floor. The brush furiously grinds back and forth, painting the floor with light pink suds. He dawns a pair bright yellow gloves and his pants are speckled with dark red stains. Jackson is leaned up against an industrial gas stove, his arms crossed. "I don't understand why I have to be here." Tetris continues scrubbing. "Well because YOU said you would help clean up this mess YOU made last night." Jackson scoffs. "Well, I didn't expect to have to get up this early." "Jackson, you don't sleep." "I do too!" He bites back, scowling down at the robot, who stands up and walks towards the corner. "Look, just because I don't sleep how I USED to, DOESN'T mean I can't benefit from resting anymore. Like c'mon. I still get tired." Tetris walks back towards Jackson and the pink suds on the wet floor, holding a mop bucket. "Jackson. You don't metabolize. You barely eat." "I eat when I can." "Right but-…wait…Jackson we were talking about you cleaning." "ALRIGHT FIIINE!~" The zombie throws his head back with a groan. "Just…tell me what you need me to do." He states begrudgingly. Tetris smiles. "The stove." He points behind Jackson. "Yeah?" "I need you to wipe it down." Jackson turns around to see the black stove, speckled with his blood. 'wow, last night must've been pretty crazy.' He thinks. He sniffs, still in the process of 'waking up'. SPLiishhhhh Water from the bucket hits the floor and escorts the suds towards the built in floor drain. Tetris then turns around, holding a sponge and steel pad, his arms extended towards Jackson. The undead man squints, rolls his eyes, then takes the supplies. "I'm going to start up a load of laundry, let me know if you need anything." Jackson grunts in response, his back turned to Tetris as his eyes are locked to the stove. Focusing on all the little specs of blood and matter, he slowly begins wiping the stove. "Oh and Jackson?" He turns around to meet Tetris' glaze, who gives him a bright grin. "Thanks. I really appreciate you." Jackson's eyes slowly widen as the sound of liquid hitting metal sounds through the kitchen. The zombie looks down to discover a small puddle of blood on the stovetop, dripping from his own chin. "OH and be sure to wrap your head beforehand." Tetris turns back around, holding an empty bucket and brush, and walks out of the kitchen, into the wider cafeteria. Jackson rubs the side of his head and then looks at his hand, now painted with the same dark blood that pooled onto the metal stove. Dissociated, he reminisces waking up on a metal table. "Let's see he-… H… Holy shit. It worked. W-We've got brain activity!" "And his blood is flowing… a lot, actually." "O-Oh God yeah, g-go grab a towel or something wouldja?" "Yes Professor." When you reach for throbbing atop your head, your fingers met with a jello-y, putty material. A ghostly man quickly grabs your arm, "Hey! woah woah woah." He guides it back down "You don't wanna be messing with that. We still don't know the extent of how you work yet! Heheh… heh…"

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Midoriya-sensei AU

Part 13: Kacchan

Part 12 | Ao3 | Part 14

Look... these past few manga chapters have really fucked with me and some parts of this fic and I'm super mad about it, but alas canon can go fuck itself. Also unreq tdbk lost the poll *sad trombone noise* Anymoo, happy Mido-sensei Monday [is actually tuesday now bc I fell asleep proof-reading] - I hope you enjoy ❤️ TWs for this chapter include: -PTSD -Breakdowns and dissociation -Self-loathing -Accidental injury

'Honey? What time are you going out?'

Upon hearing his mother's question, Izuku removed his headphones and turned to face her.

He was currently cluttering the dining table with his hero analysis notebooks, along with his laptop. Shoto had hired a new sidekick recently—who could adjust the temperature of anything they touched—so naturally, Izuku had spent the morning analysing the quirk in detail. He was heading to Himura Agency soon to visit Shoto, so he wanted to finish up so he could take his notebook with him.

'In about fifteen minutes.' He double-checked the time, confirming his response. 'Why?'

'Do you not want to start getting ready?' She tilted her head to the side with concern. 'I don't want you rushing.'

'I'm nearly done, it's okay.' He assured gently, albeit he could definitely understand where she was coming from. Once he got into his flow state, it was difficult emerging from the other side. 'I'm just gonna finish this page, and then I'll clean up. I've already got my bag ready, and I don't need to get changed.'

He patted his yellow backpack, situated under the table, and smiled. 'Satisfied?'

'Yeah, alright.' She huffed, good-naturedly. 'I just don't want you stressing. I know what you're like. Plus, last time, you rushed out so quickly that I had to clean the table for you.'

'That was one time!' He cried dramatically. 'And I said I was sorry! When will the suffering end?'

'Never.' His mother flashed him a serious expression, before her joking smile resurfaced. 'Anyway, I'm going to the library to return a book for one of my patients. Have fun!'

'You too! If you see Himura-san, tell her I said hi.' Izuku picked up his pen and resumed writing.

'Oh, Todoroki-san's mother?' She paused, stroking her chin, before seemingly realising something. 'Wait, the nice lady with the white hair is their mother? Why didn't you tell me sooner?'

'I assumed you'd figured it out by the fact that Shoto's agency is named after her?' Izuku answered slowly. 'And that she and Fuyumi look really similar.'

'You hush now!' She pouted, walking past him to go put her shoes on. 'I can't believe we could've been sharing embarrassing childhood stories together this whole time. I should go to the library more often. Better make up for lost time.'

'Wait, hang on-'

'Byeee!'

Izuku grumbled as the door shut behind his mother, but didn't dwell on it too much. In truth, he didn't mind what the two women spoke about—he was old enough now where he wasn't affected by people knowing about his All Might obsession, which was his mother's main go-to when it came to embarrassing him—he was just glad they had the opportunity to maybe become friends.

He continued his analysis for another five minutes, before using all of his self-restraint to call it a day and tidy everything away. Once packed up, he grabbed his bag, put on his red shoes, then left the apartment.

It was a decent walk to Himura Agency—around thirty-five minutes—but Izuku wouldn't begrudge a little exercise. The streets weren't particularly busy, a normal amount of bustle for a Sunday, so he weaved through the crowds with relative ease. Once the agency was in his sights, he felt a small smile grace his face, glad of the familiarity.

However, just as he was about to enter, his path was blocked by someone else leaving.

Izuku stepped to the side politely—using the time to quickly type out a message to Shoto, to let him know he was here—but the person continued to shadow over him. He pointedly didn't make eye contact, but frowned at the inconvenience. Why were they standing in the way?

'Deku.'

Instinctively, Izuku flinched so violently that he dropped his phone and jumped a couple of steps backwards.

That voice.

He finally looked up at the person he'd been patiently waiting to pass, only to find spiked blonde hair, familiar red eyes, and an orange and green hero suit that was featured on so many sports brands throughout Japan, he'd have to be living under a rock to miss it.

The hero Dynamight was a household name, after all, but it wasn't him who was addressing Izuku at that moment.

'K-Kach-chan?' The way his voice broke was humiliating, as was the way his body immediately began shaking. For years, he’d been conditioned to react a certain way under the scrutiny of his childhood bully; it made him sick to know their decade apart hadn't changed that in the slightest. ‘W-W-What are you doing here?’

A stupid question. There was a clear reason why the number five hero was just leaving the agency of the number two. ‘Ah, you don’t have to answer that. Of course, it’s obvious why you’re here. In fact, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, as that’s certainly more out of the ordinary. It’s just, I didn’t expect to see you as it’s been years and I’ll stop talking now. I’m sorry.’

Kacchan sighed. Izuku closed his eyes with a wince, anticipating a hit. However, it never came.

‘It has been a while.’

Hesitantly, he opened one eye to find Kacchan regarding him with a mixture of emotions; his eyes were squinted in his usual displeased manner, albeit the anger that had typically manifested when they were children was absent. Izuku wasn’t sure whether that made him more or less nervous.

The silence was agonising, yet he kept his lips sealed. He knew better than to start talking and risk suffering Kacchan’s wrath. Wistfully, he hoped Shoto would read his message and come out to meet him before anything could get out of hand.

Kacchan sighed again. ‘I was actually hoping to run into you at some point. I could’ve reached out sooner, but it would've been weird tracking you down.’

Izuku tilted his head to the side.

‘What?’

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’ As soon as he said it, it became evident that Kacchan knew that what he was ordering was unreasonable. He shook his head. ‘Look, we need to talk. Are you free now?’

Izuku’s head thudded and his stomach dropped with anxiety; he could feel adrenaline pulsing through his body. In the past, he'd learnt the hard way that going somewhere alone with Kacchan was never a good idea—not that he'd ever really had much of a choice in their teen years. Now, he was being given a choice, yet it still felt like an illusion: he knew Kacchan well enough to know that “no” wasn’t an option.

‘I’m just about to see Shoto-kun.’ He pointed towards the agency, hoping that an excuse would be met better than an outright rejection. ‘I don’t really want to keep him waiti-’

‘You know Half n Half?’ Kacchan frowned for the briefest of moments, before bending down to pick up Izuku's discarded phone. ‘Doesn’t matter. Look, it won’t take long. Come on.’

Before he could protest further, a large hand grabbed his tricep and guided him past the building and down the side alley. Izuku tried to level his breathing—in, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four—to prevent him hyperventilating and entering a panic attack. He couldn’t show any weakness right now; he had to be brave.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He can’t hurt you, he’s a hero now. He tried to reason, desperately trying to ignore the other voice that reminded him of everything Endeavour had done to his family whilst working as a hero; of everything that had happened when they were children in the name of Kacchan wanting to be a hero.

He yearningly eyed his phone, still grasped in Kacchan’s hand. There was no calling for help. He was stuck.

After they passed some bins, he was finally released. 'That'll do.'

Izuku's back faced the wall, and he stared up at his old bully. He never did grow much taller; he still had the same colour trainers, and a backpack containing hero analysis notebooks. And of course, he was still quirkless, whereas Kacchan still defined himself through his explosions. Sure, he wasn't as over-excited and sadistic as he used to be, and his face had matured, but that didn't change facts.

Izuku was afraid.

It felt reminiscent of their middle school days: backed into a corner with nowhere to run, while Kacchan threatened to use his quirk on him. The only differences now were that they were older and one of them had a hero licence; and while he was hesitant to admit it, Izuku was also a lot stronger than he had been back then. Briefly, he entertained the thought that maybe—maybe—he could take Kacchan in a fight…

If the latter didn't have a quirk at his disposal.

'You wanted to talk?' He prompted, hoping the other would take the hint and explain, instead of just staring at him. 'What is it?'

'I can't just come out and say it!' Kacchan snapped, albeit there was little bite in it. He rubbed his brow. 'I just… Give me a sec.'

Izuku didn't have much of a choice, so he stayed where he was—body poised and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice—as Kacchan gathered his words.

'I did a lot of thinking over the years, about the way I treated you.' He started, slowly. 'I fucked up. I was a piece of shit.'

Izuku said nothing; he frowned, confused.

Where is this going?

Kacchan let out a frustrated groan.

'I realise now—why I did everything that I did. It's just, you were obviously meant to be behind me... but in a lot of ways, it also felt like you were ahead of me too.' Kacchan paused. 'I didn't like it. I didn't want to see you, so I bullied you to get away from you; to feel superior. I was scared… scared of you. Not in a prissy way obviously, but I hated how… stupidly heroic you were. You'd put yourself in stupid situations to try and help people and it made me mad, because it was supposed to be me whose body moved without thinking. I wanted to protect you from yourself, put you back in your place before you went and killed yourself, but I was wrong for what I did.

'I got my way back then, you failed at becoming a hero, yet I failed in my own goal. I wanted to be on top���I still do—but in order to do that, I have to get better. I have to recognise my mistakes and atone.

'So, that being said. Dek- Izuku… I wanted to apologise.' Kacchan hung his head. 'For everything I did to you.'

Izuku's body shook, whilst his heart pounded against his chest—so violent it hurt; his nails dug into his palms from how hard he was clenching his fists. He didn't know what to think—which probably reflected in his dumbfounded expression—it just didn't make sense. All these years, he'd had nothing, then suddenly… this? Kacchan was… sorry?

'Ha. Good one, Kacchan.' He laughed hollowly, then quickly slipped past the blonde with the intention of leaving. If this was some kind of elaborate prank, then he wanted to get a head start before he became the punchline. 'You almost had me. Anyway, nice seeing you, but I really have to go.'

'I mean it.' Kacchan didn't shout, but his voice carried; firm. 'I'm sorry.'

Izuku stilled, throat swelling as he forced his emotions to remain at bay. At first, he wouldn't—couldn't—believe it, but now he was faced with reality: Kacchan was actually apologising.

He wanted to ignore him. He wanted to keep walking. He wanted to forget this ever happened.

He didn't do any of that.

'You're not serious?' Izuku murmured, lips feeling foreign, as he turned around to face him. 'Is this a joke?'

Kacchan met his eyes and growled.

'Do I look like I'm fucking joking?!'

Izuku's arms shot up to protect himself, but the threat never came.

'Shit.' Kacchan at least had the decency to look guilty. 'Calm down, I'm not gonna hit you, and I'm not joking. I mean it.'

Izuku slowly lowered his arms.

He was conflicted. He knew he should be happy with the apology—it should be cathartic and he should admire how much Kacchan had grown. The right thing to do would be to forgive him, but as compassionate as people thought him to be and as much as he tried to be kind, resentment sprouted from the pit of his stomach.

'Why?'

'Why?' Kacchan echoed, sounding physically pained. 'I just told you why! It was a whole speech!'

Izuku's pulse drummed against his temples; his jaw clenched. Distantly, he heard a vibration.

'Cut the bullshit.' The words were out of his mouth before he could comprehend them.

'Hah?!' Kacchan started to exclaim, then caught himself, lowering the volume. 'It's not bullshit.'

'It is. It's all excuses.' Izuku gripped his hair and shook his head, surprised by his own nerve. He wanted to tell his brain to shut up. He wanted to forget this interaction all together—what was he doing? 'If you're s-sorry, then just say it. Don't try to justify it.'

'But I need you to understand why.' Kacchan argued, like it was obvious. 'I was trying to-'

'You've had a long time to think about this, to try and rationalise it.' Izuku interrupted, eye twitching from barely-repressed anxiety. He couldn't get his voice to stop trembling. 'But at the end of the day, Kacchan, y-you bullied me because I was- am quirkless.'

This time, it wasn't him who flinched.

'That's… that's not…'

'Isn't it?' He smiled wobbly. 'It wasn’t because I was useless D-Deku who couldn't fight back?'

His throat closed up, betraying him. 'I was an easy target. You say wanted to protect me from myself? You were my worst nightmare, and we both know that if I had a quirk, you wouldn't have done what you did.'

He had so many scars, so much mental baggage that he was still unravelling with his therapist after several years. He might not look after himself as well as he should sometimes, but that was irrelevant right now; it was always the same insults being thrown at him.

Useless, quirkless Deku.

'You d-don't need to pretend you did it with honourable intentions.' He shook his head slowly. 'If you genuinely regret what you did, just tell me. I might not have much self-preservation… but I don't think I deserve excuses.'

He bit his lip, waiting for a reaction. Initially, Kacchan remained silent, staring at him. Izuku wasn't sure if he was thinking of a response or waiting for something. Again, he could hear an indiscernible vibration.

'Okay.' Kacchan finally responded. 'No excuses… I- I'm sorry.'

A beat passed, then another. Izuku wanted to feel something, yet his mind—despite the adrenaline going through his body—felt numb.

'I accept your apology.' He forced his mouth to move, keeping his resolve. 'Th-'

'Midoriya?'

His head whipped around so fast his neck clicked. Shoto was walking towards them, slightly rushed and phone in hand. The first aid supplies on his belt clicked together from the momentum, as did his boots against the concrete.

When he came to a stop in front of Izuku, those dichromatic eyes scanned him carefully. 'Are you okay?'

He nodded, not trusting this voice.

Shoto's shoulders slumped with relief, then looked past Izuku to see who he was with. His eyes immediately narrowed. 'Bakugou? What are you doing here?'

Kacchan scoffed.

'Dek- u- Izuku and I were just having a private conversation.' He answered brashly. 'None of your fucking business, Half n Half.'

Shoto stepped past Izuku, putting himself between him and the blonde. It was almost a defensive shield, which he had to admit, he was grateful for.

'Then why have you got Midoriya's phone?'

Izuku's eyes widened—the vibration sound he had been hearing on and off—Shoto had been ringing him this entire time?

'Because he dropped it.' Kacchan stepped forward, holding out the device, which Izuku hesitantly took. 'Fuck off with the interrogation, Todoroki. I thought you hated cops, so stop sounding like one.'

'I don't need to be a pig to worry about my friend.' Shoto quipped, before switching his gaze to Izuku. 'Midoriya, are you ready to go or should I give you another few minutes?'

The idea of spending another few minutes alone with Kacchan was enough to make him feel nauseous, but he also didn’t want to convey that in his answer.

Don’t cry. Be brave. Don’t show them how weak you are.

‘Yeah, I’m ready now.’ He spoke quietly. ‘We’re done now, right, Kacchan?’

Crimson eyes regarded him carefully, before he waved his hand dismissively.

‘Whatever. I’ve said everything I needed to say anyway. I’m going home.’ Kacchan strode past them, towards the main street. However, before he could disappear completely, he called back. 'I've changed, Izuku. I won't ask you to believe me, but just… watch me, and I'll prove it to you.'

Izuku didn't reply, other than a slight nod of acknowledgement, and Kacchan made his exit with a grunt. Now that they were left alone, he felt a new sense of numbness wash over him; his eyes glazed over; his muscles refused to move.

Panic consumed him briefly. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't feel in control of his own body, yet instead of fighting it, all he could do was succumb to the way his senses slowly shut down. His mind soon followed after, rescinding the last of his perceived independent thoughts.

Powerless. Useless Deku. Weak-

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Shoto was in front of him again, but Izuku couldn’t focus. It took several seconds of silence before his friend cursed. ‘Shit, okay. Let’s get you up to my office… Can you still hear me?'

He couldn’t speak, but he did manage a slight nod.

'That's good. Okay, one more question: are you comfortable with me carrying you?’

Izuku nodded again, eyes falling shut of their own accord. He wasn't sure why he was acting this way—his episodes usually manifested into hyperactivity—but he couldn't even begin to analyse his behaviour right now. All he could do was focus on Shoto's body as the hero guided him into a piggyback and lifted him up with a slight grunt.

His arms rested on Shoto’s shoulders, while the strong hands under his legs held him up. Izuku's chest pressed against his friend's back—he tried to concentrate on the temperature contrast, which manifested into him resting his forehead against the left crook of Shoto's neck.

The warmth felt safe.

Had he not been stuck in his head, Izuku would have definitely panicked over their proximity. Instead, his body welcomed the touch with open arms; it was grounding. It also helped that Shoto didn't stiffen or reject him. He encouraged Izuku.

'I won't drop you, but try to hold on.' He murmured gently. 'Ready?'

When Izuku nodded, Shoto bent his knees, then jumped into the air, using fire from his left foot to send them higher. It didn't take long before they landed on the agency balcony, and Shoto slid open the door to his office.

Izuku kept his face firmly pressed against his friend's neck, until he was gently coaxed to sit down on the tatami floor and shed his backpack from his shoulders. He felt significantly lighter without it—his body had gotten used to the weight—but he didn't let the uncanny feeling linger for long, before he returned to nothing.

'I'm still here.' Shoto assured him gently. 'Just give me one second.'

The world was bright when Izuku tried opening his eyes in response, and he winced. Before he could squeeze them shut and resign himself to darkness again, Shoto pulled the hanging curtain framing the balcony door half-shut, bathing them in a dimmer, manageable light.

Izuku exhaled—the closest he could come to conveying his thanks—then watched as Shoto moved around the room, looking in drawers, on shelves and even Izuku's own backpack. Eventually, when his friend approached him once more and knelt in front of him, his arms were full.

'I've got some things that I know help me when I have a catatonic breakdown.' He shuffled slightly. 'I know this probably isn't the same, but yeah. And I know it's rude, but I also got some stuff from your bag because you've mentioned before that you have comfort items in there. Try to let me know if you're uncomfortable with anything.'

Shoto waited a moment, before taking two large pillows, placing them behind Izuku and switching on a remote, which made them start vibrating softly—like a purring cat. He then picked up a fluffy cream blanket and wrapped it around Izuku's body like a cape, making sure to cover most of his front too.

Izuku found himself leaning back against the materials, which cushioned the wall behind him, as Shoto started playing rain sounds from a portable speaker. He then handed Izuku his favourite All Might-themed stress ball that he always carried with him.

It was practically a reflex, the way his hand closed around it and started squeezing.

‘Th-Thanks.’ He spoke, matching each syllable with his wrist movements. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. ‘Helps.’

‘I’m glad.’ His friend replied. ‘Do you want to stay like this for a while, or do you want to try some grounding exercises?’

Izuku was aware enough to recognise that he wanted to escape this feeling as quickly as he could, but realistically, he knew that he needed a little longer.

‘F-few minutes.’

‘Okay.’ Shoto slowly got to his feet. ‘I’ll just be at my desk doing some paperwork. I'm not on-call, so take as much time as you need… unless there's suddenly a national emergency.’

On a normal day, Izuku would've laughed.

For the next half an hour, the office was quiet, if not for Shoto's fingers on the keyboard and the tropical storm playing from the speakers. Izuku, for the most part, clung onto the mindlessness—not wanting to acknowledge what had happened nor what was currently happening—but soon, his internal monologue started to resurface; it never liked being quiet for long.

He supposed he'd have to face everything sooner or later.

‘Shoto?’

His friend looked up from his computer, then locked the screen and approached him once more. He sat down in front of Izuku, crossing his legs and tucking his hair behind his ears.

‘You ready to do some grounding exercises?’ He waited for Izuku’s nod, before continuing. ‘Okay, you probably know this one, but can you tell me five things you can see?’

He did know this exercise—he’d applied it to both himself and his students in the past—so the familiarity was comforting.

‘Y-you.’ He started with the obvious. ‘Bookcase… bonsai tree… computer… charred table.’

‘Good job, but don’t worry about the chabudai.’ Shoto’s cheeks darkened slightly. ‘Four things you can feel?’

Izuku had always been sensitive to touch, despite what his high pain tolerance might've implied, so he felt more confident with this one.

‘Stress ball, blanket, pillows… tatami.’

‘That was a lot quicker.’ Shoto furrowed his brow. ‘It’s good touch, right?’

‘Yeah.’ The corner of Izuku's lips quirked up for a moment in an attempt to be reassuring. 'Thank you.'

His friend nodded his head in acknowledgement.

'Three things you can hear?'

'Your voice.' He began, without giving it much thought. 'The rain noises… and my own voice.'

He was slowly starting to feel more like himself—his movements became fluid as he squeezed the stress ball, and his eyes were more focused than they had been. It wasn’t like being trapped in a bubble, it was more like a viscous liquid had been clouding his surroundings and was finally starting to evaporate.

'Two things you can smell?'

'Peppermint.' Courtesy of the teapot next to him. 'And you. The room smells like you.'

He desperately wished his filter would return before he could embarrass himself further. Luckily, Shoto didn’t seem to mind the comment.

‘That makes sense. After all, I’m the only one who works in this room.’ He paused for a few beats. 'Okay, last one: one thing you can taste? Don't worry if you can't think of anything. You've done really well.'

Usually, when Izuku was the one asking, he skipped that final sense. After all, most people would just reply with a confused “the inside of my mouth?”, but he supposed it was worth acknowledging.

'I…’ He paused as his taste buds identified iron. ‘I can… I can taste blood?'

Ignoring Shoto’s concerned look, Izuku poked his tongue around his mouth, until he found a freshly bitten wound. 'I must've started chewing the inside of my cheek at some point without realising… It happens a lot, I just don't usually register what I'm doing till after the damage is done, but it's nothing to worry about.'

His friend’s worry didn’t seem to dissipate upon hearing that, but after a few moments, he ultimately decided to let the issue slide.

‘That’s a conversation for another day.’ Izuku wasn’t sure which of them Shoto was promising that to. 'At least you're more vocal now. How do you feel?'

That was a loaded question. How was Izuku supposed to begin answering that?

Shoto seemed to read his thoughts. ‘That was a bad question. I’ll be more specific, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask, “how do you feel”?’

‘Shit.’ Izuku snorted without mirth. However, that seemed to be the gateway for an elaboration. ‘I’ve never reacted this way before. It’s always been more erratic, not… yeah. I hated it. I couldn’t control my body.’

‘I can understand that.’ Shoto was earnest. ‘The first time it happened to me was during a training session with Endeavour when I was a child. The stress was too much, so my body shut down… only okaasan could get me out of it, but it took hours. I barely remember it, only that I was scared.’

‘That sounds awful.’ Izuku lowered his eyes.

‘Yeah, but my point isn’t to gain your sympathy, it’s to show that you’re not alone.’ Shoto paused. ‘You can talk to me… about anything.’

Izuku gnawed the inside of his cheek, before forcing himself to stop damaging the already wounded area.

He trusted Shoto—he really did—but he didn’t deserve to listen to Izuku’s turmoil; his friend had gone through so much worse that his own struggles paled in comparison. However, he remembered some of their earlier conversations, and how Shoto never flinched when he’d explained his failed dream of becoming a hero. He thought about all the times his friend had been open with him and accommodating when he spoke.

Izuku trusted Shoto… so maybe he should trust that he knew what he was signing up for.

‘I just… seeing him again after so long and with no warning.’ He began, trying to piece his words together. ‘I told myself to just get through the interaction, but I didn’t expect to spiral like this.’

‘I should’ve told you he was at the agency.’ Shoto pursed his lips, guilty. ‘It wasn’t scheduled in or anything, but when he showed up, I should’ve messaged you.’

‘It’s not your responsibility—you didn’t know I’d react that way. Plus, if I’m your friend then I guess I should’ve been prepared to run into him at some point.’ Izuku was quick to argue, but when he took a breath, he couldn’t help but sigh. ‘As you’re probably aware, we weren’t exactly best friends… Well, we used to be, before his quirk came in and I was diagnosed as quirkless.’

Shoto nodded deliberately, prompting Izuku to continue.

‘I used to follow him around a lot—he was familiar, and I didn’t really understand that I wasn’t wanted anymore—and soon, Kacchan started to make it more obvious that he didn’t want me around. He had a lot more friends—ones with cool quirks that would obey him—and I was… pushed around a lot.'

He intentionally omitted the specific details: verbal taunts and physical attacks. He didn't want to incriminate Kacchan more than he already had. After all, it was in the past now.

Izuku pressed his palms to his eyes. 'I just… I admired him so much—he had a great quirk and the bravery of a hero, and we both loved All Might—but… but I hated him.'

His voice turned into a whisper. 'I really did, and that somehow made everything worse because I really tried not to. Heroes aren’t meant to hate people… But I kept trying to placate him, hoping that he’d leave me be, but when it came to applying for high schools, I just couldn't simply make him happy.’

'He told you not to apply for UA, right?' Shoto asked, albeit it was obvious he knew the answer.

'Yeah.' Izuku replied anyway. 'Things got unbearable when I refused. The things he'd say, the things he'd do.' He swallowed thickly. 'It doesn't matter. When he got into UA and I didn't, that was it. Everyone laughed at me, because I never stood a chance in the first place. After we graduated, I never saw him again… until today.'

Ten years…

It had been so long, and as much as he tried to forget, he couldn't. He still had nightmares; he still flinched at loud, sharp noises; he still struggled with his self-worth.

He still had the scars.

His throat prickled, but he persevered, pulling back and staring at his hands instead of Shoto; he couldn’t bear to see his reaction just yet. 'He took me down that alley—I didn't want to, but I felt like I didn't have a choice—and I thought he was going to hurt me; follow through with one of his old threats- I shouldn't say that.'

He sighed, frustrated at himself. 'Anyway, instead… he apologised to me. Actually apologised. Like, it wasn’t a joke! I should've been happy. I should've forgiven him.'

Izuku dared not continue that sentence. Admitting it out loud would just solidify that he was a bad person.

'But you couldn't forgive him.'

Izuku broke.

For the first time today, tears built up, breaking the surface tension and running down his face without restraint. An accompanying sob escaped his lips and Izuku finally allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, like his reputation implied: he brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms to muffle his already quiet sounds—just like when he was little and tried not to draw attention to himself.

Part of his mind was screaming that even this was too much; he couldn't cry like this in front of anyone, not alone Todoroki Shoto. What would he think of him? How could Izuku show just how weak and pathetic he really was?

Yet those thoughts only led to more tears; more baggage to throw onto the already crushing pile.

He held his breath then, trying desperately to quell the crying, but it was futile. He only succeeded in making himself lightheaded and congested. His nose started to run and saliva built up in his mouth.

'I don't know how best to help you.' His friend admitted, just loud enough to be heard over Izuku's own thoughts. 'But I do know that it's okay to cry. I'm not judging you.'

How was he supposed to respond to that? Shoto was so kind; so understanding. He wasn't disgusted or disdainful.

But he should be….

'Would you-' Shoto hesitated. '-erm, like a hug… or something?'

Izuku's eyes immediately shot up to stare at him, exposing his gross face in all its glory.

'W-w-what?'

Shoto didn't seem put off by the snot and tears, albeit he did rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

'A hug, would you like one?' He clarified, confirming that Izuku had indeed heard him correctly. 'It's just… I'm not good with words, but I know physical contact can help alleviate pain. So I thought I'd offer.'

If this were a typical day, Izuku would turn bright red, stutter so much that he couldn't get his words out, and probably overthink to the point of exhaustion. However, this wasn't a typical day; while his face was blotchy and his mind was both overthinking and exhausted, he couldn't fathom his awkward crush right now.

In front of him was his friend—whom he adored in a way so unique—offering comfort, and Izuku was starving.

'Please.' He whispered, blinking as more tears stained his cheeks. He then wrapped his arms around his thighs and rested his forehead against his knees.

He could hear Shoto shuffle closer until they were side-by-side. After a moment, he shifted the blanket to accommodate them both, and slowly wrapped his arms around Izuku; one hand splayed out across his back, while the other reached around the front to cup the side of Izuku's head. Shoto then gently guided him to lean against his chest.

Izuku's entire body moved with him, putting all his weight against his friend, who willingly shouldered the burden with ease. In fact, he even rested his cheek atop his curls.

The relief was instantaneous: his body relaxed—basking in the positive touch—and a fresh sob escaped his lips. Shoto rubbed his shoulder with encouragement; repetitive, but soothing.

Izuku wasn't sure how much time they spent that way—quiet if not for his muffled sniffling—before his friend spoke again.

'I won't pretend to know what you've been through.' He murmured, each word careful. 'So feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I think, if you can't forgive him now, that's okay.'

Reactively, Izuku opened his mouth to counter, albeit Shoto beat him to it.

'And if you can't forgive him in a few months, a few years or never, that's okay too.'

Izuku's words died on his tongue and he swallowed heavily. It was like the entire concept was new: he never even considered a scenario where it was acceptable not to forgive Kacchan. After all, it was what the world preached—forgiveness was part of being a hero.

A sudden thought emerged.

'Have you forgiven Endeavour for everything?' He asked quietly. 'Not that you need to tell me.'

Shoto didn't answer straight away, contemplating the question first.

'No.' While the answer was firm, his tone sounded thoughtful. ‘And that’s okay too. It doesn't make me less of a hero.’

‘You don’t think you’re a bad person because of it?’ Izuku’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, almost jumping out of Shoto’s hold. ‘Not that I’m implying that you’re a bad person! You’re a very kind person and I think you’re amazing! Just… that was a pointless question.’

Shoto blinked once, lowering his arms.

‘He’s changed, which I accept and welcome, and we've moved on, but that doesn’t erase the past and the damage he's caused. I’ve forgiven myself, and that's enough for me.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘So, no. I don’t think I’m bad.’

Izuku nodded slowly. It made perfect sense—it was similar to his situation Kacchan—but convincing himself and rationalising his thoughts was still arduous.

‘I think I understand.’ He wiped away his tears, feeling more at ease. ‘Sorry for being like this.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Shoto was adamant; unyielding. ‘I’m just glad I could help.’

His small smile ignited a fresh wave of emotion through Izuku—his usual flustered affection for Shoto returning in full force. Mentally, he kicked himself for pulling out of their hug sooner than necessary.

‘Y-you did. Thank you.’ He flashed his own wobbly smile. ‘You’re…’

Perfect, amazing, I think I’m fall-

‘A great friend.’ He finished, admiring Shoto’s reddening ears.

‘You too, Midoriya.’

Falling...

🔥🔥🔥

Me [1740]: Just fyi next time I see you I am going to personally ram my foot so far up your arse you’re shitting icicles for weeks

Bastard Gremlin [1742]: Fuck off Icyhot

Me [1743]: Like I knew you were an asshole but really?

Bastard Gremlin [1749]: Deku told you everything then

Me [1751]: Left out some finer details but yh

Me [1751]: Enough for me to piece together the rest

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: Why do you even care?

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: How do you even know him?

Me [1753]: He's my friend. That's all you need to know, so dont bother replying.

Shoto stared at the screen a moment longer. In truth, he wanted to say more, maybe even follow through with his initial message, but Midoriya would get upset, so Shoto reluctantly put his phone away. However, as soon as it was secured in his pocket, it buzzed again. Rolling his eyes, he took out the device, expecting a snarky retort.

Instead, he was met with a pleasant surprise.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1754]: Thank you for today, really

Me [1755]: You don't have to keep thanking me

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1756]: I know but I want to

Shoto's lips twitched with fond amusement.

'Texting Midoriya again?' Fuyumi commented dryly, not even looking up from the homework she was marking next to him. 'You're both insufferable.'

'You started it.'

Me [1758]: You can thank me by relaxing and going to bed at a normal time tonight

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1759]: I take it all back I hate u

Me [1759]: You love me 😇

Shoto paused then, cheeks heating up as he stared at his message. Why was he suddenly so warm? Why did anxiety pool in his stomach after he sent that message? Why was he getting more nervous the longer it took for a reply to come through?

He was just making friendly banter, like his old classmates taught him, yet it felt more significant when he was saying it to Midoriya.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1802]: I guesssssss 🙄

Shoto immediately felt himself relax; his stomach fluttering in a way that had started to become a common occurrence around his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was a bi-product of his quirk, now that he was using his fire more often, but it was strange that it was only when Midoriya was around.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1804]: Hey, I thought Id ask,you don’t have to or anything, but the HQA information session at the school is on tues and I was wondering, if you’re free, it’d be good to see you there? Even if you wore a disguise or something. Totally okay if not though!

Shoto tilted his head to the side, processing the message. He and Fuyumi had spoken about the session a lot over the past few weeks, but they'd given no indication that they wanted him there—why the change of heart?

'Fuyu-nee, Midoriya's inviting me to the HQA session.' He told his sister, not really sure what he was expecting her to say. 'Should I go?'

'I mean, you can if you want.' Fuyumi shrugged, albeit not dismissively. 'Whether it's supporting him or advocating your own knowledge, it might help. I certainly have no problem with it.'

Shoto nodded slowly in thanks, then turned back to his phone. He supposed in asking his sister, he was really just looking for validation, because of course, if Midoriya was inviting him to something, then he'd happily accept; he was just glad Fuyumi thought he was making the right choice.

Me [1807]: I'll be there :)

[greysfall]

My 4444-word review of NEO TWEWY (with personal illustration + heavy spoilers)

My overall critical score for the game is 7.5/10, while my personal enjoyment score is 8.5/10. This review is posted as I have 80% completed the game, got the secret ending and achieved the Angel psychic rank. I’ll first start with the main pros and cons as follows.

PROS:

-        Enjoyable as a whole, still upholding the first game’s spirit in world building and sharing the same backbone - which was mostly revealed in the Secret Reports, it’s impossible to grasp the story without reading them.

-        The new cast and new game is charming in their own way

-        The old cast’s return is one of the biggest highlights for sure, it was fun and impactful. Everyone stays true to themselves and also had their own stories wrapped up nicely.

-        Boss designs are cool, new pins are fun to use and collect

-        The connection between the old and new cast is well written and executed, including but are not limited to the tension between the old and new protagonist, the weird but fun interaction between the 2 Composers, the new friendships revealed and formed

-        Sho being in the main cast is something so uniquely TWEWY and uniquely Sho

-        Still good music

-        Still many fun side quests, some of them really uphold the same quirky spirit of the old game and some are surprisingly touching

-        Many new nice stores and yummy looking foods to explore

-        The map is really easy to memorize for me, it’s fun to travel around the “current” Shibuya to see all the differences compared to the past

-        The social network is crazy and interesting to read through

-        Has an anti-frustration system to help 100% complete the game more easily and earn money faster, so post-game is relatively managable.

-        Overall, I really feel the efforts the team poured into making this as their passion project, not just during the development process but for all the last 14 years. They showed the vision of what they wanted to make, at the same time giving something to both the old as well as new fans.

CONS:

-        The biggest problem with the game is scenario writing. The story is so heavily back-loaded. The director himself thought it would be better to balance out the tension flow by adding more at the beginning but gave in to the scenario writer in the end, probably due to time pressure. This results in an underwhelming execution of characterization and lots of wasted potentials for the first half of the game.  

-        I struggle to view it as a stand-alone game, since the backstory and the old cast both play such an important role in the core of the game. If someone plays this game without having played the OG, they can only enjoy it on surface value at best.

-        The new cast is nice but most of them aren’t quite as intriguing as the old cast, maybe it’s cuz they’re all too nice deep down that they lack a little bit of an edge, of that batshit craziness that everyone in the OG used to have? I think some characters (Fret, Nagi) ended up weaker in terms of characterization because the writer is too afraid of making them unlikeable – which kind of backlashed cuz they only became likable in the most expectable way to cater for a specific group of fans. I would have wished for the other team leaders to be more crazy too, had they not suffered 30+ loops of the Game…

-        The CAMERAWORK IS HELL.

-        Gameplay does get tedious at certain points with all the time travels.

-        Shiba is so badly written as a villain, some Shinjuku characters should be given more screentime cutting into Shiba’s– like Hishima or Kaie or even, Hazuki (though his limited presence also solidified his importance).

-        Some of the main character designs, for example Beat’s hairstyle and his food reactions are hilariously bad. What’s the point of covering up most of his unique facial features?

-        Some of the minor/side characters’ design are too cool for them to have such a small role (eg: Ayano, Eiru). Ryoji did get much screentime but is nowhere as fun as Makoto was.

-        Overall the scope of this game is made a little too big for the team to handle as perfectly as the last game that was very compact, it felt somewhat rushed in development too so the missing pieces are clearly there in the final picture

The entry fee versus paying for it all in the end

An important difference between the Neo game and the original Shibuya game was that the Shibuya rule asked for an entry fee that is the Player’s most important asset, stated as a chance the Composer gives them to reexamine themselves. Meanwhile, the Shinjuku rule neither encourages nor allows personal growth and ultimately aims to erase as many Players as possible. It’s a pity we were never introduced to the full Shinjuku rulebook, as it seems like the system there focuses more on building up power and a grand government to compare with the individuality-driven system of Shibuya.

When you have to compare the new game and the original game (OG), this is an important factor to consider. Also, the OG has a serious storyline running through and through, locked with a different partner/GM creating unique atmosphere for each week and you don’t get to see your old partners again until the end. NEO’s team system does not allow such deep insight and communication between the Players. All of your teammates are always there throughout, the dynamic does change with each new addition but it is not as prominent as a partner change.

Another important factor is how the OG was built from scratch for a new platform as “something no one has ever seen before”, while Neo recycled a lot of old unused ideas from the previous development (check out this interview for more details). The development team for NEO lacks 2 key members and had a change of writer so the final product is not as strongly bound together as the last game.

The new cast is definitely inspired by today’s teenagers (from the view of creators), compared to the old cast they’re more sociable and always seem to take whatever works for them despite feeling unstable inside. They are all innocent and genuinely nice kids, avoiding to hurt each other to a degree that they end up keeping some sort of distance. They’re also unable to communicate at deeper levels, always stagnant at this half-baked stage of equilibrium without any motivation to get to the core of things. That is the cost of entering the game without an entry fee, without even dying or having a reason to be there/to fight seriously. These kids were stolen from the RG into a Game that was decidedly the worst environment for them to change or develop, just wandering around cluelessly to find a way “out” until tragedies started to unfold one by one and they ended up being charged the total sum of the price for their actions – ultimately losing everything in the end.

That is, I believe, a story arc which can resonate more to the youth of today rather than of my generation. If the message of the old game was to “listen”, enjoy life to the fullest and accept to trust others, the message of the new game is to “speak up” from the inside, trying to understand yourself and take actions instead of just going with the flow and finally, to take responsibility for such actions.

If Neku was handpicked by the Composer for being the special one with an all-dense soul to ensure victory of the game then Rindo was just a normal kid chosen out of random by Kubo to be his back-up plan, who just happened to have a high enough imagination to awaken the incredible power from his pin. Rindo was then officially chosen by the Composer as Josh picked up and handed the pin to him again, this time not as Josh’s personal Proxy – but as the Proxy to represent the normal people of Shibuya and via whom he could gamble if humans can fight for their own fate.

The underworld heroine and the hero with little of his own

Shoka is for me a refreshing and layered heroine. She’s the kind of character that took at least 3 trials of creators to form as a complete individual – that included Nomura who gave her the base design and Reaper background, Gen who gave a more cunning touch and the writers who made her English dialogues more punchy. Dishonesty equals “tsundere” is such a cliché, so the English writers tried really hard to avoid that trope in my opinion, while still letting her good intention come through.

She serves as the character who is informed of everything the players should have known, and there was almost nothing she could do about it. Almost. Until she met Rindo.

They were drawn to each other by sharing a state of “not having anything of their own”. They both started out with not being able to truly know themselves, Shoka even hated her RG life but also managed to mature from that stage before Rindo. She must have vibed with Shiki’s love and passion in the Gatto Nero threads, initiating her connection with Shibuya and understanding herself more. With Shoka as Swallow, they were able to open up to each other and offer mental support… but was still not getting to the centre of their problems because for all this time, Shoka could not tell Rindo the most important things about herself.

How did Shoka feel when she met Rindo at the UG? She probably didn’t want to hope that he would live the day until she witnessed the Twisters’ potentials. From the very beginning, they were both incredibly conscious of each other and also constantly frustrated that the person they happened to “notice” was such a condescending bitch/a clueless loser. The Shinjuku Reapers are overall quite drunk in power and uncompassionate to Players, Shoka included. She is also a master of dissociation, which results in her constant boredom, tone swings, haughtiness and subconsciously distancing herself from the friend – the boy she cares about – from false hope, as she judged from facts that it was a hopeless situation where nothing could ever be. Maybe she is naturally a bit of a chameleon just like her name suggests (Shoka 紫陽花 = hydrangea, the color-changing flower), so putting on an act and always dissociating herself from what’s important was easy, while hiding her contradiction was impossible. It was the ex-Reaper Beat who broke it out to her, that she should decide whether she really cared and wanted to do something for a change. He knew how it felt like to cross that line, and knew she wanted to too.  

Shoka is endeared by many of the Shinjuku Reapers and has shown independent acts of kindness (the Shinjuku ghost), proving that her kind and truthful side is as real as her harsh and dishonest side – which makes her a nice mirror to the previous heroine Shiki, who also embraced a dichotomy of self-complex and self-love within her character. In the end, she was the first of the new cast to ultimately accept all that is important to her and independently made the decision to help save Shibuya despite all costs.

She was jealous at Rindo’s interaction with Tsugumi and Kanon but remained silent cuz she wasn’t at a place to have any say about it. She also didn’t reveal about Swallow because that would only add an awkward irrelevance to their current situation, as she was too ready to face erasure at the end of the Game. She only wished to “play a game” with him, be it FanGo or the Reapers’ Game. The tension that the team could only feel at the end, she’s felt it the entire time. The song “DIVIDE” is applicable to not just one bond in the game, but it always makes me think of theirs. There is always a “divide” between her and Rindo throughout the course of their journey, as the living and the dead, as a Player and Reaper, as someone who has a place to return to and someone who doesn’t, someone who knows little but wields too much power and someone who knows a lot despite not being able to do much.

“If only I had the chance to connect with you on the other side

But time goes on, and without us realizing it

The battle is getting heated

Time goes on, and without us realiazing it

Divided again”

To be honest, maybe I didn’t grow any affection for the new main cast from Rindo’s perspective but from Shoka’s. Since I started to sympathize with Shoka, I started to see the boy in a more “real” way. The real Rindo, behind his peaceful façade with others, would lash out on Shoka for her unfairly harsh attitude while none of the others cared. He could also subtly feel that mantle of unspoken secrets from her, her own contradictions, the unresolved chemistry between themselves – and not knowing what to do with it rather than to feel angry with all the unfairness he could not process. (As a Libra too, he’s triggered the most by unfairness!)

It is actually a positive development as he’s at least “reacting” to something strongly now rather than to keep evading his problems. During my replay, I clearly saw the difficult situation Shoka was in, her remaining harshness after the Motoi incident was due to her internal struggle with a mission to save her own life, versus a chance to really be with the team. Her decision was to do both at the risk of losing favour from both sides. Rindo started to accept her layer by layer, as the person who resonated the most to her contradicting nature from the start and knew that via learning her resolve, he has learnt his too.

Later into the game, she even got too much of his attention. Maybe even without knowing she’s Swallow, he’s familiar with her thinking direction and Swallow had always been closer to him than any other friend. It was only after she had to betray her important ones twice that she could start being truly honest. The scene when she died a 2nd time left a strong impression in me, the little reveal let Rindo know that he is also losing Swallow as he’s losing Shoka – and that only death could drive the last secret out of her. Her final “Later, loser” echoed through Rindo as it was the final truth, with only him remaining to hear it: they had actually, already lost everything.

Rindo was the boy who never dared to face all that matters to him until he lost it all, fighting an unfair battle in the faith that they would somehow still win. Shoka was the girl who always knew what was dear to her, but never dared to think she could be together with them ever after and still threw her all into a battle she knew was losing. I think they stir each other on naturally to fill out their gaps, similar to what the Shibuya game partner systerm would have aimed for. The end reward was a little divine intervention to help close up the divide between them once and for all.  

During the game there was not enough space to process anything personal so at the ending when they officially became “friends”, it was an important affirmation of their bond. Some people complained it was friendzoning but it’s not, they just have arrived at the perfect place to start something more. “From now on, we will truly be together” – I read it as that kind of message.  

The heroine from a lost battle, with her story taken away

After reading the secret reports and playing the game to be surprised of how small a role Tsugumi had in the main game despite being the “Hype-chan” thought to be a major character of the next TWEWY installment, many fans would feel sad at a missed opportunity to see the Shinjuku arc in full depiction.

It was shown clearly that, a Shinjuku arc was very carefully planned out and is a vital part of the whole story, yet it could not be made due to various circumstances behind the development scene. I would assume, that the team were not able to make a TWEWY game that ended on a despairing note, but it already happened in their mind, thus becoming a mental burden that forced them to break away from it and started the game anew with NEO. A significant part of NEO became the healing arc for the Shinjuku characters, especially for Tsugumi though I really wished more emphasis should have been placed on her rather than Shiba. We didn’t even get to see her brother – Shinjuku’s Conductor who had a vital role and instead was given the clueless Shiba, who had absolutely no idea what’s going on all the way until the last day in NEO. It’s as if Tsugumi has had her story stolen away from her, because her own battle ended with a saddening loss.

I think every time the game creators look at Tsugumi, they would feel that sadness too. Maybe to them, she is a bigger character than what is seen by the fans, as despite their failed effort to depict her story, she’s lived in their mind for all these years through periods of destruction, healing and rebuild.  Though it is a pity we could not get to experience the full scope of the Shinjuku story, the creators was clear about the place they wished for it to arrive at.    

Individuality, connection and the social network

The team system adapted from Shinjuku rulebook does not allow much room for personal development, as the team dynamic is closer to a work relationship forced to bear results, than a spiritual bond to max out all corners of understanding as found in the partnership system. The old Shibuya system allowed only 1 winner and 1 week limit per game, while the new rule declares for a 1 winning team and only the team at last place will be erased – the other teams will enter another loop. Furthermore, whichever team to challenge the unwinnable Ruinbringers will face the risk of ending up dead last followed by erasure. As a result, the longest-standing teams are most likely not the strongest ever recorded, but the ones who have figured out a strategy to simply survive until something changes, enjoying their newly found social constructs while they are at it. Basically, it is a system to hypnotise players into the illusion that they are still “living”.

Therefore, we as players would not get to the core of each Player individually as fast and directly as we did in the last game. The Twisters were able to stand out not because they’re powerful, they only started to have a real chance after growing enough to each form a meaningful and personal connection to another teammate. It did not come as a team, nor did it intiate from the existing friendship between Rindo and Fret. In fact, I did not find much solidity or anything truly note-worthy about the main team and new characters within themselves until they started clashing with other team members, Reapers and new recruits from week 2 onwards. Rindo found his personal development with Shoka (via a clash with Motoi and pretty much a mini dating sim between them), then via the confrontation of his role with Neku; Fret found his with Kanon then Nagi, the team learned about the real Neku via Beat, Neku entered the UG via Coco’s wish to save Tsugumi… it was not the team but their personal links that empowered them to fight and solve each of their problems.

The other team leaders may have failed because they did not form such personal links, after 30+ hopeless loops Fuya’s team all fell apart to pursue their own interest even at the cost of erasure, Motoi quit his KOL façade to work like a dog for the Reapers (probably to save just his own ass not his team), while Kanon dropped her tricks to find changes via honest cooperation in acceptance of a fair loss. The despairing note in that is huge without making much of a scene because their failure didn’t happen at their best effort to “win”, but in their last attempt to find a way “out”. Even Shiba got his way “out” in the end thanked to his personal friendship with Hishima and Tsugumi.

Something has shifted in the mindset of the game creators in the last 14 years, as both games are about “connection vs individuality” but the last game focuses more on connection between just individuals and this one on the overall network that is formed out of those individual connections.

The introduction of Beat into the main cast was truly the bridge between old and new, they helped each other out in several turns before officially recruiting him. Beat is a character whom a lot of fans including myself have felt somewhat concerned about after Neku disappeared from the RG, so when the new kids welcomed Beat with warm and organic interaction and Beat seemed happy, I started to feel like I wanted to help them out too! I think the overall team chemistry is enjoyable enough for new players, but I could warm up to the new kids more from the pov of a returning character – whom I’m glad to be Beat, as the older brother figure who is genuinely kind, fun, serious and upbeat at the same time; who is needed and needs the kids in return.

The social network is a fun and refreshing feature. You can read all of the crazy tidbits about Shibuya and the links each character have formed with the town people, it’s also fun to visualize how the characters act off screen. Characters’ profiles provide extra insight into their background too, like how it reveals Tsugumi has been friend with Coco during her time in the RG. During the game when not all characters have showed up, you can sometimes guess which empty spot will belong to whom. For example there is a 1 character linking to Neky that is not linked to anyone else, so I could guess that was Joshua, and that another character linking only to Joshua was probably Hazuki, hinting that the 2 Composers are related before either of them even showed up.

Hazuki only showed up for 5 minutes, but his presence is so vital and true to the game that I think he is the most memorable out of the new cast. The two Composers have such an intriguing bond, with their yin/yang or phoenix/dragon themes, opposite color design, the sempai/kouhai tone and the way they keep some sort of distance/work relationship as if it’s mandatory between Higher beings, yet at the same time they can talk so casually because they are truly equal – and different from one another. I have written a separate meta on them here.

Some people pointed out, that all Shinjuku characters’ names and themes are based off Hanafuda cards and the Phoenix in Hanafuda belongs to the Paulownia suit – which is Joshua’s name flower. This is so interesting because it feels like the creators somehow saw it as a sign to interweave the Shibuya and Shinjuku storylines together. Though it doesn’t come out much on the surface, it’s fascinating nonetheless considering both Josh and Haz had at some point interfered with the other town’s affairs.

“Shibuya tour with Haz” was such a special scene, as it happened between 2 characters who do not/no longer have a reason to care about Shibuya, on the subject of what is worth saving about Shibuya. Hazuki carried out the purification of Shinjuku and stepped in to restore Shibuya just as part of his job and unlike Hanekoma or Joshua who both possess profound understanding of humanity, he really didn’t know humans at all. Rindo’s irrational wish invoked in him a sense of curiosity, to try gambling on something irrationally and learning a bit of what his senior have experienced. With all the pieces put together, it provides an overview on Higher beings as a whole, and that Joshua and Hanekoma are really the odd ones out with Hazuki being somewhere in between them and the rest.        

The old friends

It’s easy to have returning characters overshadow the new cast as they have already matured out of their personal story arc and stayed in our hearts for all this time. In the end, I have managed to enjoy both the old and new cast separately and altogether, and they will both find their own place in our memory of this game for the long term.

Sho is truly as crazy as ever, the game wouldn’t be the same if Sho is any less of what he is. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like Neky or Beat is younger than Nagi at all, with moments when it seems like Neky has aged 14 years instead of 3 years. His friendship with Coco surprised me pleasantly, and their interaction together with Beat was fun to watch. Rhyme’s found a new dream and her friendship with Kaie is precious too, especially considering that she can still talk to him online after the game ended. Josh and Neku’s interaction suggested that they have resolved the past and are on equal terms now, they even parted ways in good spirit and I don’t feel any worry about them like I did before.

Neku and Shiki’s reunion scene was beautiful, theirs is such a special bond that it has grown and supported them even without being able to see each other. I am so happy to see them all again and that they stay true to who they are, albeit looking more grown up, cooler and happier than ever before.  

Overall, NEO can’t become a classic on par with the OG, but is definitely a good sequel and a good game in its own rights. I’m happy with whether or not there will be a 3rd game to complete the 3 monkeys theme, but if there will be – I hope the creators can really find the time to learn from the last 2 games and start over with a fresh mindset and strong core.  

[pthalomars]

Grounding

Cole stood outside of Kai’s door, a sour feeling pooling in his gut. It was late, he would undoubtedly be asleep. Why should he wake him up? Just so he can have someone to remind him that he’s real? That he’s alive- well, sort of.. 

It just felt like so much of a burden to put on his friend. However, Cole couldn’t ignore the feelings of dissociation that crept through his fragile mind. 

Ever since he had been turned into a ghost, he could never really ground himself; both in the literal and psychological sense. It was hard for him to feel present when he struggled to hold a plate in his hands. His barely corporeal form seemed to phase through surroundings like there was nothing there. Maybe it was him that wasn’t really there. Everything was so cold. So distant. Now more than ever, he felt like if he didn’t have someone to bring him down to earth, that he might fade away all together. 

Straining with concentration, Cole focused enough energy to knock on Kai’s door. It came out a bit louder than anticipated, upon which he cringed and recoiled his hand. The drawn out moment of silence made him reconsider his options. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. 

However, just as he was about to tuck tail and run, a shuffling sound arose behind the wooden door. Footsteps slowly approached the threshold. Cole held his breath as the door creaked open and the bleary eyed fire master looked up at him.

“Cole?” Kai mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “ ‘s early, what’s up..?”

“Ah, erm..” Cole began, “I’m sorry I-I know it’s probably not the best time, but can I uh.. I just.. I need someone.” The earth ninja began to crack his knuckles and wrists, each one letting out a dull, muffled pop. A nervous habit. 

Kai looked at him, drowsiness subsiding enough for him to put the pieces together. Cole’s hunched posture, tired eyes, furrowed brows, and wavering voice. He nodded, opening up his door and allowing his friend to enter. 

“Watch your step, sorry it’s a little messy in here.” Kai warned. Lighting a small flame on his finger, Kai led Cole to his bedside.

“So what’s goin’ on?” Kai asked softly, patting the space next to him on the mattress. After a beat, Cole moved to sit, letting out a dismal sigh. The bed sank beneath his weight, pushing him and Kai to be attached at the hip. 

“Nothing feels real anymore, Kai.” Cole said plainly. His friend looked at him with concern, but refrained from interrupting. The black ninja continued. 

“Ever since this,” he gestured to himself, “I just feel so.. Distant. Cold. Everything is so far away- I’m so far away. I don’t really feel anything anymore. I’m just..” He looked at Kai, hazy greens locking with deep browns, “I’m scared.”

Kai’s brows pinched upwards as he eyed his friend. He knew the transformation had affected him, but he didn’t realize it was to this extent. Though he had never been turned into a spirit, he knew what it felt like to lose his ground. 

There had been times in his past when he became so high strung that he couldn’t come back down on his own. It was moments like that when Nya would swoop in and anchor him. She always knew how to help calm his nerves, and as time passed, he was able to do it himself. Maybe now, he could do the same for his aching friend.

“Cole, I’m.. god, I’m so sorry. I can see that you’re hurting, and I wanna help. What do you need?” Kai said, turning to face the larger man.

Cole’s gaze dropped to his hands, pausing before muttering his answer. “I think I need someone to hold onto. Like an anchor. If that.. Makes sense. If I have someone there to hold me down, the fading feeling usually goes away.”

“You need someone to ground you?”

“Mhm.”

“I can do that. There’s something my sister showed me that I think might work. It’s a mix of physical contact and mutual breathing exercises. But there’s another element I want to add. I think it might help you feel better.”

“Sure, I’m willing to try anything.” Cole said before shifting to face Kai. The two of them sat criss cross and the red ninja held out his hands with his palms up. 

“Cole, I’ve seen you be able to touch and hold things with your hands. Can you tell me how you do that?”

“I uh, well I usually have to put a lot of concentration into a part of my body that needs to be solid. It takes a lot of energy, but if I try hard enough, I can maintain it.”

“In that case, I want you to put all of your concentration into your hands. Then put your hands in mine.”

Cole hesitates, but then takes a deep breath and begins to pool his focus into his palms. A strange tingling sensation spreads from the tips of his fingers, up to the knuckles and ending at his wrists. He lowers his hands and prays that they don’t fall through Kai’s. They fall through.

Seeing Cole become visibly upset, Kai chimes in. “It’s okay buddy, you don’t have to get it on the first run. Just try again, and take your time, alright?”

“Okay” the larger man sighs. Once again, he channeled his energy into his hands. 

“Remember to breathe,” Kai says in a soft, low voice. Cole obliges, letting air fill his lungs and leave in a steady flow. With closed eyes, he lowers his hands again. They don’t fall through. 

“Good! You’re doing great, Cole. Keep that concentration, okay? Let your hands become heavier and heavier. I’ll make sure to hold the weight.” Kai encouraged. The smaller man noted the soft gravity of his friend’s hands in his own. Even in his ghostly state, the calluses of his hands felt so tangible. His fingers were thick and his palms were wide, and his nails had been bitten so very short. Another nervous habit.

“Alright, Cole, I’m gonna breathe with you. Just follow my lead.” Kai said before taking in a large breath through his nose. The master of earth followed suit, mimicking his friend as he exhaled through his mouth. Cole opted to keep his eyes closed as he did this, instead trying to focus on his breathing and keeping his hands from slipping through Kai’s. 

“You’re doing good, keep breathing just like that, okay? Now there’s one more thing I’d like to try. You said that you feel cold, like really cold, right?” said Kai. Cole hummed in response.

“I’m gonna channel some of my fire into my hands. Not a lot, but just enough to heat up my palms. I’m thinking maybe the heat will make the physical touch more grounding. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

“Okay good, you just let me know if it gets too hot.” With that, Kai gently tightened his grip on Cole’s hands and let his element flow freely. Like coals in a fire pit, his palms began to glow with a soft warmth. 

“Do you feel anything?” the brunette asked.

“Not yet.”

Kai added more heat.

“Feel it?”

“No.”

He added more heat. 

“Anything?”

“A little bit. It’s faint, but there’s something.”

He then added more heat. At this point, Kai was worried about whether or not ghosts were capable of getting burned.

“It’s warm..” Cole murmured. He opened his eyes to see the light of Kai’s fire glowing through his own translucent hands. 

“How does it feel? Does it help?” Kai asked, his eyes searching for an answer in Cole’s expression.

“Good, it feels good. Grounding.” 

“I’m glad. We can stay like this as long as you need, Cole.”

“Thank you, Kai.”

The two of them sat together, hand in hand, for what felt like an eternity. Not that either of them could complain. Cole let himself be brought back to reality by the warm hands that anchored him down. Kai quietly enjoyed the subtle intimacy of the physical contact. 

Cole finally broke the comfortable silence that hung tenderly between them.

“I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you, genuinely. I can’t tell you how much I needed this.”

“Yeah, of course! And if you ever need me, all you gotta do is ask. And as for this-” Kai gestures to their hands, “You don’t even need to ask for that. Just grab me when you need to come back down, okay?”

“Thank you.. I-I really appreciate that.” Cole felt a soft blush blooming on his cheeks. He couldn’t deny that he had wanted to hold Kai’s hands for other reasons. However, he decided that those reasons weren’t relevant in the moment.

“Anything for you, man.” Kai affirmed, giving Cole’s hands a squeeze before pulling away to rub his eyes. Sleep had begun to creep up on him as the time had passed. Cole glanced at the red numbers on his friend’s digital clock. He noted how it was strange that time had escaped them.

“Jeez, sorry I know it’s late-”

“Don’t worry about that, I promise I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, and it’s not like the sun is up yet. There’s still time to catch some z’s.”

“You have a good point. Well, I won’t keep you up too much longer, I can head out if you want. I think I’ll be able to get some sleep now that I’m feeling better.”

“Did you want to stay?”

“Stay?”

“Yeah, like, stay the night. You don’t have to, obviously, but I just figured that maybe you wanted company.”

“That would.. Be nice, actually. Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Not at all, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t appreciate the company either.”

“Ah, fishing for a cuddle buddy I see.”

“I never said that,” Kai let out a chuckle, lightly punching Cole’s shoulder. It was solid. 

“Well I wouldn’t mind, even if you did.” the larger man retorted, landing a similar punch on Kai’s shoulder. 

The two of them weren’t strangers to that level of physicality. Though, most previous instances were purely platonic; like resting on each other during long ship rides, laying together on the couch with the rest of their friends for movie nights, and keeping contact with each other in most settings. This should be the same, but both of them felt a slightly different twinge in their hearts. 

This whole grounding experience had strengthened their bond and brought them closer. Both of them usually had trouble expressing their emotions, so this was a huge step forward. 

“Then get over here, why dontcha?” Kai chuckled, flopping backwards. Cole chortled, slowly crawling up to be next to his friend. The smaller man reached his arm out to the side, allowing for the black ninja to curl up against him. With a sigh, the noirette let his head rest gently on Kai’s chest. The quiet beat of his heart vibrated against his ear and he let his eyelids grow heavy until they shut completely. For the first time in a while, he slept through the rest of the night.

[zerogate]

In a separate study, published in the respected journal PLOS One, a research team led by the American neuroscientist Dr. Andrew Newberg used an advanced brain imaging technique called single-photon emission computed tomography, or SPECT, to study a medium’s brain during a trance state, while they engaged in automatic writing. SPECT monitors changes in brain activity by tracking emissions of a radioactive tracer injected into the test subject’s bloodstream. The intensity of the radioactive signal corresponds to the amount of blood flow in the capillaries of the imaged brain region, and increased blood flow means higher brain activity. When a region of the brain “lights up” with increased activity, it means that area is essential to whatever action or mental process the person is performing at the time.

The study used ten mediums separated into two groups: five experienced mediums and five inexperienced mediums. It’s not clear why the researchers chose inexperienced mediums as controls, but I suspect they wanted to compare the images of brain activity across a range of dissociated states.

The researchers carefully profiled each subject to control for as many variables as possible. For example, they ensured all were right-handed, in good mental health and were not taking medications that might alter neurological functions. In advance, their brains were imaged while they completed writing samples in an alert, non-trance state, for comparison purposes.

During the experiment, both groups entered a trance as they usually did during a séance and allowed the spirit to “take over” and perform automatic writing. All ten of the mediums confirmed they were able to achieve an altered state of consciousness, but to different degrees. The experienced group attained “a deeper trance, with clouded consciousness, often reporting being out-of-the-body and having little or no awareness of what they were writing.” By comparison, the inexperienced group only achieved a light trance state and were aware of what they wrote.

When the researchers analyzed the imaging results, they found obvious differences in the mediums’ brain activity. During the trance state, the experienced group had lower levels of activity in the brain regions responsible for reasoning, planning, problem solving and language generation. When the same mediums were out of trance and engaged in writing, these brain regions lit up like a Christmas tree.

“It’s interesting,” Newberg says. “We typically think of the brain being very active when a person is doing a particular task, but here we find the opposite.”

[...]

The researchers then examined the content of the automatic writing and found differences between the trance and non-trance writing samples. The writing samples were far more sophisticated when obtained under trance conditions compared to what the mediums wrote while awake. Interestingly, the increase in complexity was more noticeable in the experienced group—the mediums who reached the highest degree of dissociation. The results defied the researcher’s expectations. A higher complexity score is usually associated with increased activity in the frontal and temporal lobes, the exact opposite of what the researchers found.

-- Christian Smith, The Scientist and the Psychic

[ask-asexual-crystal-gems]

What's a common thread between ADHD and the asexuality spectrum? The answer might surprise you.

A while back, an ADHD user said in response to my question, “how did mindfulness exercises go?” a single word, “dissociation.”

It was only long after I had replied, that I had to remind myself that people think of dissociation as a scary thing.

I had to remind myself that a psychotherapist I once knew was pretty unorthodox, and gave me perspective on the matter that defused all the mysteriousness and internalized socialized discomfort surrounding it, which is ultimately rooted in both fear of the unknown or unfamiliar, and maybe a little bit of stigma, too.

Naturally, I do not talk about these sorts of things with general people IRL, so newly having a ‘conversation’ online about it did not jostle my awareness of others’ attitudes like it probably should have.

Things like anxiety and ADHD are, let’s say, more “ordinary” neurodivergences. (remember, the word applies to ALL mental illnesses, also, not just traits. Many don't consider most cases of ADHD an 'illness,' nor a lot of presentations of autism)

Those are more "ordinary." They don’t mash that “this is weird” button, so much as simply “this is very unpleasant.”

But dissociation can be the former, and not the latter.

Let me back up and explain that a bit.

People see dissociation as undesirable.

But why is it, you should ask.

Leave aside questions of physical safety. I’m just talking about sitting down somewhere, and there is no risk to you.

In the typical view, it’s not just another operation the brain can do, or an altered mind state, as we discussed it, rather, it is somehow considered a “bad” outcome.

When, ironically, for many forms of mind training, which we’ll put under the umbrella term “meditation” for simplicity’s sake, the end goal is a type of on-command dissociative state.

Whether you are internalizing your attention, externalizing your attention, or just trying to get that danged mind chatter to shut up for once and give you some peace, whichever way you are sliding along that scale, there is always the route open to you to pursue this ultimate peace.

So this person, who was trying out mindfulness?

Think, if you switched all the aircraft cockpit switches to check if everything was lighting up correctly. But instead of being an experienced pilot, you had no idea what would happen once you started testing everything out.

Accidentally withdrawing your physical senses, and seeming to distance your “self” from your body, which experienced practitioners do without batting an eye, (pun intended) would seem like a dysfunction rather than a built-in feature.

Quieting those areas of the brain dedicated to sense perception is quite a lovely experience, when you are educated on it, do it on purpose, and expect it.

Whereas anxiety is almost never a positive experience, unless it’s not really overwhelming or potent, and you’ve 'reframed' it such that it’s exciting, like any other adrenaline junkie bender.

The milder forms of dissociation, termed depersonalization or derealization, that seem to be quite common among asexual people, are also often considered as a negative thing, instead of just the current, value-neutral state of mind, which is trainable.

A much more common and even milder form happens when we sink into routine. Ever had a stretch of weeks on a job where you look back and you feel like you were sort of “automated”? Like you weren’t really present? You’re somehow a little surprised that that much time has passed?

That “time dilation,” accompanied also sometimes by a distorted sense of chronological sequence happens a lot with ADHD people, regardless of circumstances, but most everyone in the populace has experienced it at some point, barring perhaps the super privileged who have never been forced into a literally “mind numbing” job.

Maybe you’ve also experienced the sensation where you get into a car, perhaps when you’re on a familiar route you’ve driven a thousand times, or especially on long road trips, and you seem to zone out and lose time.

The brain is pretty good at conserving energy.

This is what she tells her patients, to calm their sympathetic nervous system. It circumvents that distress, that health-sapping stress response to this ultimately harmless “weird” experience, vastly improving their quality of life:

Dissociation is a continuum- many forms of it are common. Not some super strange thing corralled in a small corner of the sum total of human experience.

“Reframing” these things is essential to attaining incrementally improved mental health.

Clearing away all the internalized judgement, the feelings of wrongness, etc.

Just one more step out of the norm.

Just another neurodivergence.

It is conceptualized as unnerving when it happens suddenly and sharply, though, because it is so different from “ordinary” everyday experience.

The same way one person who hasn’t been around dogs much might react to a large dog barking with fear, and another person standing next to them having the exact same experience, trained and knowledgeable in recognizing true aggression versus excitement or mild warning, would not feel threatened.

Yes, having that particular toggle out of your grasp may be annoying and to those not given this perspective, frightening. (And if other personalities are involved, that gets much more complicated!!) But, consider. One of my mentors said calmly once, that she lost time for, say, 10 or 15 minutes while sitting down quite regularly, and felt very recharged and energized afterwards. It’s not exactly like sleep, because there’s not that head nodding and relaxation of muscles. Almost instantly gone, and instantly aware again, not that feathery transition as happens when drowsing or gradually falling asleep.

I hypothesize to her that this had probably started up because she’s involuntarily dropping into a deep delta or theta brainwave state for a bit, because that’s what she does in ‘brain entrainment’ recordings. (The frequencies are very good for relaxation when you're anxious and have a hard time unwinding yourself, others are good for focus during studying, and are therefore used by ADHD people) Unless she wants to pay some big lab to measure her neuron firing frequency though, there’s no way to tell for sure. The point is, that she directly benefits from this ‘taking a break’ from thinking. She is not bothered in the least by her mind occasionally saying, ‘you know what, I’m overwhelmed right now, gonna switch off for a bit.’ When someone gives their mind this permission to pause from its worries and senses, each the internal and external input, sometimes this is the outcome. It is not a problem to her whatsoever that this toggle occasionally moves of its own accord.

People are afraid of what they don’t understand.

But she understands it.

People are afraid of new experiences.

But to her, it’s old hat. On an MRI, each of the parts of the brain dedicated to the senses dim. Occipital lobe for sight, temporal lobe for hearing, etc.

If I were brushed up on the neuroanatomy of this process better, I could also name the parts dedicated to internal imput that would grow dimmer as she entered that state. Heck, they study this stuff so much, when interviewing meditation practitioners and testing for stuff like blood flow changes as their attention shifts, those images probably already exist.

Dissociation is not a mysterious thing.

It serves a purpose.

It’s your brain’s ‘energy saver’ mode.

Or in some cases, ‘recharge.’

So, to the person who argued that ADHD people should be cautious about using mindfulness? I must ask again, why?

Why would you forgo the benefits? Why would they tell others to do so??

Usually the main reasons dissociation causes problems, that aforementioned therapist says, is that people are overloaded to the point where it happens not when they’re relaxed, and can daydream or drift, but randomly when there’s too much pressure in their lives.

The fear response to it is just like any other overactive fear response or phobia- with time and therapeutic work, they are all resolvable.

/////////

#this post is NOT about dissociative identity disorder #only mentioned it in passing to separate it from the discussion

[thliahls]

                tl;dr: dissatisfied with future spy prospects, thalia becomes a hitman for hire, but fulfills none of her contracts, instead, murdering who she thinks deserves it. acting god is a tough pursuit, and soon, she finds herself with more hits on her than she can keep up with. sensing something ominous, she cashes in her friendship favour with seb and asks him to wait for her while she goes in. greeted by her father, who shoots her upon sight, it takes several moments to realize she’s got the upper hand and his intention is not to kill her. his life relies on her death, any sort. left with an envelope of documents that secures her with a new identity, she lets him live by faking her own death. tw: violence, death, murder.

                                                      suggested listening : dissociation by timber timbre 

             her second year was formative, transformative only in retrospect — coming into herself, adding shadows to a figure that remained an outline for so long. she doesn’t know it then, her unbridled fear of her father is a chronic ache, where the symptoms can only be subdued by obedience. he’ll never tell her what he wants, from her, of her — if she did, she’d do it in a heartbeat. instead, she tries every salve, grades that’ll grow into job offers, a bulletproof arrogance that grows into a threat against her father : the threat that she doesn’t need him ( she does ). a distaste for authority fosters in the place of love, and she thinks about the man-made book, the power of an individual. she thinks about how rules are so easily manipulated by emotion, finding herself far more impressed by the disregard to rule shown by the gallagher students who broke the caledonia students out than her own assignment, herding them back with only a grade as her impetus. 

             dad signs her out a day before graduation. her absence from the ceremony doesn’t cause a stir, she’s well on her way to nothingness. her patience is not rewarded when she stares at the rearview mirror, waiting for him to glance at it and see her, not out of choice, but safety when changing lanes. he uses his side mirror. ‘   i have interviews.    ’ she broaches on the plane, when it’s already too late — she figures he already knows and if he’d wanted her to attend them she wouldn’t be crossing the atlantic. she spends an entire summer waiting for him. the doors aren’t locked but she’s housetrained. and one day she leaves, and he doesn’t follow. she’s well on her way. 

             a dead-eyed gaze falls on the man leaning over to peer through the half rolled down window. she’s enlightened, if he shoots she’ll pinch the bullet between her fingertips. ‘   been waiting a long time for you. he got you locked up in there ?   ’ she shrugs in response. ‘   the illusive daughter. got quite the price on you.  ’ if he was going to kill her he would have done so already, villains have speeches — murderers have guns, and this guy hasn’t shut up. ‘   sure.   ’ she concedes, tugging on the locked door, head cocked with impatience. can’t find the niceties in her to revel in his confusion, when it’s keeping her from her life. ‘   i’ll work for you.   ’ thalia hall cares so little about the state of her affairs that she falls asleep on the road to nowhere. her slumber is dreamless and she wakes up feeling refreshed. 

                her life becomes a wash of blurred vignettes, she’s only ever caught in motion and the camera can’t focus. the only time she stills is when she’s making up her mind as to whether the victim of a contract deserves death — it’s a clinical ordeal, clerical even, thumbing through the pages with a pensive, far off gaze, deciding a future for strangers she’s never met, deciding it by their actions alone. none of this is protocol, but what’s the point in cozying up to rule ? the man who had hired her could have just as easily killed her, and their alliance is arbitrary, so when she ‘goes rogue’ ( which is a generous term considering she had never given any indication of being loyal to begin with ), she kills with the poor motive of self-defence. after that, time lapses — she abides by catnaps and can’t catch a sunset without the haze of fatigued eyes, paranoia spiked adrenaline, enough caffeine to send her into cardiac arrest, a lit fuse she can’t put out.

                dad appears like the light at the end of a tunnel. there is a finality to this. and she is at peace. in some ways she knew it would end like this, just as how she knows iphigenia’s fate was not sealed in the moment agamemnon decided to sacrifice her but instead the moment aeschylus was born. there is no decision in her life that led to this moment other than the simple blessing of entering life.

                     ‘    are you going to kill me ?    ’ 

‘   are you going to kill me ?   ’

                a flash of confusion appears on her face, she’s always been the pawn but she feels the gut wrenching pull up the board. checkmate. he’s not going to kill her — but she can kill him without pulling the trigger. going to — future tense. if he was never going to fulfill his contract, he’s already dead. thalia hall is either speaking to her father’s ghost, or he knows that he is going to fulfill it. with her help. in the time it takes to parse this information, he has his arms around her, his affection has always acted as a straitjacket but she mistakes them as his hugs, and it feels nice. secure, swaddled by a tight blanket. so she sobs, piercing wails that would rival a newborn, because she’s not sure how it ended up like this and if only he’d tried, even just a little, it wouldn’t be like this. she hates him. she hates him so much. when her cries let up to take a breath, he interjects. 

                ‘   another life. go on now. i’ll see you in the one after.   ’ in the years looking back, her belief as to whether it was a threat or a consolation will ebb and flow. she’ll squeeze her eyes shut and study the feeling, of how he pressed the passport against the wound he inflicted, then remember the tenderness with which he kissed the top of her head. her freedom indebted. she should have let him die but she loves him. maybe in the next one he’ll be kinder. or she’ll be crueller. part of her wants to release the pressure that her palm holds and find out now. thalia hall survives out of spite. 

                and because of sebastian. who she’s always likened to a dog, and she can’t leave him there, waiting dumbly in an idling car. not when she can’t remember if she left the window open. she does her best not to let her knees buckle before she clambers into the passenger side of his car, her head pressed against the rest trying to mute the throb that feels like someone’s punching her skull from the inside out, both hands pressed above her hip, closed eyes. ‘   you wanna go back to yours ? i’ll take my clothes off for you.    ’ the joke slips from her with an uncanny ease, like she’s forgotten how to be. he stitches her back together again, and she leaves without saying goodbye because she’ll see him in the next one. thalia wipes down the cover of her bloodstained passport in the stall of a public toilet, a stuttered breath as her eyes trail over her new name, her new place of birth, her new country of citizenship — not inhabiting someone new, but returning to the old, what was once forgotten. stepping into a shadow that was one pace behind her, waiting for her to come home. her life was never sustainable, but maybe this one could be. she’ll tend to her roots with a gentle hand, and start a garden.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Drive Fanfic

Title: Drive

Summary:  Lately, all Virgil has fantasized about is driving away to a place where the Year 2020 doesn’t exist. It’s illogical and ludicrous, because it’s not possible to physically escape it all. But try telling that to Virgil, who’s done nothing but try and run away from his fears since childhood.

Pairings: platonic moxiety

Word-Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Anxiety, Self-destructive habits, Dissociation Sleep-deprived, Sickness, Vague References to Covid-19, Crying, Some Comfort Mostly Angst, Ambiguous Ending

This is...kinda a vent fic? I’ve been wanting to write another fic involving present day events for awhile but this is not the fic I had in mind.

-

The moon greets Virgil with a crescent grin as he pulls out of his work’s parking lot late at night. It’s a comforting glow, soft and warm in ways that the artificial street lights could never achieve. He smiles back at the moon, taking his eyes off the road. Something he knows to be dangerous and his anxiety doesn’t waste time jumping at once to remind him. 

He pushes these worries aside, tapping a rhythmic beat against his steering wheel. Normally, he’d be more diligent. But he’s exhausted and he’s driven the route between his work and home so many countless times that he could do it in his sleep. 

Still, he has to watch himself when he almost makes a wrong turn. He’s lived at his new apartment for four months and yet it’s easy in this state to meander back to his old dwelling like a horse whose rider has fallen asleep in the saddle. 

He thinks about turning on music to keep his mind awake, fingers twitching as he does so, but he does not do so. Instead, he gets on the highway, watching as the world flies past his car. So fast, almost too fast. He’s going at least five, ten miles past the speed limit. A younger version of himself would be freaked by that.

Once upon a time, he hated driving. No, he feared it. The idea of being in control of a machine that could, at any moment, kill himself or others used to petrify him. Now? The action of driving is almost as mundane and monotonous as brushing his teeth.

Physically, he is the one at the wheel, controlling the vehicle. But mentally, he is separated from the action. His thoughts of nothing and everything all at once. Just like the whole year has felt like. A year that has flown by faster than he can process, but has also plodded along sluggishly. 

Lately, all he’s fantasized about is driving away to a place where the Year 2020 doesn’t exist. It’s illogical and ludicrous, because it’s not possible to physically escape it all. But try telling that to Virgil, who’s done nothing but try and run away from his fears since childhood. 

He’s just tired. Exhausted of the world falling apart at the seams when it’s supposed to only be himself doing that. He can’t handle the numbers skyrocketing, the constant flow of new safety measures at work he knows are good yet so tiring to readjust to again and again. The angry dissents, the injustice and apathy of it all. 

Exhaling, he flicks on the turn-signal and the car drifts towards the exit lane. Too far right, almost veering into the shoulder of the road and down into the gully beside it. 

“Shit!” Virgil hisses, the loud vibration of hitting the line marking shoulder keeping him from becoming another highway death statistic. He pulls away from the line, his heartbeat accelerating. He continues off the highway without further incident.

Still, it’s enough to ignite his old fear of driving, enough to force his consciousness back into his body and focus on the road. The rest of his drive home is painfully boring compared to those exciting few seconds. When he does eventually reach his apartment building, he feels himself aching with relief.

 Both his body and mind is craving for sleep, to escape from the conscious world for a few glorious hours. He both loves and loathes sleep for this very reason; loves it because it is a reprieve from reality and loathes it because it is but a temporary one.

After checking, and double-checking his car is locked, Virgil stumbles to his apartment like a zombie from a low-grade horror film. He fumbles with entering his key inside the keyhole a few times. Eventually he manages to get it in.

Prior to passing through the threshold of his front door, he had a task-list floating around in his head. A task-list he likes to call, “Virgil’s Agenda To Get The Fuck to Sleep As Soon As Possible”

It includes the following things:

Nab a quick late-night snack because he’s starving and experts be damned

Go to the bathroom, contemplate brushing his brush for five minutes before deciding the one-minute activity is too much energy

Collapse into bed without changing out of his work uniform

Spend an hour scrolling on his phone until he’s too incoherent for anxious thoughts to keep him awake all night

Sleep until his alarm wakes him up for work in the afternoon.

All of this is thrown out the figurative window when he spies his roommate and best friend Patton curled up on the living room couch. He’s still awake, half-disinterestedly watching an episode of The Office. Normally, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. For as he chastises Virgil for dismal sleeping habits, the man is a hypocrite. Virgil has caught him on numerous occasions on a Netflix binge way past the witching hour.

Something about this time feels off. Virgil can’t decide if it’s his own anxiety or the existence of the virus-that-shall-not-be-named that causes him to feel this way. Maybe both, even. There’s just something about how Patton turns to look at him with a hint of dazed terror in his eyes.

“Hi, Pat.” Virgil says, taking his mask off. Honestly he’s gotten so used to wearing it that he sometimes forgets when it’s on his face.

“You, um, might want to keep that on.” Patton bits his lips.

“Oh?”

“I woke up from my nap today with chills.”

Virgil tries keeping his face neutral, “Any other symptoms?”

“M-my body aches all over, and--and I have a really bad headache--” This is where Patton dissolves into tears and Virgil’s heart breaks right then and there.

He takes a step closer and this freaks Patton out further. “Stay away! I don’t want you to g--get sick!”

Virgil complies, taking a few steps back even. He shakes his head though, biting back a harsh laugh. “I know you’re just trying to protect me, but let’s face it; you and I both know I probably gave it to you. You work from home--I don’t. And even if you didn’t get it from me, we both live together. There’s no way I haven’t already been exposed.”

“I-I know, but just to be s-s-safe--”

“Of course,” Virgil says gently, because while he sees taking precautions a moot point he still respects his friend’s wishes. “Listen, we’ll go to a testing site in the morning, okay? I’ll probably get quarantined from work so, um, at least now I’ll finally have time to rewatch Avatar with you?”

Patton nods but he’s still upset. All sniffles and hiccups with a broken sob here and there.

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay, alright? Even if you test positive, things will be okay.” Virgil says, desperate to assuage Patton’s fears in some way, never mind his own, “let’s just watch The Office for now and worry about things tomorrow, alright?”

“O-okay,” Patton agrees, wiping tears and snot away with a corner of his blanket.

They watch the show mostly in silence, aside from a few forced laughs here and there. Even the antics of one Michael Scott isn’t enough to break the somber mood. Virgil’s heart beats sluggishly, as if he’s been put to cryosleep. He should be more devastated, his anxiety going to overdrive with presenting him all the worst case scenarios. Instead he feels nothing.

Maybe he’s in denial. Or maybe he has always known this was gonna happen eventually. Either to himself, Patton or both.

“Hey Patton?” He says, “when all of this over, let’s go on a road trip. You can pick the destination. I don’t care where it is other than it has to take a fuckton of hours to drive to.”

Patton is silent for a moment. He doesn’t teasingly ask Virigl to put a quarter in the swear jar. He breathes slowly, peeking above his blanket, “What about Yellowstone State Park? We could go there to see Old Faithful and the buffalo.”

“Yeah, okay we can go there,” Virgil nods, “let's invite Logan, I bet he’d like that.”

“Can we also--” Patton coughs, covering his mouth with his blanket, “can we also invite Roman?”

Virgil rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Sure, we can invite Prince Insufferable if you insist. The more the merrier.”

So lost do they get in a hypothetical road trip, that the show and the world itself fades from the two’s thoughts for the rest of the night.

[johnnyprofane1]

How to Get Diagnosed #ActuallyAutistic in Just 26 Years

First off, this is not a poor-me story.This is a journey to #AutisticJoy story…

I’m a singer/songwriter, pretend Rock Star with a decent following… after at least 5 other careers.

I’m also #ActuallyAutistic. Or my fave hashtag… #AutisticAF.

Two most frequent private-message questions I get?

Not about lyrics, my guitar playing, or even my mohawk…

1. Could I be autistic?

2. Should I get a diagnosis?

Well, here’s my way-long, way-detailed, way genuinely autistic answer…

I was born in 1953. Long before autism or Asperger’s were widely discussed in medicine or popular culture. More or less, just beginning in the 70s.

At least by 1957, at 4, I knew I was “different.” Family and neighbor kids told me so.

A lot.

In kindergarten, a teacher reported I was unusually creative, but “stayed to myself.” After 2nd grade intelligence testing, I was tagged “gifted.”

But my behavior was “odd.” Solitary. Formal in speech, a know-it-all. “Insensitive to context,” liked talking and playing in class. “Inattentive” to lessons.

I had one close friend at a time… In fact, only one I remember in all of primary school. In 4th & 5th grade. Jeff.

Wonder what he’s been up to the last 56 years…

My intelligence: uneven. My reading skills were off the chart, but verbal learning, most of education at the time, was difficult for me. Math tested high, but I was so impulsive on quizzes, I needed remedial classes.

Tests were a silly game to me. It was fun to be the first-one-done. I couldn’t have cared less about grades. I’m a process-, not results-oriented guy.

And most glaring? I was disliked, even hated, by schoolmates, cousins, perhaps even parents.

I was a target for mockery, hate speech, bullying, physical and sexual attack, and later molestation. And universal disappointment: “You’re not living up to your potential.”

A history of dozens of jobs, dozens of relocations, lost years in a cult, lost years in badly matched relationships…

And honestly? A history of causing great pain to others. Inadvertently perhaps, but not always. Then circling back to the couple of decades in what most would label a “cult…”

Something was just not right with this picture.

I first sought diagnosis at 17 following suicide attempt #1 in 1970. The experience was horrific.

I felt badgered by the therapist, “I know you have a secret you want to tell me.” I wanted so badly to please her. But had no idea what I was feeling, much less why.

As still happens under great stress, I temporarily lost language ability. I became mute. Which has several times been interpreted as “resistance,” “guardedness,” or even “passive aggression” by “helping” professionals.

I didn’t try therapy again until my first year in grad school, 1980. The psychiatrist summarily dismissed me without a plan when I didn’t respond to imipramine (an anti-depressant)– possibly I pissed him off. I seem to have a talent for stepping on therapist toes.

But in 1991, I entered the mental health system and essentially never left. Every new psychiatrist, psychologist, therapeutic social worker confidently diagnosed me… with something entirely different.

Between 1991 and 2016, I was diagnosed with adjustment disorder, major depression, type II Bipolarity, rapid cycling bipolarity, malingering, borderline personality disorder, dissociative disorder NOS (including discussion of multiplicity), PTSD….

There have been additional discussions of various anxiety disorders (especially social anxiety), attention deficit, schizophrenia, TIAs, stroke damage…

Pretty sure I’m leaving a few out.

With each new diagnosis, each and every professional confidently told me he or she had nailed it.

This time…

And they could help.

I was medicated accordingly with imipramine, Prozac and all the modern SSRIs, Welbutrin, Effexor, Lithium, depakote, tegretol, gabapentin, klonapin, lorazepam, respirdal, the occasional syringe of haldol, provigil and other narcolepsy drugs, sleep aids, supplements like fish oil, more I’ve forgotten….

And offered suggestions of Abilify, Seroquel, other anti-psychotics, electro-shock (ECT)…

As well as therapies including Jungian, supportive, interpersonal, analytical, psychodynamic, cognitive, task-centered, solution focused, dialectical behavior, cognitive behavioral…

I was myself a counselor from 2001 to 2011. Strange, but true.

Not one of these interventions helped me materially.

Not one.

And I experienced some very concerning side effects: tics, emotional numbness, difficulty thinking, feeling like a stranger in a strange mind. I totally gave up on treatment and medication in 2011. Bouts of suicidality ensued.

A very few friends and one wife threw the term autistic around over the years, but I never followed up. It seemed so unlikely. I was so bright. So articulate. Even somewhat successful… for a few months at a time.

And without conscious awareness, I had become adept at hiding the fact I was actually dysfunctional… perhaps the majority of the time.

Plus, I could pass for “normal” by masking… when not under stress. I learned by junior high to practice my favorite classmates’ neurotypical behavior in the bathroom mirror. Hide stimming, meltdowns, panic attacks, the total autistic burnouts lasting sometimes months, years…

In 2011, the intimacy of the most successful relationship of my life forced me to look inwardly as deeply as I could in order to avoid losing my third wife. (We are still together, deeply in love, but live in separate houses a few hundred feet apart. She needs breaks from my intensity. I find even her company exhausting after a few hours.)

My now-third wife had a family member with “high-functioning” autism, what we used to call Asperger’s (and what we now call, simply, autism). Watching this young boy negotiate his world was like watching myself in a magnifying mirror.

We had so many behaviors in common. Mine were just somewhat better disguised. With my wife’s encouragement in 2012, I began reading articles, books, online forums…

In 2016, when we separated briefly, I finally re-entered therapy. This time, I contacted various experts in adult autism through Indiana University’s Indiana Institute For Disabilities Community (IIDC).

Bingo.

Every symptom…Explained.

Every “flaw” in my character… traced back to this pervasive developmental diagnosis.

I am making progress in a kind of task-oriented counseling. Working on strategies to accommodate characteristics that just ain’t gonna change…

But the key gifts that external, credible diagnosis gave me:

Accepting I really am different, with very different needs from neurotypical folks.

Providing for those needs, as I discovered them. For instance, understanding my “special interests” are not hobbies. They are central to my survival. My job.

Reducing stimulation, sensory & social. Accepting I will have few intimate relationships in my life and becoming cautious about “friendships,” only those few folks who take the long, long journey to know and like me. After a lifetime naively assuming each new stranger was a new friend, my motto became, “Don’t like me? Don’t hang.”

Spending unashamed time… alone. I have a radical need for autonomy, while simultaneous difficulty managing independence when any other human is present. As much as I crave intimacy, I must manage my time with humans. Say less than 5 minutes with a stranger before anxiety or panic sets in, maybe 2 hours with my wife. Which brings me to…

Over the last few years, I’ve not only experienced reduction in anxiety, depression, suicidality, dissociation, night terrors, meltdowns, panic… I’ve come to realize my natural state.

Finding love. My neurotypical wife and I respect, admire, encourage, and desire one another. Pretty much a first for me.

Autistic joy.

Not disease…

Joy.

When I’m creating words or music, walking alone in Nature, watering my garden, cooking, fermenting pickles, making bread, decorating, yard sale-ing, reading, loving my pets, meditating, even shaving…

I’m in the flow.

There is no time. There is no space. No surroundings. No memory. No pain. Just lizard-warming-in-the-sun…

Joy.

Everything that restricts that joy? Gotta go. Good riddance…

So, diagnosis?

Yeah.

That’s my story.

And this time, I’m sticking to it.