#was uncooperative and extremely difficult

[ducktracy]

What is Daffy Duck, if not someone who gives people a hard time 🙏😔 we pray 4 u

TRULY!! THIS IS TANGENTIAL but this ask makes me smile BECAUUUSEEE... i've said it before but a very big part of my art process is connecting and communicating with the characters. making sure the characters i draw are authentic and feel like i'm drawing THE character (rather than presenting a drawing of the character) is one of my biggest artistic priorities. and to achieve that, i try to get into the mindset of the characters as much as i can. sometimes that's thinking like them, thinking of their mannerisms, and thinking of how they would react to me drawing them. i think of myself as a director telling them how to pose or what to look like, while also putting myself in their shoes and thinking how i would react to that

THIS IS A VERY CONVOLUTED WAY TO SAY some characters obviously take direction better than others. i think i'm mainly saying this because Daffy is my bread and butter, i have higher standards drawing him because it is extremely important that i get him right! so of course i'm going to struggle more in the process. but when this happens, i always chalk it up to him being "difficult" because it's certainly in character for him. of course he would be uncooperative! this is silly but it gives me a lot of amusement and also takes some of the edge off when i want to put my fist through the screen LOL

BUT YES thank you :) the good news is that i'm making progress! i've resigned myself to understanding that it's gonna take however long it takes. i'm only ever gonna review this once so i might as well make it count! likewise it's a very very important cartoon to me, so there's more to blab about so obviously that's going to take longer. when i was starting out i was getting 5 reviews out a day, but i need to remind myself that this entire project has exploded into something so much more than what it used to be in the 4 and a half years that i've been doing this HAHA.

thank you for your patience regardless, it's been fun to write in spite of all the hurdles and i can't wait to get all the screenshots together. look at him

[sickficideas]

dazai who regularly gets vertigo that sometimes eventually leads to migraines. he always tries to work through them, but sometimes it just gets too bad & he collapses. cue chuuya caretaking <3 (thinking mostly pm skk)

thank u for the delicious ask anon...dazai is not the only one suffering in this fic, there's so much suffering to go around teehee..

ao3! 4.5k words, sickfic - please refer to the link for additional tags!

you're a headache || skk sickfic

Dazai is hoping it's just the antiseptic smell. He doesn't want to think about the other possibilities.

He sits down on one of the cots as soon as the dizzy spell hits him. He's learned over the years that sitting down right away seems to mitigate some of the effects of his vertigo, but it's gotten worse over time, and it's getting more and more difficult to hide.

"You good?"

Chuuya's voice. Dazai almost forgot he was there with him. He was the one that carried Akutagawa all the way here. Dazai's secretly thankful for it, because he certainly wouldn't have been able to do it himself.

"I'm fine," Dazai groans. Chuuya stuffs his phone into a pocket as he slips back past the curtain, eyeing Akutagawa's unconscious form with far more concern than necessary, Dazai thinks. "Did you get ahold of them?"

"Yeah. They're sending someone over to come get him with our ambulance," Chuuya huffs, leaning against the wall opposite to Dazai. This isn't a good situation. Akutagawa's injuries are too severe for him to be treated long-term by the infirmary staff at headquarters, and he needs to be taken to their own emergency facility. Dazai can't quite tell where he's bleeding from at this point. His head and thigh injuries bled the most, but he has several broken ribs and a fractured collarbone that's jutting out of his skin. He's almost certain one of his arms are dislocated, and Dazai would have put it back in place himself if the kid's collarbone wasn't staring right back at him.

Unfortunately, even if his injuries weren’t this severe, he’s extremely uncooperative and requires sedation to be treated. The infirmary staff have refused to treat him even for minor things in the past.

Dazai sighs, dropping his head in his hands, not caring much about the dried blood that they're covered in. “Such a pain.”

"At least he stopped bleeding," Chuuya sighs.

Dazai nods.

He probably needs to tell Gin. Akutagawa was supposed to go home tonight, but he has a feeling that won't be for a while, now.

Dazai almost never sees Akutagawa’s injuries the moment they happen. He’s learned to use Rashomon to keep injuries quite literally under wraps, and he can stop his own bleeding pretty well if he has the focus for it, but not this time. He fainted as a result of the blood he lost before Dazai even realized he was injured. He has no idea how he managed to hide that collarbone injury.

He has a much higher pain tolerance than Dazai could ever dream of. Here he is, half a collarbone snapped off and poking out, and Dazai thinks he might start crying if this headache turns into a migraine like he's suspecting.

Dazai pulls out his phone to find Gin's contact. He considers texting her, but this is sort of urgent, so he hits the call button and presses the phone up to his ear. Chuuya tilts his head, and Dazai has to hold himself back on making a comment about him looking like a confused dog.

"Gin. Hey. Akutagawa got hurt pretty bad today. They're taking him up to the hospital at the Port for further treatment. I can text you the information when I get it," he says. Gin doesn't speak when she's working, so he doesn't expect a response. There's just silence for a moment before she hangs up, a simple acknowledgment that she heard him.

"Gin? That Black Lizard kid?" Chuuya asks.

"Mhm," Dazai asks, tossing his phone over to the end of the cot. Chuuya looks confused, but Dazai doesn't feel like explaining anything to him.

For a moment, Akutagawa's body tenses up and he clenches his teeth through a pained groan, but he stays unconscious. Chuuya's expression tenses up just the same.

"Go back to work," Dazai grumbles. He only asked Chuuya for help because he was nearby when Akutagawa passed out. He doesn't need him anymore.

Chuuya scoffs. "You go back to work."

"I can't. I have to make sure my dog doesn't kill anyone when he wakes up," Dazai drawls as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Stop calling him that, Dazai," he hisses.

"I'll call him whatever I want, Chuuya," Dazai groans. He doesn't have the energy to argue about meaningless things like this, but he will if it's Chuuya.

Chuuya, for some reason, doesn't seem to be so willing to leave. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a minute or so. Dazai isn't sure how long he's been working for, at this point. The bags under his eyes are telling enough. Regardless, he was there quickly enough when Dazai called to help him stop Akutagawa's bleeding.

"Why is he like that, anyway?"

"Like what?" Dazai groans, shooting a glare up at the latter. His voice sounds like metal grating on metal on Dazai's aching brain. He knows he's quickly developing a migraine - or, it's only hit him now that he has time to actually think.

"I saw him last time. Take that nurse's head off," Chuuya says. The memory sends a shiver up Dazai's spine. He's seen a lot of horrific things in his time in the mafia, but he's never seen a clean, instantaneous decapitation like that. Akutagawa is often heavily disoriented when he wakes up, especially when he's injured or ill, and that happened as a result.

Akutagawa didn't speak for two weeks after that happened, and Dazai could never seem right figure out why.

"He's from the slums," Dazai mumbles. His vision starts to list sideways as he straightens himself up, and he tries his best to hide any sign of his vertigo from Chuuya.

"Yeah?" Chuuya asks. He's starting to look irritated. "The fuck's that mean, Dazai? I'm from the slums too, asshole. What's that got to do with decapitating people for no reason?"

"I'm like, ninety-seven percent sure he was trafficked, so, more that sort of thing," Dazai says casually, not at all thrown off Chuuya's random defensive bite.

Chuuya loses some of the color in his face.

"Shit," he curses, letting out a shaky breath.

"I mean, I don't know for sure. I know he wouldn't tell me. But I'd say there's a good chance," Dazai shrugs. "Sure you saw your fair share of that."

Chuuya doesn't say anything, but he knows the answer. He thinks the two of them probably have a lot more in common than either of them realize.

"Maybe you could ask him, since you like him so much. He'd probably tell you," Dazai teases.

"What the hell is your problem? He can't stand anyone but you. He wouldn't tell me," Chuuya scoffs. "I wouldn't ask about something like that anyway, you freak. It's not my business."

Dazai has tuned him out at this point. He doesn't care much to hear Chuuya's defenses, he was really only doing it to get a rise out of him, but now he regrets it. Chuuya's voice is normally a cacophony in Dazai's ears, but now with his ever-present migraine, it's making him much more aware of the dull throbbing in the back of his head.

"Shut up, will you? You'll wake up my dog," Dazai groans, dropping his head back into his hands. Chuuya won't care if Dazai tells him the real reason, he's sure, but he's much more likely to comply for Akutagawa's sake, for some reason.

"Call him your dog one more time," Chuuya grumbles to himself, but Dazai ignores him.

It's silent again for a while. Dazai doesn't have much concept of how much time has passed, he's simply trying to will away his migraine, somehow. Chuuya refuses to leave. It might be a good thing. He can probably carry Akutagawa out once they arrive to pick him up. Dazai couldn't carry him even if he wanted to.

Then, of course, the nausea hits him.

"I'll be right back," Dazai grumbles. He figures he's probably not walking as straight as he thinks, but he's more worried about getting to the bathroom in time than hiding his vertigo from Chuuya, at this point. He pulls the curtain back and stumbles toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over his mouth just in case his stomach contents decide to make a reappearance before he can do it of his own free will.

He drops to his knees with a groan as soon as he closes the door behind him, and he lays his head on the toilet seat. His head is spinning so much that he can't see straight. He has no idea how he managed to get here so quickly. Muscle memory, his strong desire to get away from Chuuya, it's anyone's guess.

"Fuck," he groans, spitting his saliva into the water. So far, there's no sign of Chuuya following him over, not that Dazai is too aware of his surroundings right now anyway. He tries to turn his head to see if he can see anything from the space beneath the door, but everything suddenly turns on its side, and he chokes up a mouthful of vomit. The only sign he has that it landed in the toilet is the splash he hears - he can't see anything.

His brain feels like it's thumping against his skull, which is a sensation so nauseating that it makes everything else feel so much worse. He whines, much rather wishing someone would put him out of his misery. This surely isn't worth surviving.

Whatever forces itself out of his stomach next is strong enough for Dazai to consider it near projectile. He feels it coming out of his nose, which is only adding to the list of awful sensations he's feeling.

He whines to himself, not caring much about how pathetic he must sound. He spits up another mouthful of vomit with a wet burp.

“Hngh…”

He tries not to move his head too much, but he can't stay here for long. He reaches forward to flush, hardly with enough energy to. He's sure he'll have to go with them once they take Akutagawa just as a precaution, and they should be here any minute. He takes a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth and nose. His throat already burns so bad.

He has to use the toilet seat for support to get up, and he finds himself leaning heavily against the wall as he's hit with another bout of vertigo. He's lucky he already threw up, or else he's sure this bout would have made him vomit all over the tile floor.

He keeps a hand along the wall as he finds the door, and once he opens it, he has to lean on the bathroom door frame for support. He can't get away with hiding it, not now. If he tries, he'll pass out for sure.

Chuuya is glaring at him, an eyebrow raised. Dazai doesn't have any clue how long he's been out here.

"Did you just throw up?" Chuuya asks.

Dazai groans, pressing his forehead up against the frame. He wishes Chuuya were more like Akutagawa. He's trained the latter to be silent if he notices anything wrong with him, but Chuuya always has to point it out. Annoying.

"The hell's wrong with you, Dazai? You've been weird this whole time," Chuuya huffs. He takes a step forward, almost looking like he wants to approach him for some reason, but Dazai just turns his head back to the side. He feels awful.

"Nothing. Go away, slug."

And then it hits him again, as soon as he takes a step forward and loses the support of the door frame. It feels almost like one foot landed where it was supposed to, and the other somehow took a step on the wall, and now his head is rushing toward the floor.

Of course, Chuuya catches him before he can turn his migraine into a head injury.

Dazai makes no effort to move. He'd do anything to wriggle out of Chuuya's hold right now, but he's practically incapacitated right now, his eyes screwed shut in some attempt to get some control over what he's seeing.

"Dazai -"

"It's just this shitty vertigo," Dazai mumbles quietly, trying to peer his eyes open. "I'll be fine, just -"

Chuuya doesn't give him any room to defend himself. He scoops him up without a second of deliberation.

Dazai finds himself lying in one of the cots in no time at all, one in a closed room. He doesn't trust himself to open his eyes just yet, but he can tell it's dark in here. That usually helps. He probably should lie down for a while.

"Stay here and don't fucking get up," Chuuya huffs before he pulls the curtain closed, and Dazai covers his ears a bit too late, the metal rings sliding along the pole proving to be a bit too much for him. He's not sure why Chuuya was in such a rush to leave, but he hears his phone ringing off in the distance. They must be here to get Akutagawa.

Dazai curls up on his side, taking the pillow and holding it over his head to dull his senses some. It still feels like he's cascading down a waterfall inside of a wooden barrel, but now that he thinks about it, he'd rather actually be doing that. At least he has death to look forward to at the end. This is just pointless suffering.

He hears something. He's not sure what. Something falling against the tile, some sort of a struggle.

"Hey. You're okay. You're in the infirmary, at headquarters," he hears Chuuya say sternly. "Dazai's right in there. He fell asleep."

Dazai can't even remotely muster the energy to get up. Akutagawa's awake, and he's not there to negate his ability.

Get away from him, he wants to say. Akutagawa's true intentions don't matter, the fact is he could easily kill Chuuya in those first blinded moments before he realizes where he is.

But he doesn't hear anything. He doesn't hear any kind of struggle at all, not past that first bit.

Dazai scoffs to himself. Of course he's fine with Chuuya. Of course Chuuya can handle himself.

And then he hears it again. Some kind of struggle.

He forces his head up off the bed, which proves to be a massive mistake. His head swims and rolls off his shoulders, it feels like, reminding him how horribly nauseous he is, and he leans over the side of the cot to try to vomit on the floor, but he's greatly misinterpreted how far off the cot he leaned because of the vertigo, and his whole body tumbles to the floor.

He doesn't have the energy to even lift his head to vomit. Whatever he manages to choke out just slides off of his tongue and spreads on the floor next to his face.

He'd rather be blackout drunk than this.

…

"Dazai," Chuuya mumbles. He hates how concerned he sounds. He doesn't often let himself be read like that.

"I'm fine," Dazai barely manages to croak out, but he's not really sure where he is. He thinks he might be back in that same bed, which means Chuuya moved him from where he was, laying in his own vomit.

It's still dark. Dazai is lying on his back, feeling significantly less dizzy, but now he's met with what feels like the worst migraine of his life, pounding through his skull like there's no tomorrow. He whines, grabbing a fistful of the sheets he's lying on for some kind of distraction.

He feels something damp press against his cheek, and he manages to open an eye to see it's still only Chuuya, rubbing a washcloth on the side of his face. Dazai groans and tries to turn his head away. He realizes there's a washcloth laid over his forehead, too. He doesn't think he has a fever, but it does feel nice.

"Cut it out. Trying to clean your face up," Chuuya grumbles, his free hand taking Dazai's chin to turn his head back in his direction. "What the hell even happened, Dazai? I come back and you're passed out on the floor and laying in your own puke?"

"'M fine," Dazai mumbles. He's exhausted. He can't have been passed out for long.

"No you're not. This isn't normal," Chuuya huffs. His brow furrows.

"'s just a migraine," he says quietly, but he can hardly speak. His voice rattling around in his brain is making his already insanely painful headache worse. He wants to tell Chuuya it's not a big deal. He gets these all the time, they're just bad for the first few hours and then he's okay, but he can't get the words out.

Chuuya, somehow, seems to realize this.

"You should've fuckin' said so," he whispers with a click of his tongue, somehow already understanding that other voices are making it worse.

Dazai's eyes fall shut. He's grateful for it being so quiet in the infirmary tonight. He didn't see a single member of the staff so far, or any patients. Now it's just him and Chuuya.

He hears something click, and realizes Chuuya has shut off the lights in the main hall of the infirmary, too. It's almost completely dark, aside from the emergency light just barely peeking past the curtain.

"I'll come back later. Gonna report to the boss," Chuuya whispers.

There's blood on Chuuya's face. Dazai can trace the faint outline of it, but he disappears before Dazai can figure out where it's coming from. This time, not a single ring of the curtain moves on the metal bar. It's a silent exit. Dazai's impressed.

He lets go of a shaky sigh.

…

"I'm not gonna move him."

Chuuya's voice wakes him. Dazai groans, beyond annoyed to have any voice wake him up - let alone Chuuya - until he manages to remember where he is.

"He's not injured. Just leave 'im. I've got it covered," Chuuya says.

Dazai hears the hushed voices of some nurses, and as he pries his eyes open, he realizes the lights in the main hall of the infirmary are on again, spilling into the dark room he's been resting in. He wonders how long it's been. He hasn't had time to properly rest in a few weeks, at the very least, so he's lost track of time.

The nurses' voices have stopped, and Dazai hears Chuuya's footsteps.

He's still very quiet. Dazai can only hear the fabric ruffle when Chuuya slips past the curtain, and Dazai lets himself fall still again, pretending to still be asleep. He doesn't hear a sound from Chuuya at first, but soon enough, he lets out a deep sigh, and it sounds like he slides down against the wall, opposite to the curtain.

Dazai turns his head just enough that he'll be able to see Chuuya's face.

He looks exhausted. If Dazai had really just woken up, he would have thought Chuuya was dead asleep, the way his head is hanging down. For just a second, Dazai feels something akin to guilt. The blood Dazai remembered from earlier has since dried and cracked against his skin, and his skin is pale, but Dazai isn’t sure why.

"Sleeping on the floor's not good for you, Chibi," Dazai teases, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper.

"Fucking hell, Dazai," Chuuya growls, obviously startled, his eyes wide and fixed on Dazai. If Dazai had been any louder, he might've hit his head on the wall from the surprise, "I thought you were asleep, dammit."

"I was, but your annoying voice woke me," Dazai complains with an overdramatic sigh, laying his forearm over his eyes.

"How's your head?" Chuuya asks, evidently not interested in Dazai's taunts. He uses support from the wall to help himself get up, or rather, struggle to, and Dazai hears a quiet groan from him. He’s holding a hand against his abdomen, just for a moment.

"Worse now that you're here," Dazai mumbles under his breath, turning over on the cot. He's still not a huge fan of the lights.

"Seriously, you ugly fuckin' mackerel. Do you feel better or not?" Chuuya groans.

"A little," he admits. It's not nearly as awful as it was before. He can handle the sound of his own voice, at least. The headache is still present, and he's not sure he wants to test his luck with the vertigo and try to sit up, but he's better for now.

Dazai moves his hand back down to his side, and finds a damp washcloth beside his pillow, likely replaced at some point during his sleep. He tosses it over to Chuuya, who doesn't react nearly as quickly as he shoulder.

"You demanding motherfu-"

"Wash your face," Dazai huffs, "unsightly. What kind of executive are you?"

He's teasing, of course, but Chuuya doesn't seem to understand what he's referring to. Normally, Chuuya wouldn't dream of using something to wash his face that's already touched Dazai, but he wipes his cheek and checks the cloth, surprised to find blood.

"Oh, that's…" Chuuya mumbles to himself. He sits down on the cot.

"Akutagawa?" Dazai asks.

"He was scared," Chuuya murmurs, of course, right away to Akutagawa's defense. His fingers graze across the dried cut on his forehead. "You…you need to be more gentle with him."

Chuuya's words are lost to him. He's more concerned with the way Chuuya's looking right now, like he'd pass out any second. He's seen his head bob forward a few times now.

"Lay down," Dazai mumbles. Chuuya meets his gaze for a few moments. Dazai expects him to argue, but he thinks he's so exhausted that he doesn't even give himself a second to think of any retort. He just lays on his side at the end of the bed and curls up, like a cat. Dazai's noticed he often sleeps like that. It almost seems defensive.

"You piss me off," Chuuya murmurs, his voice already heavy with sleep, whispered. Dazai watches all the tension leave his body, but he keeps his gaze on Dazai for as long as he can, before another force makes his eyelids fall shut.

"Yeah, yeah," Dazai whispers, watching Chuuya as he starts to fall asleep.

Only a few moments later, a nurse peaks her head in through the curtains, not as careful to avoid the metal scraping as Chuuya was. Dazai grits his teeth at the sound, but he turns his head, an eyebrow raised at the woman.

"Is he asleep?" she asks so quietly Dazai can hardly hear her. There's one or two more nurses behind her. Dazai just nods, thinking it was obvious enough. "We've been trying to get him to rest all morning."

"All morning?" Dazai asks.

"Yes, he's been in here with you the whole time…he refused to rest," she says. "Please let us know if you need something, sir."

"Turn the lights back off out there, will you?" Dazai sighs, and the nurse nods fervently, disappearing past the curtains. Dazai sighs, long and annoyed, and plans on shutting his eyes and going back to sleep before he feels something warm under the heel of his foot.

At first, he’s inclined to make a joke, but all of the little things he’s noticed have come together to make him realize that Chuuya’s blood is soaking the mattress, and he’s still unconscious. Dazai forces himself to sit up to get a better look at him, and his head swims, proving he’s still not completely recovered from his migraine.

“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out. He grabs his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.

Dazai shouts for a nurse.

…

Chuuya’s color is finally starting to come back. Dazai takes note of that. It’s a good sign, even though he’s still fast asleep.

The nurses aren’t too worried about him not waking up. The wound on his abdomen bled a lot, and they’re a bit worried about infection, but at the moment they say it’s nothing he needs a hospital visit for.

Evidently, it was an injury caused by Akutagawa, but Dazai is at a loss for why Chuuya refused to tell anyone, let alone get it treated. He’s sure Chuuya has his own noble bullshit reason for it, something Dazai could never even dream of understanding.

“Can’t you ever just let me suffer by myself?” Dazai grumbles, his head on a pillow beside Chuuya’s. He doesn’t expect Chuuya to answer, but he hopes he subconsciously absorbs the message.

“Fuck you,” Chuuya mutters, his eyes still shut. Dazai didn’t realize that he woke up. His voice is hoarse and heavy with sleep. “Can you shut up? My head hurts.”

“Boo hoo,” Dazai huffs. He manages to fish a free hand out from under the sheets to flick Chuuya in the forehead. Chuuya groans, snatching the sheet they’re both under and pulling it over his head.

“How’s yours,” Chuuya mumbles from under the sheet.

“My what?”

“Your head. Moron,” he huffs.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, slug,” Dazai tells him, taking the sheet back so he can see his face. Chuuya’s glaring at him. “Stop worrying about me so much. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird. Ugh,” Chuuya grumbles, tucking his head back into the pillow. “Tell me the next time something’s wrong with you, freak. I don’t wanna find you passed out in your own puke again.”

“And I don’t want you bleeding out in the be I’m laying in again, chibi. Take your own dumb advice,” Dazai groans.

“It was deeper than I thought,” Chuuya mumbles defensively. Dazai knows it was much more complicated than that, but he won’t press for more details. Chuuya’s thought process is a mystery to him, and he’d like to keep it that way. “Dazai?”

“What, slug?” Dazai groans.

“I was trafficked too,” Chuuya mumbles. It’s much quieter than everything else he’s said, and any anger or annoyance has long since left his expression.

“I figured,” Dazai says back quietly. His chest tightens up, and he’s not sure why. He knows how common that sort of thing is in the slums, it doesn’t surprise him at all that that’s something Chuuya went through, but he’s at a loss for why Chuuya’s deciding to tell him.

“Waking up and not knowing where you are’s fucking scary,” Chuuya grumbles. “I don’t…I don’t blame Akutagawa for freaking out.”

“Never said I did, Chuuya,” Dazai reminds him. He recalls simply answering Chuuya’s question as to why Akutagawa reacts the way that he does.

“So don’t punish him. It’s not his fault,” Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai sighs. That’s what he’s getting at, then. “I won’t.”

Chuuya relaxes, just a bit, and only then Dazai realizes how tense he was.

“Will you go to sleep now?” Dazai huffs, trying to force some sort of annoyed tone to get Chuuya to comply, but he’s already halfway there. The exhaustion takes over him one more time. Chuuya’s always been one to fall asleep quickly.

Dazai brushes some of Chuuya’s overgrown bangs from his eyes. He really doesn't want to know how all of this would have gone if Chuuya wasn’t there - between Akutagawa’s injuries and Dazai being nearly completely incapacitated from his migraine, Chuuya took care of it all, and completely neglected himself in the process.

He’s far too selfless. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it.

[dragon-communion]

I'm trying to figure out how saint veneration in the Catholic church works for Elden Ring fanfic reasons, and it is incredibly difficult to find relevant information. I get that it's the equivalent of phoning a friend for help getting the manager's attention, but like. How does it actually work. I'm a polytheist, but I've been told it's not polytheism, so what do they even do? Do people bake cookies for saints? I heard about someone shutting their saint icon in the freezer for being uncooperative and that's wild to me.

Elden Ring is extremely Shinto flavored anyway, so it may or may not be relevant, but I'm curious.

[alabasterpickles]

I always wondered what a quarrel between Hades and Persephone would look like. What's your version of it? 🤔

Love your art, it helped me start writing my own fic of them! (Not of *your* Persephone ofc haha)

It’s midnight so let’s answer some asks —

I am trying to make my Persephone kind of… visually misleading? If that makes sense. She comes off as being really down-to-earth, easy going, fairly non-combative but in reality she’s actually a really difficult person to get along with. Not to say she’s unpleasant or unkind, because she is deeply loving and empathetic and just wants to do what’s right by everyone, but she’s also extremely stubborn and self-assured; she hates following the rules and being boxed in by expectations, labels etc… she’s the quintessential free spirit and she likes her autonomy. The rest of the Olympians don’t get her — bluster and superficiality contest with her natural state of being.

All that being said, she is also difficult to rile up so in order for Hades and Persephone to fight he’d have to do something pretty serious or conversely she’d have to make him feel cornered in some way — she’s not explosive like he is, she simmers and then inevitably boils over.

When they do get into it, she just clams all the way up. She becomes an obstinate, uncooperative pain, because typically if she gets to that point, she feels justified in her anger. It’s like yelling at a brick wall.

I feel like she’d frustrate him too in her immovability which might cause tension, depending on the situation. So it’s definitely two sided. But at the end of the day, the traits work both ways and Persephone is mulish when it comes to love, too — she’s loyal, consistent and honest about her feelings/intentions. Hades appreciates and respects that given how unpalatable he is to most Olympians. He’s been lied to, put down, the butt of the joke his whole life, I feel like her honesty and steadfastness, however challenging to deal with, would be refreshing to him.

Hades is quick to recover too, we see that in the movie — he blows up and then he’s good and I can definitely see him being the first to apologize, consistently, in their relationship. I think what it boils down to is, they’re the only ones that’ll tolerate eachother’s quirks, so it all evens out.

I have two or three interactions like this boarded out in comic form but who knows when I’ll get around to finishing them 😂 I hope my explanation is good enough!!

Thank you so much!! And also — that’s fantastic!! It’s always such a pleasure to hear that my work is inspiring others to make stuff too!! Keep it up and when it’s written send it over!

[huamea]

— ° 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐢𝐯𝐲

› belphegor x f!reader (you/yours)

› cw: sleep deprivation + associated symptoms, dream encounter, thigh riding, biting, fingering, mirror sex, spit, fingers in throat

› wc: 1.6k

› synopsis: a certain demon has plagued you with late night visits since your early adulthood, giving rise to resentment as he continually interferes in your life from your dreams. But is he really all that bad, or is he just trying to show you the desires you deny yourself?

Saying you hated him was perhaps a little extreme, some part of you felt oddly connected to the devil that had sunk his fingers into your mind over the years. Difficult to not form some connection, even one of spite, with someone you see so frequently.

Not that you physically see him, no that would be too easy to deal with. This one afflicts you in your dreamscape, a much crueler form of connection. You weren't sure when it really began, perhaps he'd been there all the while and you'd only grown to truly see him as you aged. Though, that may just be a small paranoid part of you speaking.

Still, his meddling has undoubtedly impacted your life in negative ways. Unable to feel rested no matter how much you slept, the constant fogginess, and the persistent nausea from lack of sleep had left you nearly ruined.

Tonight was no different, opening your eyes to a dreamy copy of your bedroom and feeling the chill in your bones knowing he was perched on the sill of the open window.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Ouch, hostile tonight?" His playful tone made your teeth clench. "Did I catch you on a bad day?"

Heavy footsteps brought him to your bedside, making you rise propped on your elbows to glare up into his deep violet eyes and resenting the mirth you saw in them.

"Every day I see you is a bad one," you hiss, "can't I have one night to myself?"

"You know, there's easier wishes to grant... I just can't help myself with you." His careless attitude made you deflate quickly, instead training your eyes on the wall as you felt the mattress dip with his weight beside you.

"I'm going to figure out how to get rid of you," you mutter more to yourself than your unwelcome guest.

He's quick to take advantage of your momentary distraction, slipping one arm behind your back and lightly pushing you down onto the mattress, forcing your back to arch while the other hand wrestles your wrists into a firm hold. Anger superheated your blood and caused you to nearly bare your teeth up at him.

"What am I supposed to do with you, hm? You're so uncooperative." His statement was punctuated by the way he leaned over you, your noses millimeters apart.

"You won't do anything with me unless I want to," your voice wobbled in a strange way, making you even more embarrassed by the easy way he'd brought you to this position.

He scoffed, "of course not, what kind of demon do you take me for? But how about a little proposition, I know I can relieve some of your stress without even touching you," his eyes glimmered as his voice took on a softer tone.

You hated that you were honestly considering it, but it's not like you were as disgusted by him as you pretended to be. If he weren't such a pain you'd be able to acknowledge his objective attractiveness. It would be easier without him touching you though...

"No hands and no fingers? If you're lying to me-"

"Cross my heart," he interjected cheekily.

Gingerly he guided you back up, before switching your positions and leaning back against the pillows and lightly patting his thigh; smirking all the while like the cat who got the cream.

Oh you bastard.

Your movements were jerky and leaking trepidation as you straddled his thigh, heat rising furiously beneath your skin in humiliation. That feeling mounted as your crotch rubbed lightly against him, already feeling embarrassingly aroused by the action.

But you couldn't help it, with how perpetually exhausted you've been the only hands on your body lately have been your own. Timidly you moved your hips again, desperately trying to keep your eyes off his face as your hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt. That didn't stop you from catching his flexing hands in your peripheral, biting your lip in a small sense of satisfaction that clearly not being able to touch you was difficult for him.

As your confidence grew any lingering concern over what you were doing became distant in your mind, your movements were bordering on frantic as you chased the sparks of pleasure from the friction of your underwear rubbing against your throbbing clit and making your cunt spasm.

Your throaty groans and Belphegors soft hums of approval filled the room as your wide eyes settled on the growing erection in his pants and shivered from the way his hungry gaze was practically burning a hole through you.

"Look at you," he rasped out, "where'd all that bite go?"

Smirking you didn't dignify a response, opting to grab his shoulders and lean in against his neck. It was fitting the tables turned and you get to be the torturer, licking a long stripe up his throat and listening to his sharp intake of breath as your teeth lightly sunk into his flesh.

Before his hands could make contact with your body, you anticipated his snapping resolve and pushed yourself away from him, nearly gasping from the abrupt lack of sensation.

"You said you wouldn't touch me-"

"You don't want me to touch you?"

You froze, any response drying up like a rain starved stream as your thoughts seemingly short circuited. Did you really not want him to touch you... The question flip flopped in your head from one extreme to another.

"If you can look me in my eyes and say you don't want me to touch you I'll leave you alone forever," he whispered.

Suddenly it was impossible to speak altogether, any rational part of your mind that would weep in joy at the idea of getting peace back was warring with the part that craved a continuation of your momentary pleasure.

"Use your fingers this time," the words came out breathy, "please." The urge to hide from the humiliation of giving in was drowned by your lust, nevermind the consequences of your choice.

In a rush of clumsy desire you both reposition, Belphie getting you sat between his legs with your own spread wide in front of the standing mirror at the foot of your bed leaned on the wall. You almost don't recognize yourself, all lust blown eyes and disheveled pajamas.

"I want you to watch, remember every little sound I pull from you. Every expression you make. Don't close your eyes," he whispered against the shell of your ear, but it was difficult to process his words when you could feel his erection pressing against your ass.

Slowly his hand traveled downward, massaging your clothed breast, teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts before slipping past them and letting his fingers brush against your clit to make you jolt. His other hand came to caress beneath your jaw, sliding his index against your lips to demand you open your mouth.

You obliged, a whine that he tugged out of you with another brush to your clit was muffled as fingers stuffed your throat. Your eyes rolled back feeling him apply firmer pressure to your now aching clit, circling it and alternating the stimulation. It made your head spin and your hips buck pathetically into the palm of his hand, garbled moans cut into the tension as saliva trailed down through his fingers to drop on to your chest.

What you saw in the mirror sent a feeling similar to electric shocks through your nerves. Fingers stuffed into your mouth, the shiny drool sliding down his hand, the wet splotches on your shirt and his hand furiously working inside your shorts. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

His pace slowed, prompting more jumbled noises to burst between his fingers as your hips impatient wiggled against his hand to chase your high.

"Say you want me, maybe I'll let you cum," he teased, tongue sliding over your earlobe to make you shiver as his fingers pulled past your lips.

Without being stretched the skin of your lips was now throbbing in their relaxed position, making speech feel impossible.

Still you forced it out, watching the grin stretch his lips with each syllable.

"I want you- I need you-"

Before you could finish two fingers slid lightly inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit making your plea dissolve into a squeal. He'd tipped you past the point of no return, you opened the door and ushered him inside.

You arched against his chest as his fingers scissored and stretched to hit those spots that made your vision turn to television static, coupled with the steady pressure on your clit it felt like someone released a high pressure spring inside your abdomen.

Within seconds you'd disobeyed his command, unable to help closing your eyes and throwing your head back against his shoulder as the wave of ecstasy crested, feeling the bed become soaked beneath your ass and you unabashedly squirmed in his hold and rode out the high of your orgasm.

Your thighs continued to shake even after he pulled his hand away from your spasming cunt, sighing contentedly as your body slumped back against his.

"I can't believe we did that," you spoke softly, voice small.

He placed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, fingers stroking your cheek.

"We can do that as much as you want," his words were muffled against your head, "I tried to tell you it wasn't a bad thing having me around."

You rolled your eyes halfheartedly as you allowed yourself to relax further in his arms. Maybe he was right, and it would be nice to look forward to sleeping again. Perhaps you didn't want to get rid of him after all...

[eternitas]

Unseen Varia - Profiles

Nono Giuseppi

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2322721

Basic Info:

Full Name: Nono Giuseppi

Nickname: none, nobody dares

Age: 27 / 37 (TYL)

Birthday: REDACTED

Gender/Pronouns: cis male, he/him

Sexuality: undisclosed

Ethnicity: italian

Height: 178cm

Flametype: Sun, Lightning, minor Rain

Weapon of Choice: Scalpel

Affiliation: Varia, Medical Station

Position: Head of Medical Station, Medical supervisor, Special officer for medicine and healing

Strengths: vast knowledge of medicine and medicinal procedures, quick reactions and reflexes, precise, toxicology, poison resistance

Weaknesses: coleric, uncooperative, unhelpful unless he believes you have justifiable injury and illness

Character Summary:

Nono is his own menace and notorious for it in the Varia. While the officers are already fickle and strong to back it up and shut you down, Nono is all that and more. Despite his incredible skill as a medic, he is absolutely terrifying and has no bedside manners. He instills fear of himself to incentivise people to look out for their own health a bit more. He seems to always be in a foul mood, never seen smiling or other. He also never talks about his own past or life, living at the medical station and doing... something. People avoid going to see Nono unless it is absolutely necesarry and he will use the time you are in care to tell you how stupid you were for endangering yourself unnecesarily. People did die because of his refusal of care so he is not exactly taking his oath too serious.

Background:

Not much is known about Nonos background. He never talks about it, but there are many many rumors about it. So most of this section is Character specific spoilers.

Nono was born to a mother that was extremely poor and in need of money. The pregnancy had been unwanted and so she eventually sold him to some people who offered her a substantial amount of money. He was raised in a bunker where he was experimented on, his emotional development stunting and his body going through many different changes over the years. At age 8 the biggest change and transformation was brought upon him. His body was altered to become vampiresque. It was molded to sustain itself on poison, so that from then moving forward he was required to either intake it through drinking or injecting poison directly into himself every day. His body became completely immune to any form of poison, with minor sideeffects like heartburn or a headache. At age 12 the facility was raided and destroyed by tha Varia where Tyr and Zarria found him and took him with them. It was a bit difficult since they did not know of the poison he needed to take but the back then Medical officer Catlena quickly managed to find the source of his unwellness and saved his life.

Nono from then on grew up at the Varia, as Catlenas apprentice until she decided to leave when Tyr died. Since then she has not been seen anymore. Nono became the Varias new head of the medical station and had adopted a lot of his teachers personality quirks, while he continued to inject himself with poison every morning.

When Nono was 20 he met Shamal for the first time, having sought him out to get some form of tratment from him. While the survival chance was just 2.3% Nono wanted to still risk a treatment, but Shamal refused any and all help, which festered in Nono a deep hatred for the doctor that even today he still wants to kill him whenever he lays eyes on the man.

Fighting Style

Nono is not a fighter. When he can he will trick his opponent into drinking poison by offering two vials with liquid, one of which holds just water or syrup and the other a deadly poison. In truth both are filled with poison, because Nono would not die from drinking it. When he is forced into combat, Nono will use his scalpel and several injections of toxins.

Trivia

Unbeknownst to Nono the reason why Shamal refused him care was because his mentor Catlena had vowed him to never try a treatment on Nono. Despite his circumstances being dire he can still survive with it while a treatment is not just risky but might do his already altered body more harm than good

Nono only treats wounds and injuries he sees as legitimate, such as from ambushes or enemy attacks. If you got hurt during training or were stupid enough to pick a fight with someone stronger than you you were tough out of luck

It is only known that Nono is very resistant to poison. Not many know that he injects himself or that he can suck poison out like a vampire.

Since Nonos mental stability is ... not the best, it adds to people avoiding and outright being afraid of approaching him for anything.

Nono and Zarria both share the mutual melancholy and grief of having been in the Varia before Tyr died. it's why in general they are a lot more soft with each other

He eats most fruits with their skin.

It is a standart praxis to refer to the Vongola Ninth as Vongola Nono, to differentiate between him and their local Nono.

Nono has been asked repeatedly by "other members" to dismember passed members and sell or even store their organs and limbs, but Nono refuses each time. Whoever dies in his medical station is his property and he will do what he wants with it and if that is cremating them he will do just that

Nono lives at the Medical station. This also means that he sleeps in his office.

[magicalbats]

how do you get out of a bad writers block?? and what inspired u to get back into writing after ur hiatus?

Oof, I’m ngl that’s a bit of a difficult question for me to answer xmdkxkdnd for me at least, I wanted to write pretty much the entire time during my hiatus but I just couldn’t get my brain to function through the ✨ depression fog ✨ and even just opening up a word doc to force myself to write two sentences was extremely draining. My mental headspace just was not there. So what I did a lot of was read books.

I think I’ve read something like almost 60 books this year of different genres and topics - four out of five novels for the Court of Thorns and Roses series, Carrie by Stephen King, some old (really old xmxmdnd) Harlequin romance novels, a folk horror anthology, like six entries from the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series, etc, etc - and that helped me get back into the mindset of creative thinking. I found inspiration in these works, ideas I wanted to explore, things that left me disappointed with their execution and wanting to do better, and I sort of relearned how to string a narrative together in the process. Then I started reading over some of my old WIPs. In some of them I saw real potential and was even occasionally surprised by my own writing abilities when juxtaposed against all those published novels I’ve read. I’d think to myself “oh, this actually isn’t half bad?” And that would make me want to finish that piece or rework it with things I’ve learned in the interim.

One of the very first things I wrote and completed was that Itto x reader x Gorou kinktober fic. I saw the prompt, had the inspiration and impulsively jotted everything down. When I was finished and I read it over I felt GOOD. Proud of myself for actually completing something from scratch. I thought “hey, maybe I could do another one of these” and then proceeded to write Scara’s (which I’m actually very proud of tbh cmdmxm) and from there it was really just a matter of keeping that momentum going. In particular I think writing them for myself at that point, thinking I might post them some day when I was feeling brave enough to come out of hiding and just enjoying the satisfaction of writing again in the meantime, was what really helped me find my confidence again. It kind of took some of the pressure off of having people perceive me and my work dmdmdmd and I was able to sort of let everything flow organically as a result without worrying about how terrible or messy it was. A lot of this was very spur of the moment and idk if it will actually help you anon but in my case these were the things that helped me kick my extremely uncooperative brain back into gear lol

So the TL;DR of it would probably be to read other stuff. Pay attention to what you like, what you don’t, what makes you excited, sad, horny, happy, grossed out, etc and basically expose yourself to different kinds of writing styles and topics. I’ve read some pretty terrible books over the last year and some amazing ones too, and each one taught me something, even if it was not to do a thing haha. When you revisit your own works approach it like it belongs to one of those other authors, look at it objectively and sort of remove yourself from the equation. I’d say a big part of getting over writers block is just tricking your brain out of it tbh. 🤣 Like I said idk if any of this is helpful but I believe in you, anon! I am cheering for you and I know we’ll get through this together!

[phregnancy]

Hi. I know you said you don't usually respond to asks of this nature, but I just wanted to add to the interruption discourse even if you don't publish this.

I would like to push back on the idea that chronic interrupting is always rude and easy to just stop or work out in therapy (Also, if this is not what you were saying, I'm sorry :3). I'm not saying this is the case for Dan, but often times this behavior is because of neurodivergence or a genuine disability. If you have poor vision, hearing issues, auditory processing issues, social skill issues, etc. it can often be genuinely difficult to tell when someone is done talking (even when you are actively listening to them to the best of your ability.) Furthermore, just because we see someone frequently interrupting others, doesn't mean they are not actively working to communicate better; these things often take time.

Furthermore, what is or isn't considered rude is dependent on context and culture. Conversational styles that include interrupting, cooperative overlapping, are not considered rude in many cultures and situations.

All that being said, I do think constantly interrupting someone and then disregarding their frustrations (like rolling your eyes when they call you out lol) is rude and uncooperative because people with different communication styles who want to have a relationship with each other should be making a conscious effort to consider each others needs, abilities and feelings.

Again, this is not to defend Dan's interruptions specifically or say that interrupting is never rude, but more so just point out that interrupting is not always considered rude, and not interrupting can be genuinely difficult to just stop doing for many people. Of course, this doesn't mean people who are bothered by interrupters are wrong (or ableist, or culturally insensitive etc.) or shouldn't point out the behavior. In fact, the best way to help accommodate an interrupter is to just let them know they are doing the thing again, and if they care about your relationship they should be receptive.

Anyway, thank you for reading all that if you did. I really appreciate it. And if you didn't... you're real for that lol.

the issue i’m having with all of these asks i’ve received is that people are talking to me like i do not understand what it’s like to be neglected by my family (as multiple people have given that as a reason for why dan behaves like this, which is why i said he should work this out in therapy if people are saying its a trauma response) and that i’m not neurodivergent, when i am autistic and i do very well know what it’s like to experience severe and extreme neglect over a long period of time. also talking at me using things as excuses, when really there is no excuse. they explain why someone might talk over people and interrupt, but ultimately it is still on us to make the effort when people are communicating to us that this is an issue. and it is our loved ones responsibilities to openly and directly communicate and show us grace as we make efforts, so there is no building resentment or confusion as to what the problem is or what their feelings are. communication, respect, and effort are the key components. also i am overly familiar with cultural differences, i come from a culture where everyone is talking over each other constantly and that is the norm. that is not the issue - the issue is when someone is unhappy and has communicated to you that you talking over them is a problem, or you are broadly aware of how this is viewed as a problem that you have inflicted upon people, and you do not take that seriously and try to excuse it. we all have personal responsibilities to ourselves and to each other, and a british allistic (as he proudly stated recently) man continuing a behavior he has been told someone doesn’t like and has rolled his eyes over in the past is bad. that’s it. i do not have anything more to contribute to this conversation.

[starsweetiie]

❝ Helloo~ Name's %̷̛͕̟̭̙̐̕*̷̻̰̃̓̀#̸̼̭̦͋̍!̵̘̑͜@̷̦̌̓͒́ͅ?̴̪̤͖̄! ... Oops-! I mean, you can call me, Blue~ ❞

Sinner No. ?? - %*#@? (alias: Blue)

Particulars: Deceitful, Lascivious, Antagonistic, Morbid Color: Forgotten Blue - #00DDFF Literary Source: The Uncanny Base E.G.O.: Familiarly Unfamiliar

A Sinner possessing the unnatural ability to change shape at will and cause fear and confusion in most living entities. Though they are quite strong and smart, they are also dangerously uncooperative and destructive. It is suggested that managers and sinners alike take extra precautions when in close quarters with them.

[CAUTION]: This Sinner is noted to cause periods of unshakable discomfort or dread in those around them. Having other team members spend occasional time out of view of them is highly recommended. [WARNING]: Due to this Sinner's unusual nature, they will also exhibit signs of corrosion during elevated mental states and may stay corroded for longer than normal.

More details under the cut!

Extended info:

Previous Work: Black Market dealer, Informant, H-Corp Hive Member Current Affiliation: Limbus Company Weapon: None (Shapeshifts)

Gender: Fluid (he/she/they) (most company records refer to him by "they") Age: ?? (estimates are 30+) Height: 165 cm, 5'5” (changes frequently) Birthday: July 15

This Sinner is considered a jack-of-all-trades and is passably competent at a wide expanse of tasks from machine repair to espionage to assassination. If no better choice is otherwise available, it would be suggested to rely on them for even the more unusual of tasks.

Please note that it is very difficult to make them do anything outside their usual scope or work without immediate compensation, so we suggest managers keep a handful of sweets on them to avoid any issues of payment.

IMPORTANT NOTES:

DESIGN

His clothing tears whenever he shifts, so he sews them back together until they are 100% unusable and basically in tatters. There are often stitches all over his clothes. The only piece of specialty clothing he has (that changes with him) is his ribbon. As such, when shifted he always has his ribbon or a ribbon-like mark on him somewhere. His Company jacket is extremely oversized. He doesn't wear it in fights and instead uses it to cover himself after battle if his clothes are wrecked. It also does not have his name on it as no one could read it anyways.

SHIFTING 

Can only change into life-like beings or creature-like abnormalities. If it is something that has inanimate parts, he can only imitate the living parts - (i.e: when changing to Alleyway Watchdog, he can imitate the wolf but not the poles. or technically he can but they would be gross and fleshy) He can chimera himself into a mix of things as well. He has had several aliases in his years. His most infamous identities are that of: > The Sandman: a violent aggressor who appeared for some time in the backstreets of several districts and stole people’s eyes during the Backstreet Nights. > The Raven: Literally just a raven, but unusually large and distinguished by a blood-red marking by its left eye. It is rumored in some backstreets to be a sign of ill omen and speaks to the doomed in tongues and curses. He does not forcefully revert back to his usual form even if he is knocked unconscious or killed. The form he usually uses is not the one he was born with and no one really knows what he looks like.

OTHER

As noted, spending long periods of time around him can affect people's sanity. Most will eventually have delusions of seeing him taking creepily disturbing forms or saying variously upsetting things (usually differs by person's perception). Quite frankly, though, for those that spend a lot of time with him, it's not much different from what he normally does but he gets very upset when he notices it happening nonetheless Has had previous trouble with I-Corp who took away his name as punishment. Due to this his name can’t be heard, seen or said by most others. According to him, it is extremely painful to change forms and hearing things break or snap while he does is quote normal. He does it very frequently regardless and has developed a very extreme pain tolerance as a result.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 28: “You’re Safe Now” (Twilight/Wolfie, Wild, & Four)

Ao3 link

Continuation of day 16

Cw for blood and injury

————————

Twilight picks up the scent relatively quickly.

It hasn’t grown old yet, and for that, he’s infinitely grateful. The more time goes by, the fainter it will become. And they don’t have time for him to try and trace barely-there wisps. Especially once they begin to intertwine with the countless other smells wafting along the road and through Castle Town.

Four doesn’t have time for that.

Still, it’s slower going than he’d like it to be. His arm—well, now that he’s a wolf again, his leg—is stiff and painful, almost entirely uncooperative. His body aches, every movement exacerbating wounds not yet healed, and his mind begs to be allowed to return to the blessed release of slumber.

Later. He tells himself as he limps forward, nose pressed stubbornly to the ground. Once you’ve found Four.

They follow the back roads of Castle Town, winding their way through the shadowy passages and past stalls packed with all sorts of goods. Shopkeepers call to Wild, beckoning him to peruse their wares; bottles of poe spirits and potions and miserable-looking fairies are shoved in their faces, along with promises of infinite health and stamina, or good luck; grubby, little children run past, holding up disconcerting masks and pestering them with questions and requests.

“Why don’t you buy this one, mister? It lets you stay awake for hours.”

“How about this one? Isn’t it cool? It makes animals follow you!”

“Why don’t you want them, mister? Why?”

“Well, no one here is gonna question your presence,” Wild says, sounding annoyed.

And he’s right, they don’t question his presence. But they don’t particularly enjoy it either. A low growl is all it takes to send them skittering away.

He’s immeasurably glad of that fact. The sights and smells and sounds all press down on him, amplified by his heightened senses. On a normal day they would be just on the edge of too much but combined with the pain and fear and exhaustion that hold him in a death grip, it’s almost unbearable.

Wild seems to pick up on his rising overwhelm, and places his hand on his back once more, his touch firm and comforting. Twilight pauses just long enough to give him a grateful nuzzle.

“Are we almost there?” The Champion murmurs when they turn yet another corner down yet another darkened side street.

Twilight stops and peers into the distance, watching the wafting trail of Four’s scent. If he squints, he can see it now—the spot where it veers off into a nearby building. An urgent sort of eagerness erupts within him. He rushes forward with an excited yelp, Wild close on his heels.

They come to a stop in front of a small, worn-looking house. Its windows are shuttered, its door bolted. Anywhere else it would look extremely suspicious, yet here it fits right in. If not for his tracking ability Twilight would have passed it up without hesitation.

Wild glances at him and he meets his gaze, a silent agreement passing between them. Then, the Champion draws his sword and kicks down the door.

The interior is dimly lit by a lantern set on a nearby table. It’s difficult to see much of anything not in its immediate vicinity. But Twilight can smell the heat, past the scent of whiskey and sweat and fear, past the curious scent he has come to know as Four’s—fresh grass and spring wind.

It emanates from the shadows, and he tenses, preparing for an attack.

They’ve only made it two steps into the room when it comes. Multiple people leap out, weapons are drawn and glinting in the dismal glow.

Wild brings his sword up and cuts one of them down with a swift stroke.

“Go!” He yells to Twilight as he fends off two more assailants. “Get Four!”

Twilight doesn’t have to be told twice.

He turns, squinting into the gloom, searching for the door he knows is there. It doesn’t take him long to locate it. Trotting over, he changes back to his Hylian form.

Transformation is even more painful than usual with the wounds he has sustained, but he grits his teeth and breathes through it. Blinking away the spots dancing before his eyes, he undoes the latch. With a low groan, he hefts the door up.

Stairs rise out of the darkness, and he wastes no time in limping down them.

If it was hard to see upstairs, it’s impossible in the cellar. Twilight can hardly make out a foot in front of him. Stumbling over what he thinks is a barrel, he grapples in his pouch for his lantern. It’s full of oil (and thank his lucky stars for that uncommon occurrence), and a simple flick of the switch is all it takes to turn it on. A familiar, welcoming glow surrounds him and drifts outward in sharp lines of dark and light.

Twilight turns, peering around the space. The light catches on the bars of the cage, splotched with his blood, and the jars that had clued the smithy in to their location. But the small form he’s looking for is nowhere to be seen.

The fear within him multiplies, tying his stomach in knots, sending his heart up into his throat. For all he knows they could’ve moved Four.

…or thrown him in a trash pile somewhere.

He gives his head a rough shake. Four’s scent had only gone in one direction. He has to be here…and he has to be alive.

Slowly, he begins walking forward, searching more thoroughly. Seeing this place, knowing what happened here, only worsens his discomfort. Memories resurface, fresh and painful, of watching his friend be torn apart, of being torn apart himself.

Twilight takes a deep breath, blows it out, wincing a bit as the movement excites his wounds once more. Too often he forgets that in his alternate form, he is, to all the world, a wild animal. So, to be treated as such, and in the cruelest way possible makes his skin crawl.

But…he’d lost control, acted the part to a severity he never has before. He can still taste the blood of his attackers, still feel their delicate skin breaking beneath his fangs.

And what good had it done in the end? He was still injured. Four was still…Four was–

The light shines on something small and slim and decidedly human, tucked away in a far corner, and Twilight comes tumbling out of his unpleasant ruminations. He practically throws himself forward.

“Four?”

It’s him, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood.

With shaking hands, Twilight sets the lantern on the ground, then reaches out for the smithy. It takes everything within him to keep his movements slow and careful, when everything within him is screaming to hurry, hurry, before it’s too late.

Given the sheer amount of blood on the ground, it might still be.

Four is virtually weightless in his arms, and Twilight cradles his slight form as he did Colin when he was very young.

“Smithy?” he murmurs, brushing Four’s hair out of his face.

It’s damp with sweat and bile and blood, and the same is all over his body, seeping into his clothes, coating his flesh, marring the leather of his boots. And he’s pale, so terribly pale, more so than Twilight has ever seen him before. The sight makes him ill.

“It’s alright, now,” he says, ignoring the tremble in his voice, in every part of his body, as he frees one of his arms to rifle through his pouch. “You’re safe. I’ve got a fairy here. She’ll heal you.”

Again, there’s no response, not even a ragged exhale. In fact, it doesn’t seem like Four is breathing at all.

Trying to squash the desperate panic rising within him, Twilight pulls out the bottle. The fairy’s pinkish light illuminates Four’s face, making him appear almost translucent. A quick twist of the bottle top and the fairy flies free.

She zips toward the smithy, then circles around him in four tight circles. Then, she disappears, gone as quickly as she came. Twilight leans forward.

A moment passes, two, and nothing happens. Four remains just as still and silent as before.

Tears flood Twilight’s eyes. A blink is all it takes to send them tumbling down his cheeks.

“Come on, Four,” he chokes. “I know you’re still in there, I know you’re still fightin’. Come on.”

Wake up. Please, wake up.

Still, no reply comes. Still, his chest doesn’t rise.

Twilight tips forward, resting his head against the smithy’s as the sobs come, sobs of exhaustion and pain, of hopelessness and guilt. They tear at his throat, send shivers through his abused body.

There’s nothing he can do now, nothing. A potion does a dead man little good. Hyrule is too far away to reach, and besides, his spells can’t bring back those who are already long gone.

“Rancher?”

Wild’s voice reaches him from behind, and his footsteps follow. He lacks the strength to turn to him.

“Is he…”

Slowly, Twilight nods.

“No!” Wild comes to a stop beside him, anger radiating off him in waves. “No, he can’t be dead! There’s got to be something we can do.”

“We were too late, Wild,” he manages through the tears still pouring out, clogging his throat, choking him. “We were too late.”

“No. There’s gotta be–Here! Take this!”

A bottle comes into view inches from his face, a delicate fairy circling inside it. Twilight raises his eyes to Wild’s.

“Cub, I already…”

Wild’s expression is one of stubborn determination, immovable as Hyrule Castle itself.

“I know. Try it again!”

For a moment Twilight stares dully, watching as the fairy floats like a flower petal on a lazy stream. Then, he nods and pops the top.

The fairy performs the same dance as the previous, then fades into thin air. And with a heavy heart, Twilight watches and waits.

It’s hardly a twitch at first, the slightest raising of the eyelids. The barest signs of life, so small Twilight hardly comprehends that they’re there. But they rapidly turn into something more.

Four’s chest rises, as he draws a thin gasp through pale, chapped lips. Slowly, he shifts, a small groaning breaking free. Color blossoms into his cheeks, the barest kiss of pink.

Relief and joy and dizzying disbelief erupt within Twilight, taking his breath away. He chokes on a half sob, as Wild drops to his knees beside him, a tearful grin spread across his face.

“Smithy, you’re alive!”

“Twi-twilight? Wild?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but Twilight hears it as easily as he heard his screams of agony. His eyes flutter open, a kaleidoscope of colors swirling within them. “Is-is it…”

“We’re here, Four,” Twilight whispers past the tightness in his throat. “It’s over.”

Four blinks, slowly, gaze roaming the room. “And-and you…you’re, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He draws the smithy closer, feeling his warmth, convincing himself that he’s alive, really, truly alive. But Four’s eyes are beginning to drift closed again, and he knows it’s time to move. They can’t sit here forever, in the dark, kneeling by the evidence of what they’ve endured. Now, it’s time to return to camp, reunite with the others.

Now, it’s time to heal.

“Here.” Wild reaches out and gently lifts Four from his arms. “I’ll carry him. You just focus on staying upright.” He skewers him with a glare. “You’ve done too much already.”

Twilight rises, shakily, offering Wild a small grin. “Thanks, cub.”

The Champion shrugs. “It’s no big deal. Four’s tiny.”

“No, not just that.” Twilight catches his gaze and holds it. “Thanks for everything.”

Comprehension dawns across Wild’s face. He smiles and sets a hand on Twilight’s shoulder.

“Come on, rancher. Let’s get you two back to camp.”

He turns and starts up the stairs, up away from the stench of death and destruction, up out of the darkness. And without another backward glance, Twilight follows.

[inkykeiji]

im fully convinced flawless tomura gets the WORST mancolds

he’s always whining that he’s not gonna make it or that he wants to be put out of his misery despite only having a minor cold or flu and demands to have ice cream and sweets despite reader insisting they won’t help him get better (but he gets his way anyway because he’s our beloved crunchy gamer daddy <3)

- 🌿

OOOOH HEHEHE i wrote a lil piece about him being sick right here but i can totally see what you’re saying, yes!!! because the man absolutely does not take good or proper care of himself, and he often snaps and is extraordinarily uncooperative with anyone who does try to take care of him <3 AND YET, despite his reluctance and vehement resistance/aversion to taking proper care of himself + allowing others to take proper care of him, he has the damn audacity to whine when his lifestyle and behaviours catch up with him and leave him bedridden for a week! his rampant drug binges def do not help the situation, and he becomes infinitely more bratty and entitled whenever he’s ill. it makes denying him his (extremely, outrageously high) daily dose of sugar and convincing him to take medication or drink something other than soda and energy drinks that much more difficult >.> god bless kurogiri’s soul.

he insists you stay with him, baby him, and give him whatever he asks for, the very instant he asks for it. his clinginess is turned up to eleven, and all he wants you to do is pet his hair and coo at how sick he is.

[chroniclesmacaque]

A look into the kaleioscope: Aoi in the Wrathful route.

In which I set out to talk about the wrathful route but ended up talking about everything I have seen of the game with a focus on Aoi.

Word count: 5417

(Spoilers for the events pre-timeline branch, the Wrathful Route and part of the Moral one, plus mild allusions to Truthful and Harmony.)

Being a big fan of Girls with Problems and Issues™ (see: Rue from Princess Tutu, Any Girl from Revolutionary Girl Utena) and having gotten word about the focus of the Wrathful Route, I was naturally very curious and hyped for it.

There’s appeal in watching a girl go apeshit: showcasing their flaws in ugly and unpleasant ways not only makes for good drama, but is also refreshing in a (mainstream) media landscape that more often than not smooths out any hint of a rough edge. It’s humanizing. It’s a powerful and cathartic acknowledgement of how destructive Problems and Issues™ can be through showcasing inherently immeasurable internal issues in extreme portrayals that symbolically illustrate the Lengths of the Struggle. 

Does the Wrathful Route live up to this?

TL;DR: Yes, and in a thematically rich way.

The Heart of Digimon Survive.

Whatever your opinion on Takuma, he is the lense through which the conflicts of Survive are colored. His narration and internal monologue betray a deep concern about navigating appropriate social distance and boundaries while still being able to effectively check on and care for all his friends. This is at the heart of Survive’s thematic: the clash between social propriety, duty and cooperation versus the personal wants, needs and struggles inherent to individual identity. 

The need for balance and the dangers of the extremes on either side of the dichotomy show repeatedly through the events of the game. An artificial and stagnant harmony for the sake of the rule of majority often ends in the needs of the kids being neglected to tragic results, which itself diminishes the longevity of the group and polarizes the dynamics within it. The opposite is also true: not only overtly self-centered, confrontational and stubborn individualistic approaches divide and fracture the group, they also prove detrimental for the long-term chances of success for personal goals and survival. Ryo and Shuuji are early-game poster children to these conundrums. 

The beginning of the spiral. 

Ryo’s introduction leaves clear he’s hard to get along with: he’s often irritable, uncooperative and antisocial. When it comes to doing his part within the group, Ryo often fails— he refuses to step up to his responsibility as senpai to Takuma and Minoru, he doesn’t help in group discussions and is frequently contrarian and combative to any course of action as well to being told what to do. He’s disruptive to the group’s goals of rescuing Aoi in part 1 and looking for the Professor, Saki and Shuuji in part 2, which is met with Minoru’s taunts and mockery and, potentially, Takuma’s clueless disregard (RIP to those who did try to comfort him on their first play through LOL But I still understand where Ryo is coming from).

This furthers Ryo’s alienation from the group and forms part of the vicious cycle Ryo has found himself in even before attending camp: the intense grief and loneliness stemming from his mother’s death express themselves through high irritability and anxiousness that difficult coping with daily-life activities and socializing. He’s aware his attitude drives him away from others but retiring from public life is simply not an option— even when his mother was still battling her illness, he got pushed to keep up with his responsibilities, as evidenced when he laments right before dying about being encouraged to be strong no matter what (giving thoughtless encouragement to people who are struggling is so prevalent even Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare has issued a guide advising healthcare professionals not to push phrases like 頑張れ/頑張って onto patients. Incidentally, another Digimon installment that deals with the struggle to open up in the face of thoughtless encouragement and positivity is ReArise’s season two! Worth checking out!).

Ryo’s is a case where personal struggles disrupt the harmony of the group, but also where not respecting social propriety (Minoru treating him badly, doubly glaring due their age difference) and the failure of the group to look after one of their most vulnerable members creates a spiraling effect that locks the player into the three vanilla routes, two of which end up quite tragically. His death serves as a powerful statement of a very important thesis of Survive’s: that even when the kids act out in unpleasant and disruptive ways, they still deserve to be taken care of, and failure to do so heavily limits what the group can accomplish. The contrary also proves true: looking after all the members of the group strengthens the dynamics within it and brings out everyone’s best (Hey! Who would’ve thought? Ryo is actually a pretty great and supportive guy! Really looking forward to Truthful).

The side from which Aoi pulls.

Where does Aoi fall in this tug-of-war? 

She is, simply put, the mom friend of the group: she cooks for them, her partner is the only one that naturally has healing ability in child stage—not to mention she herself will patch others up with her own hands— and she will often keep in mind the needs of the group and what course of action will be most beneficial for all. She’s gentle, values cooperation and has a strong sense of responsibility that will lead her to pick up the slack from those around her. 

She prioritizes harmony so much she loses herself to it: she laments her personal identity revolves around being an honor student and a class president always forced to go several extra miles for the sake of the class with no expression of individuality or personal warmth. Her struggle to maintain her personal identity extends to being unable to express or assert herself: she gets self-conscious of her interests, she can’t stand up for herself and refuse extra work load, she won’t share her misgivings out of fear of being a burden and she has great difficulty sharing her input and defending it during group discussions. 

These struggles will haunt her through the events of the game: her eroded self-esteem and her self-image as a supporting side character causes her to shrink out of the responsibility of leading the group in part 2 and to be unable to speak up when the group is openly antagonizing Shuuji in part 5. This exacerbates her sense of inadequacy upon both boys’ deaths, where she will continually beat herself up for failing to respond to the situation optimally and will always minimize her contributions to the group. The extent of these regrets can be fully appreciated through her Wrathful event-horizon realizations: she should've been more assertive from the start in order to prevent others from being wrong. 

It becomes apparent Aoi's character revolves around duty and responsibility (which is heavily reflected in her partner's evolutions), something she shares in common with Shuuji. 

Overachiever syndrome.

Shuuji’s first appearance firmly places him as someone who’s responsible for the rest of the cast: he’s older and their chaperone—as such he needs to make sure no one wanders off, everyone stays on schedule and generally out of trouble. The way he goes about leading them is strict and even nagging. Similarly to Aoi, Shuuji places the well-being of the group and its harmony over himself and others’ individual drives. This is evidenced through his argument with Kaito in part 4: concerned for the safety of the other kids, he opposes venturing outside to search for Miu, which can come off as cowardly at best and callous risk-calculating at worst. However, neither view describes his character accurately: while he's risk-averse, it's an attitude coming from watching two people die before him. He's acutely aware of the dangers that loom over the group but, nonetheless, remains committed and dedicated to look after them. It's thanks to his scrupulous nature that he pushes himself to the extreme: even though he's suffering from nightmares from the intense pressure he's under, disagrees with the course of action the group has decided by majority and is struggling to cope so badly he can't keep his emotions in check, he won't ask for a break or any sort of help that'd alleviate his burden. Ironically, the way he disregards all his individual needs for the sake of his duties backfires and turns his behavior into something that upsets the group greatly. 

Shuuji’s intransigent morality is a source of constant friction with Kaito all the way to his death in chapter 5— a clear example of how an imposed and forced unity on the group causes division within it and hurts its specific individuals: with Kaito’s already fraught trust in the group failing to cement and Shuuji ending up openly antagonized by the rest. This extreme view on duty and authority is something that we’ll see further elaboration on through Plutomon’s extremist morality and pathos.

Shuuji’s conflation of leadership with authorianism speaks volumes of his own upbringing—as do his harsh and relentless criticism towards lopmon and his constant nagging to the group to steer them to act responsibly. He mirrors the way his own father treated him growing up, and, as such, his problematic behavior is once again a symptom of deep hurt and unmet needs, a wrong that needs to be communally righted before the group can live up to their best potential. 

His leadership serves as a point of contrast to Aoi’s own approach to it: unable to put up with Kaito and Shuuji’s arguing any longer, Aoi uncharacteristically explodes and puts an end to their discussion. The way she engages them, however, isn’t through anger, belittling or mockery— she reminds each of their goals and invites them to question whether their actions are conducive to their success. She’s able to guide them to better behavior instead of upsetting them any further. This is again observed when she’s able to get through the child digimon trio pestering them at the park, and is generally an approach that is highly conductive to harmony for a group that’s highly emotional and under a huge amount of stress, evidenced through Takuma using a similar leading style. 

Aoi’s full potential won’t be realized until near end-game stretches, for good reason: her debilitating self-doubt hampers any ability to assert herself, another trait she and Shuuji have in common. While Aoi clams up and fails to respond to the challenges before her, Shuuji tries to force his way through them. Similarly—the way Aoi’s identity revolves around fulfilling the high demands and expectations others have of her mirrors Shuuji’s sense of worth being rooted on meeting his father’s unreasonable standards for him. This leads both to second-guess their decisions, but also to foster a bubbling and potentially monstrous anger within them out of resentment of their grueling workloads, others’ selfish behavior and the unfair treatments they endure. 

Both their responses to the stress and the nature of the external expectations over them are indicative of a gendered pattern of socialization that actively stunt their development (think of the lenient, devoted and quiet mother versus the bold and imposing leader). Shuuji’s survival hinges on him being able to embrace the “softer” sensitive and nurturing side of himself embodied by Lopmon as much as Aoi’s healthy development necessitates her to allow herself to assert herself and lean on the honesty encapsulated in Labramon.

Their refusal to burden the group with their personal struggles plays a key factor in both of their downfalls. Their better end-games have them relying on other characters such as Ryo, Takuma, Kaito and Saki to cross the bridge they didn't know they needed to cross to begin with. 

Oil and warm water.

If Aoi is someone who will prioritize harmony above all else, then Kaito is someone who often has trouble adhering to it. His irascible, aggressively independent and headstrong personality often puts him at odds with the group, specially during times when they're scared and indecisive (which is often). However, this doesn't mean Kaito is such a selfish guy that he won't care about imposing on the group or about their well-being. Quite the contrary, if left to his own devices, he'll try to handle his problems alone so as to not to disturb the others— after all, Takuma did have to talk him out of leaving alone to look for Miu twice in chapter 5. His affinity dialogue shows time and time again that he will fight tirelessly to defend his sister even if that isolates him from the rest of the world. The lack of external support for both Shinonome siblings to deal with their traumatic past informs Kaito’s difficulties with respecting authority— especially if it doesn't align with his goals— and with fully integrating and leaning on the group. 

While seemingly irreconcilable opposites, Aoi and Kaito, at their core, are all about a strong drive to look after other people. Their different approaches can paint them either as tragic foils or a complementary leading duo.

Kaito’s steely resolution to fight doesn’t always have to be a divisive force in the group, as illustrated in the Moral Route: when they’re cornered at the throne room, he has the head not to run off and influences the group to snap out of their fear-induced paralysis to protect themselves against the kenzoku. Aoi benefits from his snappy decisions— where she’d usually have difficulty making up her mind under intense pressure, she can ride his confidence and rouse the rest of the group behind this directive. Similarly, when they’re back at the school, Kaito can take cues out of Aoi’s tirelessly behind-the-scenes managerial work and listen to her concerns about their food supply and provide much needed help to cover the group’s needs. The way they share the burden of leading and caring for the group illustrates Survive’s ideal of a balance that allows both the harmony of the group and individuals to thrive— the burden of looking after a group shouldn’t fall on a single person. This stands in contrast to Aoi deciding to take it all on herself in Wrathful: being able to trust others with her burdens and worries and delegate work is essential for her healthier development in Moral.

Their differing stances also help illustrate the extremes in Survive’s dichotomy in the Wrathful and Harmony routes. Wrathful illustrates a kind of extreme, imposed Harmony that oppresses any dissent and threatens to erase any and all individuality. 

The free-spirited optimist and the older serious-minded girl.

Saving the catalyst for the Wrathful route for last, we have our cheerful and radiant personality, Kimishima Saki. The very prologue of the game makes it clear that Aoi likes Saki quite a bit.There’s a palpable sense of admiration for her junior’s refreshing honesty that’s amicable, keen and direct in a way that still jives with Aoi’s personal values. It’s easy to see why Aoi, who struggles to assert herself, would marvel at those traits in Saki. Aoi’s high regard for her shows up again during her passionate defense of Saki in part 5, much to her junior’s delight and surprise. This admiration is very much mutual: for Saki, who struggles with her sense of belonging and relevance in her interpersonal connections, Aoi’s commitment to caring for the group stands as both an example to follow as someone who can easily adhere to a group’s harmony and nurture it as well as a comforting presence that makes her feel accepted and healed.

It’s no surprise, then, that a close bond blossoms between the two. Their relationship balances each other out on a personal level: Saki will actively seek to alleviate Aoi’s workload even when she doesn’t ask, as well as look after her so she doesn’t run herself ragged. Additionally, Saki is capable of comforting her when Aoi is beating herself down or is generally affected by the grueling situation they’re in, as seen when she patiently comforts her after Ryo’s death. Aoi will reign Saki back in (or try to) when her bluntness is crossing the line and will serve as her confidant and care for her as a whole person. It’s no hyperbole to say Saki is the only camper Aoi manages to open up and bond with on a deep level, and a key figure in her budding support system. It’s only natural, then, that losing her would break Aoi’s fraught mental stability.

 The momentum of the Wrathful Route.

Why do Kaito and Saki run off on their own during the amusement park debacle in the Wrathful route? Why are they able to keep their cool in Moral and not here? To answer this, we need to take a look at the function of the Karma System beyond triggering Agumon’s evolutions and showing the timeline options during the part 8 split, as well as the meaning behind the Wrathful route.

The Karma system allows for a cumulation of momentum, so to speak. Karma shouldn’t be seen only as a straight-forward system of retribution and rewards for one’s actions and decisions, but as the conjunction of all the moving parts in the universe that allow the destiny of a person to be forged, which includes one’s legacy, community and the way one interacts with it. Digimon Survive uses this concept to shape the energy the group will move through each specific route. Simply put, it shapes the mood of the group. If one balances the Karma points for all of three options, then the group’s fate can go either way. If one leans heavily into any of them, then, that heavily restricts the fate the group is able to forge for itself.

What is that fate in the Wrathful route?

Let’s start by remembering the words of the man-behind-the-project himself, Habu Kazumasa, who states in an interview that the staff tried not to think of the different timelines as the bad ones or the correct ones, and rather gave a theme to each of them; the Wrathful route being about “acting on one’s emotions”  (citation pending lol). This is certainly reflected in the original name of the route itself: 激情, a term pertaining to passion: strong and/or violent emotions and convictions. 

What this means for Survive’s narrative is that most of the group is favoring acting based on their individual drives and values, without prioritizing the unity of the group, which places Aoi’s harmony-based approach as the isolated attitude within it. This helps us make sense of Kaito’s hot-headedness getting the best of him, then, being an individual who already prominently acts based on his personal goals even if it puts him at odds with the group. It also informs Saki’s anxious emotions coming to a head with her impulsive urge to help out the vulnerable digimon at the park: while a noble effort, it’s informed by her antsy-ness with regards her sense of belonging, the meaningfulness of her existence and her fear of death. Aoi’s own failure to rouse the group behind a clear order reflects her being lost in her own strong fear as well as Miu’s similar mental block to open up the hidden throne room hidden pathway.

Saki’s tragic end directly parallels the cutscene containing the evolution of her Floramon into Vegiemon (lol). Back then, Saki still hadn’t experienced what it meant to truly belong in a group and to be able to interact beyond what she knows will outwardly, yet superficially, get her to be socially accepted. As a result, she wasn’t sure of the sincerity of her own emotions and actions towards others, doubting her own intentions when following Ryo around. What lies at the core of Saki’s teetering act between refreshing bluntness and faux pas leading to rejection is the isolation, and the social inexperience this brought as a result, her chronic illness has imparted Saki. 

By contrast, when part 9 rolls in, Saki has experienced working together in a team for the sake of the communal good of survival. With stakes so high, she’s bound to feel united to the group. She has also gotten a taste of a deeper self-acceptance through her bond with Floramon, the budding confidence to be herself unabashedly through Takuma’s assurances, the group’s continued acceptance of her role in it and Aoi’s warm, intimate and caring support. She’s becoming someone who has a place in the world and can start acting based on values that go beyond herself, and this is what her self-sacrifice epitomizes: she’s no longer insecure or indecisive about her commitment to the group and the greater good.

Into the mist.

The Wrathful route is characterized by thorough elaboration on Aoi’s interiority and inner monologue. This allows us to see the inner turmoil, conflicting viewpoints and the full extent of her self-depreciation that she usually keeps behind locked doors while she spirals.

Upon Saki’s death, Aoi experiences intense guilt over failing to keep Saki safe, as she was her leader calling the shots and guiding her through the rescue efforts, for mistaking the kenzoku for digimon in need and for losing grasp of her hand during the tug-of-war deciding Saki’s death. She isolates herself from the group due her grief, her continuous ruminations over the mistakes she did consume her thoughts and prevent her from continuing her duties as their leader and her managerial work at their base. 

Now that Aoi it’s out of commission, Kaito belatedly comes into full appreciation of the labored support Aoi has offered the group. Knowing Saki was her moral support, Kaito attempts to reach out to her in order to pay the favor back despite his advice to Takuma to give Aoi some space. Takuma’s timid, soft-spoken approach wouldn’t be befitting to challenge Aoi’s spiraling thoughts, so it’s up to Kaito’s more direct approach and his understanding of what it takes to shoulder such responsabilites to step up to the task.

He bluntly refutes her self-blaming beliefs, pushing her to recontextualize Saki’s death from her personal failure to something Saki had agency in. It’s during these exchanges that it comes to stark light how much of Aoi’s inner world never gets expressed to the others, as her replies to Kaito are merely a small fraction of all the swirling emotions and thoughts festering in her head. 

While Kaito’s efforts aren’t completely fruitless, they run into the Aoi’s emotional wall and don’t manage to address her perfectionist beliefs before Harumode reappears to lure them into the library. The seed towards Plutomon’s black and white thinking is already taking root: Aoi can’t afford to let herself falter or make mistakes anymore in order not to lose anyone else, or it’d keep reflecting badly on her own integrity as a person. So she runs off on her own despite being antithetical to her own values. Kaito’s decision to go back to the group and gather them despite running off on his own being more in line with his usual Modus Operandi shows his commitment to keeping the group together and leading them in Aoi’s place, placing his development as a foil to Aoi’s spiraling.

The illusions Aoi sees within the library reflect that guilt is still ravaging her heart and fuel her self-berating back to full strength. However, Kaito’s words are not lost on Aoi and her thoughts soon start blaming Saki for own death, much to Aoi’s chagrin. Examining the root behind her reasoning reveals that just as much Aoi blames herself, she’s also intensely angry at the others for always taking unnecessary risks without sparing a thought for unity and responsibility. This touches on a sore spot for her, since being taken advantage of or having her authority diminished by others’ selfishness has been an open wound from before she even attended camp. Unable to bear being with other people, Aoi wanders into the misty woods to get lost further into her ruminations.

Each time Aoi replays the events in her head, another edge that hurts her seems to surface. Instead of coming to terms with Saki’s self-sacrifice, Aoi distorts it into a rejection of herself and her feelings. Instead of reaching the conclusion that she should’ve been more assertive out of a genuine growth in her confidence,the conclusion is fueled by her intense disgust over being the same always weak, flawed her of the past. Instead of learning to share the responsibility with her peers, she concludes she should’ve prevented other people from being wrong. Instead of understanding how her intense self-censoring stunts her growth and makes it near-impossible for her friends —specially for Kaito and Labramon at the time, the other key figures in her support system— to reach out to her and help her, she concludes bottling up everything was for the better. If everyone is already this selfish, adding to the pile would simply be unbefitting and irresponsible of her. This makes for a highly striking and effective portrayal of grief, with Aoi being unable to relentlessly revisit the event and find more and more shortcomings in herself and everyone around her. Her trust in others is fundamentally broken at this point.

Yet, despite her increasing mistrust of others, Aoi is finally able to internalize the depth of Labramon’s love and support for her. How could she not? Even though Aoi is at her most closed off and lowest mood, Labramon is still by her side, begging her to let her know the entirety of her heart. While a moving moment, this also symbolically marks the moment where Aoi has decided that the only beings she can trust are herself and her partner. This self-aggrandizing posture fueled by her self-loathing and guilt form the basis of Plutomon’s utter self-righteousness. 

Her conviction that only her harmony-based posture and feelings are right to solve the conflict between humans and kemonogami, prompt her to take the extremely ill-advised decision to try to appeal to Piemon, as well as to cure him in a show of good grace. This, of course, backfires immediately, as Piemon brutally attacks her and her partner. This last ditch-effort for a pacific resolution of the conflict informs Plutomon’s posture that if she can’t talk others into Harmony, then she will just have to force them and it’s the last step into the complete corruption of her values and growth.

Death evolutions.

Who doesn’t love a good symbolic death in their narrative? Survive generously offers two for the price of one. However, Aoi and Labramon’s gruesome agony isn’t the only time death shows in Labramon’s evolution line. It’s finally time to look into the themes woven into Labramon’s evolutions and how they relate to Aoi’s character.

Starting with Labramon herself, what we can learn from her official profile and debut is that she’s a digimon with a duty. Being an artificial digimon means she was specifically created to fulfill a function, which is further cemented by the fact it’s a literal living vaccine program. Her only skill movement in-game is Cure Liqueur, a healing skill that aims to restore and optimize weakened data (put a pin on this). Her fierce loyalty and dutiful origins already fit Aoi to a tee. 

In general, devotion to one’s duty is a key theme to Labramon’s evo line. Dobermon takes this a step further being a digimon whose only purpose is to hunt viruses. Originally consumed by viruses itself, its strong vaccine nature broke through and it learned to harness violence to fulfill its mission. This adult stage marks the start of a consistent theme in the evo line about harnessing monstrous power in order to fulfill one’s duties, much like Aoi needs to embrace assertiveness and authority to be able to properly respond to the situations before her and achieve her goals. This is also the first time the theme of death as transformation will show up in the evo line. Dobermon’s evolution dialogue encourages Aoi to take pride in her efforts and work to push her into this ever on-going journey of embracing her own agency. 

Cerberumon is the guardian of the Dark Area, a duty that goes a degree higher in importance than solely hunting viruses, much like Aoi will eventually have to step up into the heavier responsibility to lead the group. Cerberumon’s ferocious appearance is remarked upon in the evolution dialogue: where Aoi openly admits her desire for power— power as having the agency, authority and self-confidence to assert herself—. Cerberumon’s words encourage her not to be afraid of using this latent power already present in her heart.

Anubimon, the other possible ultimate available to unlock in the vanilla routes, is the judge of the dark area, who weighs over fallen digimon’s data to either banish them forever or grant them the chance of rebirth. Its role as a fair judge relates to Aoi’s role as a leader who listens to everyone’s input so everyone can reach either a unanimous decision or call for a timeout so the group can put their feelings back in line. (ALSO. I couldn’t unlock it in my Moral run, so this as much as I can glean from lore and plot alone.) This position as a fair judge stands in direct opposition to Aoi’s pathos as Plutomon.

Now, onto the dramatic ultimate evolution of the Wrathful route: Plutomon. Plutomon it’s a virus executioner that’s known for attacking with intense terror and violence. It’s a Death God itself that governs tyrannically over the realm of the dead. Unlike Anubimon, who weighs digimons’ worthiness, Plutomon mercilessly slays anything it deems evil and takes pleasure in it. Its cruel nature is reflected in it having become a virus itself. All of this lore is directly reflected in Aoi’s Wrathful ethos: as Plutomon, she has cast off her humanity to transcend her weaknesses, becoming scheming and even taking pleasure in venting her pent up bitterness by playing her friends like a fiddle— both when she intentionally makes them waste time arguing with her while Miyuki is dying on the floor, and when she emotionally manipulates them into avenging her by fighting the Master. Plutomon’s tyrannical rule is reflected in Aoi’s utter self-righteousness, where any dissenting opinions are deemed mistakes she needs to strong-arm others out of. She’s reached the ultimate black and white vision of her ideals, convinced she’s being the best version of herself she could possibly be. Despite Aoi!Plutomon’s goals for perfect harmony and oneness, she has become the embodiment of violent convictions herself. 

Plutomon’s evolution cutscene involves Aoi and Labramon slowly and painfully agonizing after being attacked by Piemon. Since the two are the healers of the group, their friends are unable to help them beyond fighting Piemon for them. This epitomizes the isolation Aoi has felt both in the human world and the kemonogami one: in the human world, she felt alienated because only she would get admonished for undone work as well as if she went the extra mile to get it done herself. In the kemonogami world, after losing Saki and thus having lost her own confidant as well as internalizing a sense of rejection from her self-sacrifice, she laments no one can understand her heart and look after her the same way she does for the group. In a morbid parallel to how she takes on all the group’s burden upon her shoulders, if Aoi wants to live, she alone will have to drag herself through the ground to reach her partner. Driven by her loyalty and duty to Aoi to the very end, Labramon does the ultimate act of self-sacrifice by using her remaining life energy to restore Aoi (very bittersweet use of the function behind Cure Liqueur! Incidentally, Plutomon’s self-healing ability forms part of this theme as well:where Labramon heals the party, Plutomon only heals itself). The evolution that takes place responds to Aoi’s heart passionately clinging to life as well as her inner turmoil. Thus, comes Aoi back to life in a terrifying miracle marked by her deep bond with her partner and all it represents. Plutomon is the most extreme externalization of her hidden unresolved struggles to open up, her perfectionism, her self loathing, repressed emotions and extreme morality.

Acknowledgements.

Shout out to digitalsurvivor for consistently putting out helpful information that gets lost in translation and cultural differences, as well as having long talks with me that help me enrich my perspective on the topics covered.

Special thanks to all my dear friends that allowed me to explain the events of the game in detail and wall-text their inboxes with my interpretations of the narrative. Their kind and patient dialogue helped me greatly to flesh out and complement my analysis.

[trusswork]

childhood play

The child who plays privately by themselves is trying to achieve something -- this general fact may be difficult to discern, or easy to forget, and it is almost impossible to see what particular thing the child is trying to do, because it is so inward and dependent on an unseen world. Nevertheless, when a child plays alone, just as much as or even more than when they play with others, they are trying to make something come right. Thus a child can become frustrated with a doll or a toy all by him or herself, and this will often have nothing to do with some physical problem (eg, balancing blocks, or making a train go - those are achievements of a cruder kind). There is simply something that the child wants to happen, is causing to happen, or sees happening or potentially happening in their play, the animation or retreat of some part of the play's world. A truck can very tragically fail to be in the right place, no matter their efforts; a stuffed bear can fail to be quite as near or far from a child's heart as the child desires at that moment; and this can end in tears that seem to come from nowhere. (Maurice Sendak's Kenny's Window shows this happening better and more truly than perhaps any other book.) A particularly sensitive child may find these same problems enacted in play with more abstracted toys such as sticks, rocks, pieces of string, paper, and so on. An extremely sensitive child will see the whole world as animate and frustrating in this way.

John and Faith Hubley's 1958 animation “Cockaboody,” set to audio of the couple’s children playing, emphasizes this world of the shifting, sometimes uncooperative toys and invisible companions. In a different way, it reminds me of Tove Janssen’s Moomins books; the child, Moomintroll, changes his moods to himself easily; or completely forgets about something he is preoccupied with, and then later remembers it and is just as enthusiastic as ever.

Edward Lear’s poem “The Dong with the Luminous Nose,” set by composer Elena Langer and premiered by the BSO, March 2024: as Langer notes, it is a nonsense poem taken very earnestly and set accordingly, by a writer and artist whom Langer compares to Shelley or Byron. Before that, the orchestra played Ravel's Mother Goose suite, and it made me think how precisely symphonic childhood can be in our time -- between toys, records, stuffed animals and dolls, weather and seasons, other children and grown ups, rooms in a house, and so on -- in growing up, there seem to be fewer such simultaneous ingredients in life sometimes.

"The Noontime Witch," this dark middle European fairy tale in a setting by Dvorak -- on the same BSO program -- seems to reveal more about motherhood than many such tales: the intense, overflowing frustration with a child, the furious need to protect it, and the danger of protecting it too much.

[nucrests]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10 simblrs whose sims you adore 💜

Thank you soo much for sending this! I'll start with my current fave atm, Dominique! 🤍

He followed in his father's footsteps of becoming a restaurant owner by currently owning La Palma Espinosa, which his father previously owned. He is also has a Culinary Arts Degree

Occasionally works as a bartender. He once had his nose broken upon escorting an uncooperative patron from his bar

He is the oldest of 3 siblings. He has two younger twin sisters in which he is very close with and speaks with daily

Dominique is extremely overprotective of his family. His overprotective and stubborn nature tends to be the root of disagreements with his husband, but he will do whatever it takes to provide for them regardless

It's difficult to get Dom to crack a smile. He has a constant resting bitch face

[skribblepup]

Polished ref for Little Star in Orbit! Chunky lore paragraphs under the cut :3

Her can features all of the usual compartments of an iterator but is crowned by an observatory, with a telescope pointed towards the sky. Her belief is that the answer to the great problem lies somewhere in deep space, out of reach by ordinary means and that any continued efforts to search the plane or bore into the void sea are in vain. Currently she is attempting to perfect the Ancients first attempts at space travel by modifying and improving the blueprints of spacecrafts left behind after the extinction. She doesn’t have the means to build or test any of these shuttles but she has been working on her own design.

While primitive in comparison to the work of the Ancients due to a lack of resources and manpower, the small capsule pods she is able to construct are capable of space flight. These pods are launched into the atmosphere where they collect data before falling back to the planet to be retrieved by a purposed organism of Little Star’s design. These falling pods are quite a sight as they fall, and are deadly upon impact. The local wildlife have learned to become very wary of bright objects falling from the sky and wisely vacate the immediate area. Player slugcats would be remiss not to follow suit…

Little Star has always been a very peppy and playful individual, driven by her love for space exploration but ever since the deterioration and collapse of her can her behaviour has grown erratic, if not completely manic. Her chamber and observatory still stand but it would seem that a small fissure has opened in the ground beneath her ruined structure. The water she consumes has become tainted by void fluid which has slowly begun to erode her systems. In short, Little Star is running out of time to solve the great problem. The damage to her can has caused noticeable problems with her puppet, including mechanical glitches and occasionally, garbled speech.

Recently, Little Star has moved on from sending empty pods into space to collect data and has taken to shuttling living organisms into space. These launchings are highly experimental and always result in termination of life, though testing shows that the organism in question is still apart of the cycle and thus the solution is yet to be found. Scavengers are Little Star’s preferred astronauts, due to their perceived intelligence, but they are extremely uncooperative and difficult to work with. An overseer sent out by Little Star has informed her of an alternative life form, one that strikes an uncanny resemblance to her own purposes organism… All there is to do is convince it and others like to to visit her can..

[alyjojo]

Next Major Life Change 🐛 September 2023 - Sagittarius

What It Is: Protected By Angels 😇, Miracles 🌟, The Sun & Ace of Swords

This could be regarding a work situation or a family/home conflict, both apply with this energy. Your next life change is illumination, waking up to something or realizing the truth of a situation that may not be exactly how you thought or assumed it was. There has been conflict, competition, and you’ve given up on the matter entirely because it’s sucked the confidence right out of you and left you feeling sad, left out, and disappointed in how things have played out vs. how you wish they would have. You and someone else both seem to feel that the other person is uncooperative, which is what has caused this difficult situation. You’re realizing all of the details & specifics that I can’t see, and it’s ultimately a positive thing.

Why It’s Happening: 5 Cups, King of Cups, 4 Cups

Sadness, disappointment, feelings of not being chosen, respected, prioritized, there are a lot of sad feelings that this King of Cups holds inside and doesn’t share openly. This could be you regarding work or family, or someone else at work or in your family towards you, both of your oracle cards show you as being safe, protected, divinely guided, on the right path, and for some of you - as a healing source or a living guide/mentor of some kind for someone else. They call Temperance “the Earth Angel”, it’s your energy, and for some of you, where this is someone else, that’s what you’re being called to embody. Consciously, purposefully, Ace of Swords is clarity & truth, and The Sun is illumination.

Someone either feels you haven’t been cooperative with them, they don’t feel important in your life or they think you don’t care, essentially they feel let down. Or you do. There are a lot of emotions in this King, but the strongest one is love, over everything. You could be seeing a softer side of a typical hardass. Or all of that can be switched too, and you feel like everyone is against you, you haven’t had help and haven’t understood why.

Advice: 6 Pentacles, Knight of Swords, Temperance

Communication is the strongest message in this whole reading, and the advice for you is to “temper your temper” and eagerness to get your points and messages across. Page of Wands & 8 Wands clarifying, both Sag energy, very passionate (anger is passion too) messages flying at the speed of light, one after another after another *pew pew pew* blasting people with what you have to say. Knight of Swords shows an extremely blunt and sometimes harsh way of doing so. So not only are your messages flying out like crazy, they sting, burn, and wound, like gunshots. Aka, watch your mouth, you want people to hear you. 6 Pentacles is equal exchange, you say how you feel, they say how they feel, things are accomplished. Temperance exists to combine different elements in a peaceful & harmonious way, they have one foot on land keeping them stable, one foot in the water (emotions) keeping them connected, and they’re an alchemist pouring one cup of love from two, mixing elements and differences. Calm, balanced & peaceful. Be careful how you say what you need to say, and focus on the outcome being teamwork, not just proving points for the sake of getting digs in or being right. Others have viewpoints too, and everyone has something to say or offer towards the same long term goals. It’s not you vs. your coworkers/teammates/family, it’s all of you vs. the problems and how to solve them. Oracles show you have a whole spiritual team on your side, rooting for you, and helping you to get there 💚

Whether the problem is you or someone else, communication and how you approach or talk to others is still the illumination you’re seeing as the answer to your issue. It’s possible this King of Cups or a particular person says this to you bluntly too, or you/they could be disciplined in some way for being uncooperative or acting like everything is a WAR.