#haunted planes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dangans-ur-ronpas · 3 days

Text

Chapter 20

alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter

this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it

@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer

Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.

But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.

Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.

He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.

“Hello, there!”

He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.

Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”

“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”

“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”

“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.

But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”

“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”

Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-

“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-

“Black to E5.”

He opens his eyes again. What?

Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”

“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”

“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.

“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.

“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”

“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”

“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”

No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.

How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.

Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.

“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Yes.” He whispers back.

Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.

“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”

“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.

“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.

“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.

“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.”

“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”

“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”

He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”

—

Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.

By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.

Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.

But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.

And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.

“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.

“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”

“And why should I?”

“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.

He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.

“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.

“Hurry up.”

She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.

Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.

She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.

“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.

“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”

“Shut up. Are we going or not?”

He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.

“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”

He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”

“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”

It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”

She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.

“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.

They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.

Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”

“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”

“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”

She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”

“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”

Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.

“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”

“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”

She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.

He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.

“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”

He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.

Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.

“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”

Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”

“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”

“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”

“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”

“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”

25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.

“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”

Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”

“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -

“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”

“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”

“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”

“Then, if we take it outside of here-”

“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”

“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”

There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.

“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?

His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.

“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.

“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”

Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.

“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”

The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.

“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”

He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”

“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.

Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.

After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”

He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.

“What did you want to ask again?”

“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”

His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.

“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”

He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:

“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”

“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.

“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”

“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”

“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”

What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”

She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #thpff chapters #togiri #<- bc i wrote this with togiri intent. for the togiri truthers #byakuya togami #the h in chihiro stands for. haunting the narrative!!!!!#i was writing this chapter on the plane with my computer brightness turned alllll the way down #byakuya can't really read kyoko's reaction and therefore sees it as super nonchalant. and i know that with her scars it probably didnt hurt #but i also wanna imagine her tearing up like. motherfucking ow??#swearing under her breath and stamping her foot while he's changing and having to play it off like she was just looking at his books #both of them feeling somewhat guilty for the other person's situation and trying to help but only by way of insulting them #like 'ugh i cant believe you. fine i'll do this but only bc i dont wanna have to deal with you' as they try to compensate for each other #sorry not much naegami but theyre divorced rn and everyone's busy mourning and stuff #naegami development: they have a moment of humility and intimacy and sleep in the same bed #togiri development: he accidentally slams her hand in the door and doesnt apologize #HIROO my friend hiroo......ily hiro and how much u care sobb #anyways im taking a break after this. sob. wails.

17 notes · View notes

swinging-stars-from-satellites · 8 days

Note

top 5 books?

off the top of my head right now? it does change often and there's some recency bias of course but right now something like:

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

Turtles All the Way Down by John Green

Salt To the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

#I read tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow literally in basically one sitting on a plane flight last month #and like... lowkey it's been haunting me #like. huh. the more I think on it the more I realize its depth #also turtles all the way down is literally so good why did nobody tell me john green's books aren't just cheesy ya nonsense 😭#Lu rambles #asks

13 notes · View notes

queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

Text

The Things They Carried to Mordor (with apologies to Tim O’Brien)

When the Fellowship left Rivendell, Frodo Baggins carried an unadorned gold ring on a chain round his neck. The ring was not heavy; it weighed only three ounces, but he was always aware of it.

Frodo also carried a sword called Sting that his uncle Bilbo had given him which glowed blue when Orcs were nearby. It was not a sentimental gift, but it came with a kind of Sentiment all the same. He kept Sting it in a shabby leather scabbard which he had also gotten from Bilbo. Sting weighted nineteen ounces and the scabbard four more.

The scabbard was Sentimental to Frodo, much more so than the sword was, for it was worn in places where Frodo was certain that his uncle must have rubbed it. Bilbo did not come with him on the journey to Mount Doom, and though Frodo was glad of it, sometimes he would run his fingers over those worn places and imagine that his uncle’s fingers were there too; that their fingertips were touching through time across that piece of leather.

The things they carried were determined by necessity, but not exclusively. Frodo’s cousin Peregrin Took carried two pipes and an overstuffed pouch of pipe-weed. All of the hobbits carried pipe-weed, and so did Gandalf the wizard and Aragorn the ranger, but Peregrin Took carried the most of anyone. Each of his two pipes weighed three ounces, for a total of six, but to Pippin it was worth it if it meant that he was in no danger of being bereft of his most important luxury.

Many miles later, he would give his second pipe to Gimli the dwarf and they would smoke together on the edge of ruin. The gesture was a repayment of a debt, and it made Pippin's pack a little lighter. He had only one pipe with him when he journeyed to Minas Tirith.

Merriadoc Brandybuck carried a conspiracy, even after the whole company had embarked; it had been months since he’d explained himself to Frodo, but he couldn't put the conspiracy down. The conspiracy was Loyalty and Courage in the face of terrible Fear. It was heavy and not.

Merry carried maps and the knowledge of maps. He carried Pippin, who was still only a tweenager and could be a right danger to himself and others, who was his younger cousin and his responsibility; he carried Pippin until he couldn't anymore, until Pippin rode south with Gandalf and Merry remained in Rohan. He also bore a knife weighing thirteen ounces which he would one day use to smite the Witch King of Angmar. It didn’t seem very heavy to him until Pelennor, when Éowyn unveiled herself to Death and Merry realized that he had a sword too.

Samwise Gamgee carried the most out of anyone in proportion to the size of his small body. After they abandoned their pony at the gates of Moria, he carried all his cooking gear, which consisted of a small tinder box, two small shallow pans (the smaller fitting into the larger), a wooden spoon and a short, two-pronged fork, some skewers, and a little box of salt that he always carried and refilled when he could. Together, all of these items weighed about eighteen pounds. He also carried his own supply of pipe-weed, flint and tinder, woolen hose, linen, and various small belongings of Frodo’s that Sam had stored away on his behalf. He did not carry any rope with him at that time, a fact which frequently vexed him. He really ought to have remembered to bring some rope.

They all carried gifts from the Lady Galadriel: Boromir, Merry, and Pippin each bore a silver belt weighing between one and three pounds depending on the girth of the waist for which it was made. Boromir's was the heaviest, and it traveled with him down Rauros in the end.

Until he was killed, Boromir of Gondor carried a long sword and a shield, three and four pounds respectively, and his war horn, which he still would have carried if it had weighed a ton. He carried his father’s suspicions and his brother’s hopes and all the glories of Gondor. Boromir was trying very hard to be a good man.

Aragorn carried, in order from lightest to heaviest, the Elfstone, Arwen’s love, and his own lineage. He hauled Arwen’s love up the hills and across the plains until at last she sent him a banner to carry. He carried his lineage in the form of a sword called Andúril, which did not seem heavy to him anymore, having borne it for so long.

Legolas bore a new bow from the Lady Galadriel and Gimli three strands of hair. The hair weighed almost nothing, but Gimli carried it like he might have carried a silmaril, which everyone knows were very heavy. Gimli was the sort of person who could assign precious things their whole worth: maybe this came from being a Dwarf and from growing up surrounded by treasures, but Legolas didn’t think so. He thought Gimli could see what things were worth just by the kind of person he was.

Because the nights were cold, each member of the Fellowship wore an elven cloak, which could be used as a raincoat or a groundsheet or as camouflage or a makeshift tent. Sometimes, when they were afraid, they would all pull their cloaks tighter around their too-small-for-this shoulders and try to feel a little warmer. It would have been easy to succumb to the cold. Sometimes, the strongest thing in the world is simply to keep warm on a cold night.

Frodo bore a phial of starlight, which came from a silmaril but which he carried like a shield. Along with the phial, he carried words of Quenya that he had learned long ago from his uncle Bilbo: “Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!” The words weren’t magic, not from Frodo’s ordinary hobbit-lips; but they pushed back the dark a little when he held his silmaril-light aloft. He carried elvish prayers, stories and the hopes of stories, "They cannot conquer forever" and "I can manage it, I must." When a person is desperate, survival is 98% mantras.

After they broke with the rest of the Fellowship, Sam carried less and less. The food was finite and gradually it ran out. Eventually, even the salt ran out. He carried rope (finally) and a box of soil and seed from the Lady Galadriel. After a while, he forgot about the box of soil sitting in the bottom of his pack, but he never lost sight of what it represented. The only thing that Sam wanted really was to return home with his master and plant seeds in the ground. He was a gardener, after all.

For a short time, Sam carried the ring; he took up what Frodo could no longer bear, and he found that it was every bit as Heavy as he’d imagined. The ring weighed only three ounces, but that wasn’t true at all.

Frodo and Sam carried the Black Land itself: Mordor, the place, the ash and dry dust that clung to the soles of their feet, their hair, their nostrils. They carried it inside them after a while and they never got rid of it. They carried the world. All of Middle Earth, they carried it: Gandalf’s foolish hope, Aragorn’s destiny, Faramir’s kindness. They moved like aged pack mules, picking their way across the desolate wastes. Sometimes, they walked until they were numb to it and all they could do was walk for the sake of walking in the knowledge that someday they would get There or die in the attempt. They plodded along slowly, dumbly, one step and then the next, toiling up hills and across marshes and down ravines, up and down and up again, because they were fighting a war and war is entirely a matter of posture and carriage, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire. They carried their hopes in their feet.

Frodo carried Gollum’s oath and Smeagol’s soul. He carried his own soul too, slowly coming loose from his body with the growing burden of the Ring. He carried gravity. He carried the whole sky The ring was very Heavy now. It weighed more than anything he’d ever had to carry before. It weighed 216.09 pounds per square inch: weight multiplied by weight.

Sam carried music and wonderment. He carried duty to his master, the image of Rosie Cotton dancing, starlight and songs about starlight. These things were all intangible, but for Samwise Gamgee they all had their specific lengths and masses and tangible weight. They were hard to hold onto, always trying to slip off his tired back and fall by the wayside. Each time, Sam picked them back up and carried on.

Sam carried Frodo, in the end.

Frodo weighed forty-two pounds; he was heavier than all the cooking gear, but he weighed a great deal less than he had at the start of the journey. When Sam staggered to his feet, he was amazed at the lightness of his burden. His master was no heavier than a child carried piggy-back on a summer's day in the Shire.

Hope carried them all and they all carried Hope. This is not a paradox. When the Eagles carried Frodo away from Mount Doom, his hand was a little bit lighter.

#i keep seeing all these comparisons between lotr and all's quiet on the western front #which does make sense because tolkien served in ww1 #but i read The Things They Carried on a plane when i was sixteen and it's haunted me ever since #so here's this #leah stories #i will not say the day is done #tolkien legendarium #pontifications and creations

70 notes · View notes

ellena-asg · 1 year

Text

From crossover episode (Touch of death, part II, NCIS: LA 3x21).

In one of my metas about Danny and his mental health I said that Scott perfectly showed all details of Danny's (and in general) anxiety, depression and abuse victimage. I also mentioned that Danny's body language is very clear to me (not only me here, I know from the feedback that there are more people with similar traumas *hugs*), it's like having, you know, victim radar (victim recognizes other victim, signals, something like that).

Yup. Danny's body speaks. Speaks very often. Sometimes speaks instead of Danny. Yes, Danny is strong. Damn strong. He can be bamf!Danny ♥️ He always fights. Oh yes. But he also suffers 😢 Mentally. Still. He can smile, he can joke, he can try to be brave, Mr I'm Okay and/or I'll Be Okay but the pain is still there inside him.

Sure, Danny often talks about things that make him anxious - but not about them all. So much is still inside him. And his body "knows it". His body shows it. His body "betrays" him. His body reacts - f.e. when he has anxiety attack (of any kind) and when those who mentally abused Danny are still (damn!) around him (Rachel, her mother Amanda - the cases we know from canon) or when someone mentions them (like Chin in the scene above - heh, this episode is just one of the many examples).

Yeah, here Chin mentions Amanda. Oh, he says the truth - it's a blood feud. Amanda made Danny's blood boil, living with her (and Rachel), I mean: being in this family, was a pure horror to Danny's mind. Friendly reminder: He was mentally abused, he was treated like a shit, like someone worse, someone who should meet other people's expectations/visions (his dreams? his passions? his emotions? there was no place for them - this family only played with his feelings). Who should beg. Who should feel guilty for everything. He was treated in a very unfair way (Grace too). Once he started hating himself, all what he loved (including job/saving people's lives), his own life (attempted suicide) - because of other people's (Hollander family) manipulations. He suffered as a father, as a human being and as a man too, I guess (cause Rachel's mother seems to have damn misandristic vibes 🙄 - or did she hate/humiliate "only" Danny and "only" for Danny being Danny? ehh). And he was punished for... for having enough. For wanting escape (from "sweet and kind her majesty Rachel"). For telling the truth about Rachel's toxic/manipulative/narcissistic character. For fighting for his beloved daughter and his parental rights. Huh.

Well, Steve knows well how Danny feels. What Danny says about Hollander family. Danny says it, many times and Steve listens. Danny's Stockholm syndrome, signs of it (oh, that's what Steve doesn't see in the Sarin episode) like "I should try with Rach again, it's, um, love" (plus him thinking that it's good for Gracie) are still there but mostly, thanks goodness, there's "What are you doing here, Rachel" and "I love you, Steve" (Steve is like cure, like antidote). Steve knows well that this family hurt/still hurts his Danno (and his Gracie). Well, Steve was at Rachel's (and Stan's) house and he witnessed Rachel's: "Now I'll humiliate you in front of your partner/new friend - by the way... you have friend? Someone likes you? Someone believes/protects you? It can't be!". Steve saw all her lies. Saw her games. Saw her character. Saw her war against Danny and Grace. So... Steve knows and he doesn't want Danny to be with this family again (yeah, he's jealous too but it's another topic 😉). And... Ohana of course knows too.

Chin knows. Danny trusts him. Steve trusts him. Chin knows and sees Danny's past as bloody. As painful to Danny. Blood feud 👉 Hollanders (Savage/Edwards). Exactly, Chino.

Chino, Chino, Chino. Ay, look, I love Chin very much. But he mentioned Amanda, mentioned the past and... Look at Danny. At his body (cause Danny tries to act like everything is okay), his body speaking (seriously, it's just a random example and one day I'll collect them all and write about them, I swear):

The very first reaction:

Silence. Damn silence. No smile. No laughter. No jokes. No sarcasm. Dead silence. What else? Clenched jaw. Narrowed eyes. Tension. Where's that Danny who just had fun with Chin, G and Sam?

He suffers.

I can feel his pain (Chin mentioned Amanda and bad memories came back). I can feel his frustration (cause Chin, seriously, why? and why here? why in front of non-Ohana guys? why you think they should know about Danny's trauma - and about this one caused by his ex mother-in-law?). His anger. Anxiety (panic) attack is coming.

Next reaction: Closed eyes. Mouth open.

Anxiety, anxiety attack. Breathe, he needs to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale... Damn, it's painful. Damn, they are there and they are watching.

Third reaction: Okay (it's not okay but it will be - Danny fights with himself, as always). Danny ignores Chin's words (safety).

He literally pretends he didn't hear that. Pretends that Chin didn't say that. He starts talking to G Cullen. He wants to talk about anything, he asks questions, he tries to draw G's (and Sam's) attention away from Chin's words, away from Amanda, from Rachel, from his old life. Chatty Williams is back. And huh, looks like boys didn't notice any change - good, thinks Danny. BUT YOUR BODY, DANNY... 😭

It was a painful moment. Chin means no harm and Danny knows it but still - bad memories (they're painful). Danny doesn't need them. Danny doesn't want to remember that he once had SUCH mother-in-law (oh, it's not just another story about a hahaha salty man and his hahaha "awful" mother-in-law and hahaha "awful" ex wife, nope - it's a sad story about a really anxious person and their really abusive "family"). SUCH past. Danny doesn't need Chin to mention it now or joke about it (Chin doesn't joke but tell it to the anxious mind). If Danny needs to rant about it - HE rants. If Chin wanted to say "Hey, I remember who hurt you and I'm with you" - it's lovely, he's a great friend and brother and Danny knows, Danny appreciates. But hell, it's not a good place, not a good situation, not... (plus: Danny is frustrated and worries now about the world/their case and especially about Steve and Steve's issues in Japan and when he thinks about his beloved one... boom! suddenly Chin summons "ghost" of cursed person).

It was a painful moment but Danny is strong. Strong again. He tries to focus on something safe. On anything not-damn-past-related. He's like "Let's talk about YOUR past instead, G". G mentioned his past earlier so it's okay to talk. And G's past is tied to their case. Damn, Danny can talk now even about the clouds outside - just no more talks about his past. Not now. Not when he doesn't need that.

Yes and no, Chin. Amanda (and Rachel) don't count - they're not Danny's family (never really were), they're not his Ohana. He doesn't need them, doesn't want them - he is forced to hear about them/to see them because of Gracie (for Gracie). But yes, they count - they count as blood feud. As those people who make Danny highly anxious and depressed. And highly angry.

His past. It still makes Danny's blood boil. He is still not safe. He still needs to heal. His body shouts. Meanwhile show writers: 😈

56 notes · View notes