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cloudbattrolls · 3 months

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But Never A Key

Thrixe & Zanzul Varzim | Bukit Berongga | Present Night

Thrixe could tell he was being carried in pieces.

He could not see, nor truly hear; there was only the grip of hundreds of hands holding him. Hot, humid air surrounded all his parts through the gaps in the trolls’ fingers.

Dimly, he sensed many of his pieces get destroyed. They sickened until they died.

He felt the remaining chunks get put back together in a roughly troll shape, but he had to connect the pieces himself.

Thrixe began to feel pain again as he turned his starfish mass into troll bones and organs, making himself a face and a tongue once more. Then he regrew his horns, hair, and fins. Fortunately, he’d learned to grow clothes over himself a while ago, and he added those as well.

The Choir found himself sitting on the ground - not the beach he’d come up on, up in the hills - looking up at a sky thick with clouds.

Looking up at a woman.

A woman taller than him standing a few feet away with crossed arms, a blueblood if her clothing was any indication. She had dark eyes with yellow pupils, and black markings on her face. Her dreadlocked hair was done up in a neat bun, and she wore a disdainful expression with a hint of pity.

A mass of other trolls stood further back, surrounding them in a circle.

Something…something was strange about their eyes…

“Choir. Do you know what you’ve done?”

He shook his head. Everything was bleary. He still felt ill, and though his mind was a bit clearer he was far too exhausted to change shape or even move much, his limbs leaden. The last thing the hybrid remembered was wanting to attack Ginger…

Oh no.

“I fought…I fought them…” he mumbled, ashamed.

“Yes.” Agreed the woman crisply. “You bled their brain. They may not live. You will have killed a horseman of the apocalypse if so. The empire will not forgive you. The world will be out of balance.”

Thrixe’s fins lowered and he hung his head.

“Can I heal them?” He whispered.

“Do you think they would trust you to do so?” Asked the woman gently, a mild smile on her face.

Thrixe shook his head miserably.

“Who…are you?” He managed, his foggy head finally remembering to ask.

“I am Cyvell. The fae of anthrax. You have met my messengers before. The same ones who showed you to your ancestor’s pocket world.”

His violet eyes went wide.

“That was you?”

“On my mentor’s orders.” The fae clarified as thunder rumbled in the distance. “The Fireseer decrees all of the Muted’s descendants be shown safe harbor.”

“Thank you.” Thrixe murmured.

Cyvell’s smile tightened.

“What have you done with that harbor, Choir? You extend your tendrils and your songs into the world and you take no notice of what you leave behind. Look at these trolls.”

Thrixe rubbed his eyes, and reached out with his senses as well as his sight.

Sick. They were all horribly sick. Their eyes were crusted over with black. A few seemed to even have odd fungal growths beginning to sprout.

Wait. This was…

“That disease I cured.” He murmured.

“You never cured it. That disease was the result of your ancestor’s power, his remnants in these hills leaking into the trolls here.”

She gestured to the land around them in a wide sweep of her hand.

“The Muted left behind more than a pocket world, Choir. Before he sunk himself into the ocean, his weapons helped the empire kill troll and fae alike, and not only us. All of Alternia’s races suffered because of his works.”

Thrixe felt a dawning sense of clarity and horror.

Then he frowned.

��Why…why only now? Uryali lived thousands of sweeps ago, so his weapons must have been used then too…what changed?”

The fae looked down at him coolly.

“I took the power for myself. A minor, temporary imbalance to correct the greater one. ”

Thrixe’s head hurt. He didn’t understand.

“You…you said it was my ancestor’s power that caused that disease, but you…”

“It did.” Said Cyvell crisply. “I took control of it after you made it stronger, thinking you had solved the problem.”

She gestured at the trolls around her.

“All around Alternia, wherever you have regrown the world, things are changing. Slowly but surely, microorganisms will mutate and their ecosystems will break down. Disease such as Alternia has never seen will run rampant, fresh strains fighting for dominance, rising to become new fae.”

She gave him a hard look.

“Do you know what would happen? That many new diseases at once, and new members of the courts? It would be war, Choir. It would be death. It would be the unbalancing of everything my people hold dear.

The one who could best correct it - the Fireseer - is useless. All because he still mourns your ancestor, even though he knew this time would come.”

Thrixe felt like melting into the ground and never coming out.

“I didn’t know.” He croaked. “I thought I was being careful.”

Her expression changed to one of mild pity.

“You are better than the Muted. But you cannot help your nature. We diseases prefer to spread, and you seek to grow the world in your image, even if it is not a conscious choice.”

Thrixe absorbed that, feeling more tired than he ever had in his life.

“So…I have to fix it.”

“You cannot fix it. Not with your own powers. It would be counter to your nature.”

“But I -“

“You will make things worse, Choir. Like you just did. Look over at what remains of your clash with Pestilence.”

She pointed down at the shore he had crawled up on, and Thrixe could see the sand had become sludge overgrown with small animals and plants. The water had become violet-streaked black ice. The air was hazy with bioluminescent clouds of microbes.

All three were slowly spreading, consuming more of the hills and their surroundings.

Right now, he was too weak to stop them.

Thrixe keened softly with his ill throat despite the pain, another two of his voices softly joining in.

Was this all he was? A force destined to ruin the world he loved?

Would the planet be better off without him, as he’d always feared?

A few violet tears ran down his spotted cheeks.

“What should I do?” He asked quietly.

Cyvell smiled.

“I can make it so you never hurt anyone or any place again.” She said soothingly. “The fae will take care of the damage you’ve caused. I swear it, as the queen of the winter disease court.”

He nodded.

“I’m ready. For whatever you need to do.”

Her smile turned hard, and as lightning struck not far away Cyvell drew the circle of trolls surrounding them closer, and they stopped humming and started -

- singing.

The music sounded like his own. It vibrated deep within him, calling to his own songs.

They kept singing…they sprouted mouths all over their bodies like he could…

Cyvell changed.

Her troll form stretched and grew, body and legs elongating, face becoming a muzzle as she grew fur and long ears, and several more eyes. A tail sprouted from her, long and sinuous, and her hands and feet became paws with sickle claws.

She too opened her jaws - set with pincers on either side - and joined in the song, as the heavens opened and it began to rain down on the hill’s assembly of beings.

Thrixe welcomed the warm downpour. He felt feverish still, and his gills flexed instinctively as his fins waved up and down in time with the music.

The air began to crackle, to shift somehow, and he could feel the world begin to distort…

“Thrixe!”

“Zanzul!”

He shouted back in confusion and delight, despite his sore throat, as he heard his name called out by a gloriously familiar voice. What was his signmate doing here?

The hybrid was too ill to remember how he had called out for the other Varzim.

Thrixe turned to see her, and did not notice Cyvell gnashing her teeth and pincers, claws sinking into the wet ground.

Zanzul did.

Before coming up, Zanzul had sung to the hills to ask them what had happened, and the hills had answered.

Her eyes were narrowed and glowing violet-white as she ran up the hill, her long dreadlocks tossed about in the rain and the rising wind.

“I have no quarrel with you, Lyric!” Shouted the fae of anthrax over the rising chorus of her trolls and the increasing thunder and lightning. “This is how it has to be!”

“The lie is your expense, the scope of your desire.” Sang Zanzul back at her, furiously.

“I do not lie.” Hissed Cyvell. “I am fae.”

Thrixe didn’t understand what was happening. His headache was worse, his throat sore, his mind tired. He felt terribly lost and upset, and he didn’t know what to think anymore.

The singing trolls closed in on him. He couldn’t understand their words - they were singing in what must be some fae language - but he winced as he saw their distorted faces and bodies.

Trolls weren’t supposed to have that many mouths. It must be painful.

As Zanzul got close, Thrixe became completely surrounded as Cyvell willed her forces to form a shield between him and his signmate.

She snapped her jaws, staring at the violet woman as her tail lashed.

“Now you cannot reach him without hurting them. I have heard of you, Lyric. You are gentle for both troll and terror. You are to be respected for how well you control your song; better than the Choir and his mess.”

Zanzul regarded the creature with her multicolored eyes.

She tapped into the same power the fae of anthrax had borrowed, but for her it was a direct conduit, a deep bloodline connection that had never withered despite the ages that had passed.

Zanzul sang, so clear and pure that it vibrated in the ears of all present, even as thunder punctuated her words. As if she spoke for the storm.

“Lo, that’s the way that it goes -“

Cyvell’s many black and yellow eyes widened as her trolls stopped their singing to listen. She tried to back up quickly.

“I’m sorry you’ll never be free.”

The now pounding rain spun into a funnel and caught the fae of anthrax, trapping her in a column of writhing water that stayed in place, a channel between land and sky as she struggled in place, clawing at the walls of her watery prison.

Zanzul knew she didn’t have much time. She pushed the sodden, warped trolls aside - they parted for her easily.

She picked up a now-unconscious Thrixe, his illness worsening again now that Cyvell wasn’t holding it back.

The singer fled as lightning crashed around her, trying to figure out what the trolls’ song had been for, racing down the hill with Thrixe toward her boat.

He mumbled a line of her song in his sleep.

“So don’t lift a finger, your warden provides all you’ll need.” He sung roughly, troll mouth out of sync with his words.

As she reached the shore where she’d brought her boat up, trailing water with every step, Zanzul had a sudden, terrible feeling.

The world itself felt fragile. Ready to break.

Safety was in sight, and yet -

Black ooze welled from Thrixe’s mouth even as she leapt onto her boat, covering everything, growing so thickly into her throat and her eyes, there was nothing she could do.

She heard him whisper the song’s final line, and she could swear that under his voice was Cyvell’s.

But never a key.

Then everything vanished, and Zanzul lost consciousness as well.

To an outsider, it would seem the pair of violets and the boat had simply blinked out of reality.

At that very moment, the ooze stopped growing. The remnants from Thrixe’s fight with Ginger ceased their expansion through the land, air, and sea.

The water trapping Cyvell splashed out of shape and ran down the hill. She struggled to her paws, dripping wet and coughing water, but drowning could not kill a fae of her caste.

Her infected trolls now all lay dead, souls gone from their warped and sickened bodies. She looked at them with a moment’s pity, then shook her long-eared head.

No matter. They had served their purpose in creating a gate, she conceded, as she struggled to her paws.

Tonight, she had stopped the malediction.

—

Zanzul opened her eyes first. How long had passed, the violet had no idea.

She saw nothing, because there was nothing to see. Nothing to feel, smell, taste…nothing to hear. She shivered, but her body didn’t feel like it actually did. Her body didn’t feel like her body at all. Like she was a being of thought instead of flesh. A collection of memories. An idea.

But she sensed that she and Thrixe - still limp in her arms - were not alone in this seeming void.

There were others. Around them. Inside them. There was little distinction here. It was a place - not even really that - of potential. Where the laws of the universe stretched and bent and became malleable. Where nothing and something were made into nonsense terms, and existence itself became a question rather than a statement.

It would have driven any pure troll insane.

The Furthest Ring, she murmured without using her voice. There was no way to be heard here, no air or sound waves, but everything else could still listen. There was no distinction between thought and self.

She felt a song that gripped her, horribly similar to her own voice. A gentle, lilting bubbling of flesh and keening of spines and throats inside throats, compelling and terrifying.

It was distant, as much as anything could be in a place with no true way to be measured.

It was hungry.

It was coming for her and Thrixe.

Zanzul breathed nothing, exhaled nothing, then gently put her signmate down on the wooden planks below.

She prepared to sing for their lives.

THE END OF

HARBINGER: PART ONE

THE PROPHET OF SCARS

#cloud writes #harbinger #thrixe varzim #zanzul varzim #cyvell xranth #in the immortal words of mother 1 #no crying until the end.

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dinsfire24 · 5 months

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ok this idea has been cooking in my head for a while, but i had an idea for a ksmp character :D

btw if any of these ideas are ableist please let me know. this character and their arc have themes of chronic illness and disability. im basing some of their stuff on my own experiences with adhd, especially their frustration at their own abilities, but that doesnt exempt me from being ableist (esp with their physical problems)

warning for vague descriptions of decay and implied body horror

so this character's temporary name is amanita! (they/them) i came up with em after listening to that "there i am, there i am again" song a few too many times. also somewhat inspired by rot from rainworld :3

moving on from that, amanita is around... 12 years old, maybe? they're extremely friendly and usually quite caring. they always try to be optimistic and cheer others up, although they're actually terrified of the future. they love animals, but most animals and certain people (especially those with sharp senses of smell) are scared of them :(

they have some pretty severe memory issues bc their brain is. well. infested with skulk and warped fungus and void. their whole body is, really—they're the result of an experiment to try and combine these things, to see if anything good could come from it. now their body is decaying. they don't really remember what happened, but they still hate, hate, hate being touched. and they know that something is wrong with their body; they just can't pin down what.

they have a halting manner of speech, often repeating words or trailing off in the middle of sentences. they also tend to forget to finish their thought. on especially bad days they're almost impossible to understand, and they usually choose to stay quiet on those days. altho sometimes they forget that their speech isn't working and get very frustrated

i also think clown would be at least a little unsettled by them. he might recognize the skulk or the warped mushrooms, or he might even have heard of the experiments that caused this to happen. he'd think of them as sort of like a walking corpse. (which they would resent if they knew he thought that—they're not dead yet!!!) also their friendliness and memory issues might make them easier to manipulate, sadly

maddie might just be curious. amanita doesn't seem to be from the nether or the end, but they don't fit with what she knows about the overworld, either. and even though their memory is foggy, they have experience with some things she's never even heard of. she might be wary of them after the adventure in the deep dark, though

kab would definitely think they were cool as hell. i think she would also appreciate how friendly they were, but she would be VERY worried about their interactions with clown. she'd try to keep them away from him as much as she could.

i've only watched a few streams of s1, so my characterizations are a bit shaky and idk what the rest of the characters would think. but ye :D

a lil snippet of how they talk and act:

"Who are you?"

The kid grinned up at Kab. "Amanita! That's my name."

"And where did you come from?"

Amanita's enthusiasm dimmed a bit. "Don't remember," they replied quietly. "Not... It's not, uh..." Their eyes flickered around the town. "Can I stay?"

"I'll have to talk to Kab, but-" Pyro glanced at Rae. "Can you stay with them?"

She nodded. "Sure."

The kid plopped down on the floor as Pyro stepped away. "Who'sat?"

Rae brightened. "Kab is my best friend," she told them with a grin. "She's amazing."

"Best friend," they repeated. "I had a... Well, or something else. Where are they?"

Before Rae could figure out what to say to that, Amanita stood up. "Let's go find them. Your- Your Kab," they decided cheerfully.

#mcyt #ksmp #kaboodle smp

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blahkugo · 4 years

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Omakase

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+, smut, slight overstim, all characters are aged up, ofc.

A/N: Happy birthday to the woman that literally birthed my blog, the writer of the best fics I’ve ever read-- *cough Notice, Seven Minutes, Of Love and Lemons, etc.*-- @lookslikeleese. It’s 5 am right now and my brain cannot come up with the proper words, but just know I love you so much. Thank you for creating our entire friend group. I LOVE YOU.

omakase (noun):

(in a Japanese restaurant) a meal consisting of dishes selected by the chef; chef’s choice.

Thirty minutes into supper with the Todorokis, you think your heart may actually stop beating. It’s not the awkward silence, nor the snowstorm of icy glares traveling across the table. You’ve long since made your peace with the scents of charred leather couches and melted silverware that linger in your hair whenever one of the men gets riled up.

No, it’s an issue far more pressing than the typical family drama, a matter that needs to be resolved with stealth— immediately.

It’s Shouto’s fingers, darting into his pocket and pressing a single button. It’s your heels digging into the cool tile beneath you. It’s every nerve standing on end, every passing second sending a wave of heat to your core. Your knuckles blanche, gripping the oak table with such ferocity that it may just snap, and your thighs shake, overwhelmed.

The issue is that there’s a little pink vibrator pressing against your clit and the bi-colored bastard chews his food as though this night is no different than any other.

It doesn’t matter that the toy’s been placed at the lowest setting all night, doesn’t matter that your fingernails relieve a bit of the pressure every time you dig them into your exposed thighs. The only thought crossing your mind is your impending orgasm. How are you supposed to stifle euphoric pleasure when you’re barely able to hold it together now?

“So, how’s that new job going?” Enji asks more out of courtesy than interest. While you typically humor his attempts at placid conversation, you’re too troubled to speak to the stoic man in front of you. What if your juices seep through your soaked panties right onto the chair?

“It’s— ah- it’s really good.”

And this has been your entire night thus far. Feeble efforts to remain coherent, whines and gasps hidden behind awkward coughs— anything and everything you can possibly do to maintain your dignity in the presence of your boyfriend’s father.

“What was that funny story you were telling me earlier today?” Shouto doesn’t miss a beat, sending a quick slant your way before stuffing another bite of rice into his mouth. He knows precisely what he’s doing, can feel the pointed daggers you dig into the side of his head, but his relaxed smile reveals nothing to the three pairs of eyes gazing intently at you, awaiting your response.

“Oh, Mt. Lady, she— oh my god,” As soon as you begin speaking, he cranks the toy up to a new level. Though it’s only for a second, the sound that leaves your body is inhuman, a mortifying cross between a sob and a choke that has your palm slamming onto the table fiercely.

All at once, the table is bustling with concern for your safety. To their naive eyes, it seems you choked on a bite of food, and Fuyumi hurries to grab you a glass of water. Shouto simply remains seated, a slick grin plastered across his face at the sight of your heated cheeks and teary eyes. What the fuck could have possessed you to agree to this in the first place?

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble out, embarrassment shaking you far worse than any sex toy ever could. And that fact— the way your eyebrows knead together in discomfort as you squirm in your seat— is precisely what Shouto wants. You’re no stranger to humiliation, no stranger to the tugging deep in your gut or the heated flush that darts onto your mattress and makes its home on your cheeks.

But this? This type of shame is foreign; it makes your head spin and refuses to waver no matter how much you silently gripe and plead. “Honestly, I feel a bit—” another pulse, another pained gasp from you, “ill.” The words barely make their way out before you’re gritting your teeth, thighs pressing together so tightly they may leave pretty purple marks.

“Maybe I should take her upstairs,” Shouto sighs, faux apology slipping through his mouth with ease. When did the fucker get so good at lying?

And then he’s helping you up from your seat, rubbing tender circles into your back, like any good boyfriend would. But every graze is unbearable, sends a tidal wave of warmth rushing through your core. The most innocent of touches has become obscene, twisted in a way only you and the cool man next to you are able to acknowledge.

As you climb the stairs with shaky legs, you can only pray that the rest of the family doesn’t notice the slick juices trailing down your thighs.

—

“Who knew dinner and a show could be so entertaining?” He teases, just barely dodging the fist you throw half-heartedly at his shoulder. His supple lips are glued into a smirk, one that probably won’t drop until the night is long over.

“Please– I-” you attempt to stifle your moans, but in the comfort of his childhood bedroom you find yourself slipping into a high-pitched whine. “Turn it off.” He seems to debate the plea internally, slender fingers brushing over the buttons until you grip harshly at his bicep. You’ve endured enough misery to last you months.

When he finally switches it off, you feel your entire body slacken and relief wash over you; however, it does nothing for the throbbing in your clit or the pool of desire still brimming in your core. What you crave is his touch, the warmth that pokes and prods at your every muscle, loosening each nerve until you’re a babbling mess— wholly at the mercy of his lithe fingers.

“Shou,” you mewl, voice dripping with desperation. His eyes widen for a quick second, brows raised and shocked by your blatant come-on with his family only a level down. “I need you.”

Those three simple words have him springing into action, shoving you against the mattress. Pinning you beneath him with ease, he hikes your skirt up to your hips before running a slender digit against your clothed slit.

“You made a mess,” his words carry no weight, only amazement at the juices flowing freely through the thin panties and down your thighs. “Probably made a mess all over your chair too.”

With that comment, your shame is back with a vengeance, tinging the tips of your ears and causing you to cry out. Before Shouto, you’d have never thought this sort of depraved commentary could have you shaking. Hell, you’re not sure he even knew what he was doing to you at first; ever oblivious, Shouto simply speaks his mind.

Only when he noticed the effect of his words, did he begin using those passing observations against you. Now, he lives for your reactions, spurs you on if only to see how far a gruff remark can push you— and typically, your limit is reached in wanton sobs and bright red scratch marks down his back.

He doesn’t bother with removing the lace panties, only tugs them to the side so he can brush his fingers against your naked slit. When he pushes a thumb against your clit, you can’t help the loud cry that escapes you. “Bite,” he offers up his wrist so that your moans don’t carry through the thin walls.

Your teeth sink into his flesh, eliciting a sharp breath at the sudden pain. And he enjoys that part too— the lengths you’ll go to achieve pleasure, the stinging reminders of your desire. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?” He tests a finger, then two, knuckles deep in your doughy walls as you writhe on the bed. “Good girl.”

“Mmph,” you feel your eyes roll back at the soft praise, thighs tensing as he begins to pump his digits in and out. “Faster, ah– please.” Your moans are muffled against his arm, but he complies nonetheless, fingers curling and hitting the spot that drums against your heartbeat, that rattles through your brain.

The second he brings his lips to your clit, you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. Hair slick with sweat, your hands roam through his own wet strands, gripping and tugging him closer, closer, closer. He suckles hungrily, his last meal long forgotten as he pushes you further over the edge.

All at once, you see stars. You’re unsure whether you’re keeping quiet like he asked or sobbing loudly, the tidal wave of pleasure consumes you whole, stomach going taut and twisting as he allows you to ride out your orgasm. With the toy slowly edging you all night, this bliss feels fully merited— is exactly what you deserve after being subjected to his teasing for so long.

Shouto only lets up when your entire body has gone slack and you push his head away. Bringing his fingers up to your supple lips, he watches hungrily as you slurp at your own slick.

His eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen them, pooling with eagerness and a longing for more; he brings a thumb to his chin to wipe at your juices— licks a long stripe up the digit to fully savor you. The image is immodest at the least, animalistic at most.

It reignites your own thirst immediately.

Though you’re exhausted, core spasming from overuse, you find yourself tugging at his waistband, pulling him close so he can sheath himself inside you in one fell thrust.

“Fuck,” his voice is husky, groan stifled in the nook of your shoulder. “Still so fucking tight for me.” The only sounds that fill the air are your joint moans, the squeaky springs of the mattress, and the headboard clanging against the wall— sweat soaked skin as his hips snap against you.

“Ah— please, please, please,” it seems to be the only phrase that falls from your loose lips. Every jerk sends shocks across your damp flesh, vision going foggy as he sends your brain spinning. Once again, you teeter at the edge, so close. Your legs wrap across his back, digging into the globes of his ass to pull him impossibly closer.

“What do you want?” He grunts into your jaw, peppering wet kisses down your neck and across your chest. It may leave a mark or two, but it’s something to worry about later.

“I–”At this point, you’re just a teary, blubbering mess, “please, Shou– need your cum.” You manage the words, knowing exactly what effect they have. His movements quicken, pace faltering as he chases his own high.

And then, you’re both seeing stars. With one final shudder, his cock twitches, and then he’s spilling into you. Your groans intertwine, his a loud sigh of your name, you sobbing helplessly.

Once he finally stills, he collapses on top of you, both of your chests heaving. His fingers smooth at your matted hair, whispers of ‘so good for me’ and ‘fuck, baby’ into the shell of your ear as he allows your body— still trembling uncontrollably— time to regain composure.

Now you remember why you agreed to this little game of his.

–

“I hope you feel better,” Fuyumi hugs you goodbye, though your eyes are glazed over in post-coital bliss. Her gaze doesn’t quite meet your own, anyways. But they couldn’t have heard; you were quiet. Weren’t you?

As you stumble into the passenger side of Shouto’s pristine Model S, you catch the gruff comment Enji murmurs to Shouto,

“You two could stand to be a bit less obvious next time.”

#weese's birthday bash #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha smut #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #mha smut #shouto #shoto todoroki x reader #smut #tw: overstimulation

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crackcrocs · 3 years

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DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #3

3. Transformation Central

the entities of my personalities would like to come together in one voice that speaks through me, we or I call this collection of words from the mustiest corners of my brain to this note page to voice something that might come close to what I feel underneath the skin I wear. In all my unorganised words- I might even go as far as to call this a poem, titled:

‘TRANSFORMATION CENTRAL’

sub characters in my head would appreciate if this could be visualised & understood through as deep a lens as humanly possible. even I confuse myself so if you can decode or relate to any of this, wonderful. If not, I’m locked in my own mind, swallowed the keys to my soul.

SIMILARITIES & INTERCONNECTEDNESS BETWEEN HUMAN & PLANT CONSCIOUSNESS EXIST! if you look closely at my nose freckles you’ll see the resemblance of the constellations above. if you look at the human veins & the layout of a tree, this is further proof.

{VISUALS THROUGH A SEPIA WINDOW STARING @ THE AUTUMN LEAFS; IMAGINING THE SEEDS UNDERNEATH, THROUGH NUMB ROOT VESSELS THAT PERMEATE THROUGH EVERY MEMBRANE OF MY EXTERNAL TO INTERNAL ENVIRONMENT}

~FEATURING THE VICIOUS CYCLE OF DEPRESSION & PERFECTIONISM.

here goes:

What is this part of my mind ?

If you want; delve inside-

I may look sweet like Alice,

but underneath it all

I deteste looking in the mirror

-cos I see the mad hatter.

my inner child needs a platter-

full of care not distortion & abuse pls.

less fibbin would’ve been a breeze.

now following the dead fish in the stream!

HOW on EARTH do I fit with the cod & the Haddock?

I’m the rainbow fish- beat & battered.

dim my own light cos I’m too afraid to shine.

alone.

thieves tried to steal my shiny scales.

I sat and watched them grow.

In the sea realm they were mean gargantuan selfish whales, with poisonous shark fangs & alligator tails. scorpion hands. (gremlins)

and still they make me feel like the alien-

I cant take it.

Make it make sense ?

I can’t.

controller in my hand-

Off balance stance.

anxiously I move round like a wobbly jelly.

where’s the button to balance my chi & shut out the ego ?

the teLLIE telling lies to our vision!

change the channel aura terracotta orange- daily dosage of vitamin D & C.

catch me sun gazing by the sea

head buzzin like a bee.

speaking from a dusty box

stuck on top of a forbidden shelf

cos I dunno how else.

I’m tryna delve deep but forgot how to dive

How can i visualise? scenery foggy-

the establishment man with the glue gun got me xD

inner monk burning but at peace

Cos I refuse to believe

If the only way is the American dream

Interconnected; like the frog in science -let’s dissect it!

down to every floating atom spirit neighbouring your door

subcategories & divisions, it’s more!

than the rich and the poor -prism that’s been built

do we all feel like a performance monkey on stilts?

will my data be extracted & used to mould a robots personality some day?

well obviously not.

does the price of our lives all amount down to slave ways?

LABOUR YAY!

but morals & values it seems we’ve forgot.

sO If i don’t speak its cos I’m lost.

or maybe i’m enlightened-

Standing at the edge of the porch;

watching TRYING to understand how the flowers grow.

questioning eVERYTHING man made!

I’ve stepped out of the perfect picture frame

I can see the coal pollute the sky

I need to hop on the train-

but I’m comfortable

Sunset to sunrise statue standing still.

what’s the ingredients to life’s yucky pie?

I’ve exceeded mental lotteries.

Sanity n universal peace would be a trophy.

TIL then I’ll be crafting & shaping a solid pottery reality,

with a few pence, gum, and a bandana of belongings tied to stick.

thinking one day I’ll be laying the bricks

& building a kingdom of bliss.

guess for now I’ll use the intricate delicate materials in my tool box- that’s all I’ve got.

might have a long way- maybe worth a shot.

I observe, cruisin in the sky.

dunno why..

I jus look @ the hills.

Only time & history reveals.

no thanks mr men-

I don’t want your prescription pills.

there’s enough propaganda as it is.

I won’t jump on the merry go round-

til my core trusts & envisions we’ll actually feel safe!

I don’t want to take part in this faux fur, sweet nothings & a jack in a box punching blur, so called future.

oh and genuinely thanks quarantine-for once again, I can hear bird sounds!

guess this is me tryna speak out loud!!!...

it’s not thrilling

system time killing everything-

mother nature’s oxygen

everything is nauseating

clock ticking, I better start creating.

they should write a book on how to be free when the system set us up to believe that we’re tied to the cut down trees that gives them a currency of greed that they breed.

If blindfolded, I don’t wanna eat what they feed.

Whilst they profit of us -tell us smile and the bandits don’t wanna see us happy.

they’re too busy robbing all our hoods.

In exchange for the silence, they’ve granted us with a 21’st century fashion garment of a slave muzzle! labelled conform.

More delusion to add to the already desensitised norm.

zootonic diseases, welcome covid 19 to your plastic kiddy tea party!- apologies for questioning your motive!

Been handed too many hot plates with a post it note saying HOLD THIS.

we’ll be okay just hush.

Same Shan message told to every generational seed.

If we don’t TRY overpower-

we’ll never succeed!

it’s getting even more scary.

Artificial intelligence.

Societal negligence..

my canvas isn’t clear-dunno am I schizo ?

finger painting, cos it makes more sense.

struggling to blend.

borderline conspiracist pretending to be fine;

moving the goal post, hovering above the race line.

who made the chalk? who set the lanes?

I wanna know it all, maybe¿ far past insane.

I can fit all I need in the palm of my hand,

Maybe even less! cut a finger off not sure it’ll even add stress.

hi from personality Peter, even sober- always away with the fairies.

Pass the pixie dust, I’m in a rush

Found shelter in the comfort of pan physicists timer, no not the one on your phone!

Ring ring, skeptical! is it my demon or my mommy on the phone?

I’m stuck in the airspace of an infinite glass filled with beach particles trying to form myself standing up still attempting not to slip through the hands of my very own discovery.

time is running out & ill go when I go.

I’m sitting inside the fly trap -

stardust, chakras can you feel the sensation colors like a starburst.

deep emotion is a curse.

still entrapped in the sand dune of nothingness-

flipping a domino monopoly of solidified thoughts as I sway with the wind.

I’m the trapped sandbox in the playground & the slipping sand in my own hands.

Inhale chronic but I wanna enter the quiet realm of white noise

-color of a wife beater vest, calmer than the ease in ignorance of a red neck.

sadomasochistic, messes.

but oblivion, seems like less stress.

Unfortunately I can see, with all eyes

empathetic paralysis, gets me vexed.

Punching truth into the core of your chest!

It’s not funny, neither is the one on the receiving end..

My limbs are numb

& im done playing octopus alchemy.

I want minimalism & life can be simple,

Evil entities have made it hard.

Maybe I’ve got stars above my head like an old cartoon character.

But I can’t make it make sense, are they out to get me. worse all of us? Or have I bottled myself tryna re mesh the broken shards,

I feel glued to the floor cos there’s a pretty price to pay if you want more.

I see life through a different lense, maybe born downside up, Benjamin button I came out the back door-

Outside looking in, digesting confusion.

Is to be a product of environment a sin?

rummage through my messy brain.

personalities sardine packed in this tin

I’m the wizard of my mania

Scaring & attracting the black crows-

they’re my friends.

Sometimes still a cowardly lion

Roaring pain & true riddles at the wrenching wicked witch posse of the west.

will my voice ever be loud enough to shed light wit my words and grate the sweet zest

In to the cake i’m baking?

Probably not.

Got more thoughts than the autumn leaves collected by the garden rake. alone.

gathering & storing the pains of yesterday.

sometimes I stay in line

Other times in my head Im on my hands juggling out of time.

but I really don’t mind if I lose or win.

we all have a pace

I jus don’t want the 1% to win the race.

It’s unfair!

Humanity does anyone care ??

Half lady

half fairy

Good MOOrning-

from my anagrams.

no I’m not a cow.

twister fidget spinner brain in the flesh-

form of expression this time around lyrics.

feel I’m jus a silly rubix

& still mourning

I don’t like dairy

pass the oat milk.

Are you aware the industry are sabotaging our diets?

we want peace!

the powerful elite-

perceive & deceive

the scene they want us to be.

chuck the narcissistic psychopathic pie back in our face-

every time we almost found & addressed the Programme & Control man in the maze.

evil & extroverted- he said that the anarchists have to be the cause of riots.

working isn’t class. I said let’s switch roles- he said pass.

It’s piss! Who’s got the bomb & the guns?

Who got the land? off wit OUR heads 4 fun!

it’s pure scary.

Pharmaceutics handshake.

with the cooked up suppliers, also crooked wack liars.

I’d rather shot a gallon of bloody blubbery infused slaughter house milk

If it meant we didn’t use cocoons for silk.

why not add a drizzle of bleach to the concoction & maybe that’s a reach.

every time I guzzle fakeness, it taste peak.

I want real fruit, what next-

a seedless peach ???

what’s the difference between a weirdo & a freak?

layers & levels to the shit.

Magnifying tapping the window of society, I’ll be puffing green til I get to the land of Oz.

sponge soaked soaking up emotions

Suffocated by deduction of care in life

feel entrapped in this paradigm

what am I thinking ?

got the verbs & a cuppa tea

It’s mixed with torment & desire to be free.

I’d rather be awake than asleep

When I get too comfy I feel weak

Demons they reap

underneath

rip the seems as I bleed

Concrete

Solid

Emotions

Is all you’re getting

It’s all sad scenes in the imagery I’m setting

people need care we seem to be forgetting

why are we in debt wit

a posse of clowns

pay the price so we can get a frown

here’s some seratonin

quit ya moaning

life is all sound

aw yeh¿ if you’re not an over thinker!

product of environment- Sirius flickers

theyve done a ritual like it’s Wicca

now here’s your gold sticker..

for managing to co operate.

In this world fuelled off of evil n hate

waking ups a bloody disgrace

I am not amazed.

Man I love my fam n my friends

Just hate this part of my brain that feels the need to play pretend

sometimes I feel insane

but I’m calm

need to escape so I don’t do harm

Gold lioness in the sky by the sea

with puff the magic dragon

fire out my mouth, fuel helps me breathe

I will shine bright

Promise imma be alright

even tho I’m not sure why

I function like this

I wanna be myself

It’s just hard to find the comfortability

To feel happy and pretty

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Ring around sing about overdose emotions

Sorry dunno how to communicate

Heads in a constant debate

Should I go or should I stay

My head clashes

Burnin the next ciggy as my thoughts become ashes.

#LCZABIBU #deathwillonlybethebeginning

9 notes · View notes

ghostlywritten · 4 years

Text

Petals

Words: 4k+

Hanahaki AU!

You tilted your head back to let the sun rays shine on your face, smiling at the slight breeze that passed by, ruffling your hair. The air smelled of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass and it just confirmed to you once again that spring was and would forever be your favourite season.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a doofus or get in the car eventually?” a low, smooth voice calmly broke through your serene bubble and you opened your eyes to see Yoongi standing a few feet away, already turned towards his car parked in the lot.

“I’m coming, jeez. What’s the rush?” you asked teasingly, bouncing towards him and ignoring the slight ache in your body that caused you to wince.

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “Careful, Y/N! You are going to hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, rolling your eyes slightly at his over-protective nature as he shot you an uncertain look that made you squirm.

“You always say that even if it’s not true,” he replied, “I’m not going to be fooled anymore.”

Your smile faltered and you glanced away as guilt creeped up in you again. The older boy turned to head towards the car silently and you sighed at the now gloomy atmosphere.

Settling down in the passenger seat, you buckled up before biting your lip. “...”

This time, Yoongi sighed, “Come on. Keep that smile up. You don’t wanna worry the boys more than you already have now, do you?”

“No...of course not,” you mumbled, glancing out the window. You had known you would have to face the consequences eventually when you kept such a big matter to yourself for so long. The thought of facing your friends made your throat dry like a Sahara and you coughed slightly as you tried to swallow.

Yoongi immediately shot you an alarmed look and you sighed once again, mustering up the courage to put a hand on his arm. It had been him, who had found you lying unconscious on the floor of your apartment and you knew it had shocked him greatly. You couldn’t blame him for being cross with you ever since and just silently hoped he would forgive you someday. He was your best friend after all, the big brother you never had.

“I’m fine, Yoongi,” you reassured, smiling genuinely, “For real now. It’s over.”

He nodded mutely, turning up the car and driving out of the parking lot. Glancing back, you silently bid goodbye to the hospital that had been your host for five weeks.

“Do you remember anything yet?” Yoongi asked.

“About the boy?” you asked back.

“About Jimin,” he stressed as if the mere name would trigger something in your mind.

You silently recalled the encounter with the light-haired boy immediately after you woke up for the first time, surrounded by a white ceiling, white tiles and white bed sheets.

Waking up, you groaned at the ache in your limbs, eyes and head weighing a ton. It felt like you had slept for a lifetime and yet you had never felt more tired, more drained before. A hand squeezed yours and you forced your eyes open, immediately closing them again as the bright light hit them painfully.

“Y/N?” A broken voice called out to you slightly and you tilted your head towards it, mustering up the strength to pull your eyelids apart once again. What you saw was what you felt like; a boy, slouched in his seat with red, swollen eyes, dry and bitten lips and messed up hair. ‘Who are you?’ you thought, but nothing came out as you opened your mouth to ask out loud.

HIs eyes widened and he immediately rushed out to call a doctor, coming back in with several others. You recognised Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok but furrowed your eyebrows at their dishevelled features, dark circled under each of their eyes noticeable.

“Y/N, you are awake!” Hoseok yelped, bouncing over in joy and tightly wrapping his arms around you.

You smiled, your dry lips cracking slightly and causing you to wince.

“Let her breathe, Hoseok. She’s still fragile,” Yoongi reprimanded him as he walked up as well, giving you a once over.

“Ms. L/N. It’s nice to see you awake,” the doctor announced his presence as he entered the room, giving all of you a warm smile. He calmly stepped up towards the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand and surveying whatever was written on it, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you croaked out, trying to clear your throat. The boy holding your hand rushed to fill a cup of water, silently placing the lid against your lip. You complied, eagerly drinking up but still shot him a confused look. Really, who was he?

“That’s natural. Your body has gone through quite a turmoil,” the doctor replied gently, “Do you remember what happened? Why you are here?”

You wracked your brain, fighting through the fogginess in your brain, “I...I’m not sure. Last thing I remember is staying in the kitchen of my home.”

The doctor nodded, “It’s alright. You might feel a little disoriented right now but you will remember the details eventually. For now, you should know that you’ve gone through an operation for the removal of the hanahaki curse.”

Your eyes widened at that. You had the curse?

“You had come up previously for an appointment and we had made up a date for the operation as well but unfortunately you were hit hard with the symptoms and you fell unconscious. We were forced to proceed immediately.

But, the good news: The operation was successful, and you will heal without any lasting damages.”

Your head swam with the flood of information and you closed your eyes rolled back as a wave of dizziness hit you.

“Y/N? Y/N! Doctor, what’s happening?” the boy to your right asked, panic rising in his voice and your forced your eyes back open to watch him. His deep brown eyes were set on you with worry, anxiety scarring his handsome features.

“She’s going to need a lot of rest,” the doctor said solemnly, “The aftermath can range from dizziness, tiredness to nausea. We will keep you for a few weeks to monitor your health progress, Ms. L/N. You might be able to leave if we see you to be fit.”

Something beeped and he pulled out a pager from the front pockets of his white coat, “I must take my leave. A nurse will come by to check on your vitals in a few minutes and I will come by in the evening once more. For now, you should rest up.” He departed with a comforting smile and you tried to reciprocate it weakly.

Silence momentarily filled the room as you tried to process all the information. It felt like a fog was surrounding your brain and your mind was trying to fight against it, but it only resulted in you feeling increasingly more tired.

“You’ve really done it this time,” Yoongi spoke up, anger in his voice, “Really. I can’t imagine a more stupid way to go about this than you have.”

“Hyung, now now-,” Namjoon tired.

“You should have told us!” the elder burst out, his usually calm demeanour gone, “Just what were you thinking, keeping this from us? Do you even realise what you’ve done? What could have happened?”

“I...,” you tried to speak up this time but he wasn’t done, fury lacing his features yet he never raised his voice even the slightest bit, which somehow made it worse, “Do you know what a shock it was to find you lying in your blood for who knows how long?” he almost whispered and your chest constricted at the broken look in his eyes, “You could have died, Y/N!”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You were still trying to wrap your mind around everything, but you could already guess from the puzzle pieces so far that something had went severely off plan.

“You’re sorry,” he scoffed.

“Hyung,” the boy next to you spoke up now, a warning undertone in his voice, “Not now. Please.” Yoongi took a long look at his pleading gaze before muttering something under his breath and walking out of the room, leaving you to watch after him with a broken heart.

“He will come around,” Hoseok reassured you, running his fingers through your hair calmingly, “Don’t worry. He was just very scared.”

“We all were,” Namjoon said solemnly before stepping out, muttering something about calling up the other boys.

“He will come around, too,” Hoseok added with his smile wavering slightly and you could tell he was trying to hold back a resigned sigh. Breathing in deeply, you tried to keep your eyes open long enough for your mind to form a list of all the questions whirling around in your head.

“You should rest up,” the boy next to you said softly, his thumb gracing the back of your hand as he gazed at you tenderly. You nodded sleepily but couldn’t help but regard him curiously. He had been here the entire time holding your hand since you woke up and possibly even whilst you were unconscious as well. It appeared that you were close to him, yet your brain still had to register him as a friend or even acquaintance, someone that you had at least seen once before.

“Who are you?” the question slipped out just as you fell asleep, causing the room to freeze with a heart ceasing to stop for a minute as it broke into pieces.

“No,” you sighed, “I don’t.”

Yoongi pursed his lips slightly but let the topic go, knowing it wasn’t easy for you.

Arriving in front of their apartment, you sat still whilst Yoongi parked the car, feeling slightly anxious for some reason. You had seen all the boys as they had visited you all the time in the hospital but being out now was different.

They had been treading lightly around you, being caring and careful as they fussed over you but you couldn’t help but wonder what would change now; you knew the group dynamics with you would never be the same anymore. Not when they knew that you had been in love with one of them to the point that it had made you physically ill.

And not telling them probably didn’t make it better.

“Come on, the brats are waiting,” Yoongi beckoned you to follow him out of the car and into the apartment.

As soon as you got in, you were ambushed by several arms trying to wrap around you, ‘welcomes’ screamed into your ear, mostly by Taehyung and Hoseok. You laughed, happiness blooming in your chest at their warmth. Jin immediately battled them off, fussing over you and your thin form, “Have they given you anything to eat at all? I’m going to sue the entire hospital! But first, let’s get something actually edible into your stomach, come on!”

He led you towards the sofa in the living, the others minus one crowding around you and chatting up a storm. You felt relieved at their normal behaviour as they played catch up with you, telling you about everything that happened since they had last seen you.

This almost felt normal. As if you just hadn’t seen each other for a while because they were on tour or promoting their latest comeback.

Almost.

“Hey,” a quiet voice spoke up from behind you and the boys shut up as you turned around, eyes landing on the lithe form of the one that had been missing so far.

“Hello Jimin-sshi,” you greeted him, immediately wincing at your own mistake. His eyes widened a fraction before falling to gaze at the floor as he tried to regain his composure.

You tried to behave normally around him like you did with the rest of the boys, you really did. But not remembering a single thing about him made it hard to not treat him formally.

He breathed in deeply before plastering a bright grin on his face and approaching you, ruffling your hair, “It’s good to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” you said, smiling back as he diffused the awkward atmosphere you had created so easily, “It’s gotten pretty boring lying in bed all day so I’m glad to be out now.”

“Excuse you,” Jin piped up offended as he came back with a tray of food, “You had the best company with you. Us!”

“Sure, sure,” you replied teasingly, your mouth watering at your favourite dish and you immediately dug in, ignoring the “ungrateful brat” thrown at you by the others.

The days passed quickly with the boys and soon you fell back into your normal routine of going to work, meeting up with friends and staying up late with the boys until they insisted you slept over.

You said nothing but you knew they were just scared of leaving you alone in your apartment and after your almost death experience you weren’t too keen on being left alone either right now.

You also couldn’t help but notice how they always talked about the past, digging up memories from years ago that mostly involved you and Jimin, some discreet and others rather obvious in their attempts (*cough* HOSEOK *cough*)

“Do you remember the time you were stuck in the elevator and you had a panic attack and Jimin calmed you down?”

“Do you remember when we all went to Jeju Island together and you insisted on going rafting? You fell off so many times and Jimin always had to pull you back into the boat.”

“Oh! Remember that time when it was pouring buckets and JImin gave you his jacket?”

Most of the memories were random and everyday stuff and whilst you were grateful that they were filling you in on everything you had lost, you sometimes felt slightly overwhelmed at their continuous attempts. One night, you were finally left alone as the boys drifted off to sleep around you, piles of albums scattered around the living room after another get-Y/N-to-remember-Jimin session. It was futile, you all heard the doctor say the aftereffects of the operation were irreversible; One of them was memory loss of the one person that had triggered the curse.

Yet, they wouldn’t give up and you felt sad at their disappointment whenever you came up blank after staring at all the pictures together. You would always remember the memories, but you never knew what part Jimin took in in all of them.

Glancing at the boy next to you, you tried to imagine what he was going through right now. You couldn’t remember but he could, and it was probably painful when a friend ceased to recognise you.

You were glad he was trying to be around you like the rest of the boys, not shying away from you even though he now knew you had been desperately in love with him at some point. You could tell why you would have fallen for him; he was endearingly sweet, charming everyone with his natural boy-next-door persona and incredibly loyal and protective of his friends. And despite everything, he didn’t shut you off like you would have in your sadness.

He was there for you every day in the hospital, taking care of you as if you had been best friends for years. Which you had been, and you hoped that you could be again someday.

Looking down at the album in your hands, you flipped through the pages, smiling at the dorky pictures of all of you. One in particular stood out to you; it was at some amusement park with a Ferris wheel in the back and people scattered around. You were alone in the picture, looking up at something with a big smile, the sun setting behind you. Happiness was radiating from your features as you were biting into your cotton candy.

“I took that picture,” Jimin’s voice softly spoke up next to you and you looked up, noticing he had scooted closer to look over your shoulder at the album, “It was last summer and we had randomly decided to visit the park. Which was so dumb in retrospect because it was a five hours drive from here,” he chuckled and you smiled at the sound, “But it was worth it, we had the most fun in a long time.”

“It was worth it,” you agreed, remembering that day clearly. Your smile faded slightly as your inner eye couldn’t detect Jimin anywhere in the memory and you bit back a frustrated sigh. Glancing at the boy next to you, you wondered how your past self must have felt having him so close to you; Did you heart flutter? Or did it race uncontrollably? Did you start sweating or did you shake with nerves, feeling flustered and not knowing what to do with your hands whenever he looked at you? You knew your heart must have bloomed in happiness whenever you had been around him, but now...

Now, you felt nothing. No fluttering, no shaking, no flustered uncertainty. All that was left was a dull ache in your chest, as if your heart still remembered and yearned for the feelings to come back.

“Y/N?” Jimin’s voice pulled you out of your musings and you realised you had been staring at him for too long as he glanced at you questioningly. There was a hint of something you couldn’t decipher in his eyes as you looked away, feeling slightly embarrassed at having been caught staring at him.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” you said, “What did you say?”

“I asked what you were thinking actually,” he chuckled and you glanced back up to see him gaze at you softly, “You always tend to drift off into your own world and I always tried to follow you there. You never let me though,” he recalled, and his smile faded slightly as he realised why that was.

Even now you had thought about him, even if it wasn’t the way you probably used to.

Weeks passed like this, the boys still adamant in their attempts, showing no signs of resignation. Jimin himself thankfully didn’t push you too hard, treading rather carefully around you and rather trying to get you to get to know him point blank, ‘creating new memories’ with him as he stated.

Thus, you spent more time with him, even alone, eating out or going to an arcade, the amusment park, anywhere you hadn’t been before and had planned to go for so long. You grew a new fondness for him, purely platonic, and felt comfortable enough to even initiate casual skinship from time to time to his delighted surprise.

After a while it felt like everything turned out normal, like it might have been before you fell for him so you couldn’t really understand why the other boys still insisted on trying to trigger your memories when it only failed to have any gain.

You wouldn’t have minded, but their disappointed faces whenever you wouldn’t remember something caused you to feel disappointed in turn and it got frustrating to a point where you asked them to stop. And when they didn’t, you started avoiding them.

So, here you were, for once alone and it actually felt good. You felt good. You were back in full health and were positive you wouldn’t pass out randomly anymore. The doctors had checked up on you one last time a few days ago, satisfied to see you fit and didn’t ask for another appointment. You had left happily with Jimin beside you, who had accompanied you. In fact, he had come with you for all your appointments, no matter the time.

You were immensely grateful for his friendship. especially glad that things were turning so well with him after everything and it made you sad that you had to avoid him as well because despite everything, he would sometimes look the most disappointed of all whenever you didn’t remember him. Even if he was trying to hide it behind his smile.

You wondered if he was just acting okay around you but falling apart on the inside with sorrow and once again, the guilt had ripped into you.

You cursed yourself for your feelings. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t you just have stayed in the platonic-feelings zone?

Sighing, you looked down at the shoe box you had gotten from the boys, filled with selected pictures of you and Jimin mostly. Riffling through them, you smiled at all the happiness oozing from you and him, trying to figure out the stories behind each of the pictures. Your eyes got stuck on one picture at some park; you stood in front of a fountain with Jimin next to you, an arm draped over your shoulders as he gave the camera a cheesy grin. You on the other hand were looking at him, pure admiration in your eyes as you had the faintest smile gracing your features.

Man, you had been whipped.

“There you are,” a voice spoke from behind you and you looked over your shoulder even though you’d immediately recognised Jimin’s voice.

“How did you know I would be here?” you asked surprised as he settled down on the rock next to you, gaze set on the waves in front of you before he glanced over with a grin, “You always loved to come here for some thinking sessions. As if your brain isn’t working enough as it is,” he teased, knocking his knuckles against your temples softly.

You smiled, turning your head down to stare back at the picture of you two. “Do you remember where this was taken?”

“Yeah, it was the park in Busan not far from my childhood home,” he reminisced, smiling naturally as he recalled the time, “It was near the beach, too. We spent all our time there.” He looked at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as you nodded, “That was my line though, your question.”

You chuckled sadly, causing his smile to fade, “I know. But I figured it would be a nice change if I asked for once.”

“Are we annoying you with this? I know the boys can become overbearing-”

“No, not at all!” you immediately protested, staring at him wide-eyed, “I’m really grateful that they are trying so hard. It’s just-,” you sighed, cutting yourself off.

“Just what?” Jimin inquired, placing a hand on your arm. Your inner turmoil calmed at his warm touch and you marvelled slightly at the effect he still had on you. Even if your mind didn’t remember anymore, your body still reacted to his touch from time to time.

“I don’t want to disappoint you guys anymore,” you said quietly, staring out at the water, “I can tell the others get sad whenever I don’t remember something. Even if they are not showing it. It’s like they are trying so hard to get back like we used to but it’s not possible, is it?” you asked, looking to meet his steady gaze. Had you looked up a second earlier you would have seen the desperate hope clinging in his eyes get crushed at your words. You smiled at him unaware, “You don’t, though. Try to get my memories triggered. At least not as much as the others.”

Jimin nodded his head rapidly as he glanced away, staring down at his shoes. You sighed a little, “I’m glad you don’t. I’m glad you are rather trying to create new memories with me instead of insisting on staying stuck in the past. This way no one is going to be able to move on from this.”“Maybe they don’t want to,” he replied quietly, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees, “Move on from us. Maybe I- they thought that a happy end could have come out from this. If they hadn’t been so late...”

“But we can still have a happy end,” you insisted, “I’m fully healthy now and I’m getting to know you again every day. Whilst it might not be like we used to be I think we will best friends once again, someday. Right?” Jimin kept quiet for a second and you saw him swallow tightly before he looked at you with a strained but convincing smile.

“Right.”

You smiled back brightly, feeling happy that at least one of the boys was moving on with you. The others would come around eventually as well. Jimin was always the more considerate one, it was one of the first things you found out about him after you woke up with the memories gone.

Glancing down at the picture still in your hand, you regarded your loving gaze on him for a long time, trying to figure out why you had fallen for him. It wasn’t that hard. He was the kindest soul you had met with the purest angelic smile to ever grace this world; you were sure.

“You know,” you spoke up quietly, “I might not remember you in the past but from what I know so far, you are a really great person, Jimin.”

He turned his face towards you, smiling at your words.

You smiled back brightly, “I can see why I was in love with you.” Something dropped in his face, but he kept his smile on, thanking you with a cracking voice. You held your arms up, “Hug?”

He agreed almost immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist as you wound yours around his neck, laying your head against his shoulder as you stared out at the water. “I’m really happy you are in my life,” you whispered.

“Me too,” he said, coughing slightly.

Unbeknownst to you, a single petal fell off his mouth and onto his palm.

End

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drkcnry67 · 3 years

Text

we’re related and I Don’t Care

title: We’re Related and I Don’t Care

pairing: Jared x reader

fluff: roommates (bro/sis)

kink: virginity

tags: INCEST, VAGINAL PENETRATION, LIVING TOGETHER AND REALIZING YOU HAVE FEELINGS BUILT UP FOR EACHOTHER, HARD COCK IN TIGHT PUSSY, brother boner for his sister, shower sex... DO NOT READ THIS WILL GIVE YOU NIGHTMARES!!!

rating: 18+

mentioning @spnfluffbingo @spnkinkbingo @sweetness47

fluff kink

before i get ahead of myself here, let me just put this here, i was 100% in control of my actions when the following events took place.

twas the week after highschool graduation, i was all set to move into an apartment of my own. it was a wonderful idea, i was so excited. but then the day before my big move was supposed to take place my parents and my brother got into a huge argument.

he approached me about moving into the apartment with me, okay that wasnt a issue, my brother was successful like me and we were both now packed and prepared for our early day start the next day.

me and my brother always had the best relationship. it was a bond like no other, he was my guardian while i would go on shopping sprees and i was his while he was with his friends in a club setting.

our chemistry was about to take a very very wide turn... but we at that time didnt know that. the day of the big move, well i helped my brother for the most part load our shit on the truck, but he insisted on him and his friends doing this themselves.

who was i to complain, anyway it was complete in 5 hours, it was all in the apartment and then we realized that we would need to purchase some more furniture, not a problem. it would be a easy fix, so we sat down on the floor and set up the laptop to TV hdmi.

Jared: alright sis, what kind of furniture are we getting?

You then gesture down to the table before you where the list of furniture sits before you and your brother.

Yn: well dear brother as you can see before you, I made a list, but because this is our place we both have equal say in the furniture design.

Jared: may I pick the first piece of furniture?

Yn: of course... Let me just go and take another measurement real quick...

You got up and left the room, your brother picked out the sofa and love seat, in a pattern that he figured you would approve of.

He was browsing the blanket sets when you re-entered the room.

Yn: alright so what do we have so far in the cart...

Jared: the sofa and love seat. I was just browsing through the blanket sets... We should have a few extras for when we do laundry...

you were scouring the blanket sets and decided your brother was right. you were now putting one of each set in the cart, you then passed the reigns to your brother so he can pick out the bed frames, one for you, one for him.

then some pots, pans, kitchen stuff, and bathroom stuff. then you both agreed that would be sufficient to get you both started so you went through the checkout and waited.

YN: so we should also order another tv so we can both play games together. its gonna be easier that way.

Jared sighed he knew you were right he just hated to admit it... deep down inside he was holding in his feelings, he had a huge boner for you, he always had, but now living with you now he might actually have his shot at having the life he always wanted with you.

Jared: your right, which is why i had placed that order last night... they will be delivered around the same time as the furniture. its a good thing we think alot alike.

YN: guess thats the bond we share, now what do we want for dinner.

Jared: well we clearly dont have any groceries yet... so what do we want...

You had to go with your gut... You had to use your keen sense of sibling skills and happily tell your brother what you wanted.

Yn: remember when we were growing up and after school you and I would stop for dinner on Fridays at a little restaurant down near the school and celebrate the victories and losses through the week.

Jared: do they do delivery?

Yn: how bout you call and find out while I go and find the bed sheets so we can finish setting up the beds as in put the pillows and comforters on as the rest of the stuff won't be here till tomorrow.

Jared nods his head and smiles watching as you get up and leave the room.. his mind thinking the most evil thoughts, as he mentally undresses you and pictures you beneath him screaming his name with bountiful pleasure.

Jared (to self): i need to make my move soon, cause its perfect opportunity to now that i live with her. its the perfect time. just need the right moment.

so for the next few hours Jared watched, waited, and sat with you in the living room, dinner arrived you guys ate and smiled.

Yn: hey bro, what time is it?

Jared looked at his watch, and smiled when his brain dinged and remembered your evening routine. for as long as he could remember you would shower every second evening. since the last time you showered was the night before last...

Jared: dont worry about anything ill clean up and finish setting up the sleeping arrangements. it will all be done by the time you get out...

YN: thank you... now ill see you when im done.

you left the room, you went into the bathroom with your speaker and phone setting up your music and leaving the door open a tad for no foggy mirrors when you got out.

jared however was waiting till about half way through your shower time before he would make his mark.

you set up the dark shower curtain and turned on the water, stripped off your clothes and it started. Jared counted the minutes by the song lengths.

Jared (to self): okay this is it time to man up and confess my feelings. i should lock the door first though.

as jared was locking the door, he could hear you talking to yourself in the shower.

YN (to self): okay girl get a grip, your extremely caliente hot brother is now living with you, as your roommate, you have only been saving yourself for like ever... i mean he probably would think it super weird and such if i like told him that i love him.

Jared came closer to the door and smiled as he took all his clothes off and snuck into the washroom, your voice melding with the music you didnt hear anything, you had no idea what was about to happen.

you were in the middle of rinsing your hair when your brother walked into the shower.

Jared: did you mean it?

this startled you, you didnt turn off the water, but instead hid behind the cover or as much of it as could be done with your hands/arms.

YN: what the hell jared...

Jared: did you mean what you said...

YN: what are you talking about...

Jared: a few moments ago, i was locking the apartment and i heard you tell yourself that you love me... was that true.

you had now dropped your hands from covering you...

YN: yes, i have been hiding that from you since 9th grade, when you gained all your hot muscles, when you and i were crowned as the 2 most likely candidates for the spring fling royalty that year. when we won i was amazed by how good your biceps felt beneath my hand... want me to say it, i love you more than a brother, i love you Jared...

Jared: i love you too. now i am gonna fuck you into the middle of next week. Yes I know you saved yourself, as did I.. I never gave up hope that you would one day say you love me more than a brother.

Yn: then take me and don't worry about being gentle I think we are way passed that now.

You and Jared were alot closer, before another word was spoken Jared pressed his lips to your own, you stood on your tippie toes to reach up as your brother's arms pulled your form closer to his own.

his hands now cupping your butt cheeks lifting you so your legs wrap round his hips/waist. you feel his hard cock under your pussy, you were not bothered by this, you felt like you should be but your brain, heart, and body told you that you were happy, that you were in the right hands.

Jared: im sliding in, scream for me baby!

you went to kiss him but the kiss was broken by your scream as his hard cock slid right into your pussy. stretching you out, waiting a bit for you to fit to him.

Jared: well i think this is gonna be a short movement cause im almost too hard to keep pounding into you here and now but i will go as hard as i can and unload into you fully.

You screamed moaned and felt the hard cock of your own brother inaide you. It was another 15 minutes before Jared unloaded into you.

Jared pulled out for 2 seconds, he then helped you wash your body and you washed his hair and body before both of you got out and dried off.

Jared: let me just go turn off all the lights then I'll join you in bed.

You walked into the bedroom and took a look at the mirror on the wall, your reflection looked different, yet somehow the same, similar to how you looked that morning.

but your brother walked in and came up behind you, wrapping his arms round your waist he smiled and so did you.

Jared: you looked very deep in thought when i walked in

YN: i was just thinking about how this might be viewed in the public eye...

Jared: and i dont give a flying shit hole fuck of a damn as to what the public eye thinks. ill be out in public and have dinner with you, and ill beat anyone who dares make a pass at my new girlfriend.

YN: promoted from sister to girlfriend in the span of 24 hours, im very lucky girl.

thats when your brother backed both you and him up to the bed and both of you fell backward and on bed.

Jared: your a lucky girl whose not leaving this bed till the doorbell rings for our furniture delivery tomorrow... now lean into me and lets enjoy our new life together.

Jared placed a kiss to your forehead as he felt your head nestle into the crook of his neck and your breathing became relaxed. he slid himself back into you and soo you both felt only peace.

~see you soon~

#spnfluffbingo2021 #spnkinkbingo

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not Chapter 18 ~Infectious Madness~

Through heavy eyes and blurry vision, Willie stared at the door of a room in an abandoned and derelict manor house, hoping and praying Claire and Jamie would not walk through it. He knew it was wishful thinking as he could already see either one of them storming in like some avenging angel, demanding to take his place. On second thought, Jamie would have probably locked Claire somewhere in the hotel before bringing her anywhere near danger. They were both stubborn in their own ways, so much so, that it had frustrated him countless times.

When Annalise had ordered him at gunpoint to drive to the abandoned manor house, he hadn't been surprised. She knew of the place as she had seen it on the day he had volunteered to take her to the hospital. They had made a pit stop to look at the neglected structure after Willie saw it up for sale in the paper. Although he had his doubts about Annalise ever since she came to Lallybroch, his earlier suspicions of her lying about Claire being taken had made him extra cautious. Willie didn't want to take a risk and gamble Claire's life based on gut feeling. He knew he had to play his cards right as the lass was too perceptive for her own good.

He remembered the day when they had stopped at Ned Gowans office to deliver her documents, and he had told Annalise that the lawyer will sort out her papers so she can have access to the British healthcare. It wasn't a lie but what she didn't know was that her medical documents were also being checked for their authenticity. When he drove her back to Lallybroch, she had teased him about the way he had looked at Claire to which he had chosen to ignore despite feeling uncomfortable for her insightfulness.

Now sat on the dirty floor with his back up against the pillar, his hands were tightly secured behind the post. Annalise had used an industrial-sized cable tie used in their hotel kitchen, and he presumed she must have found them on his desk while snooping into his laptop. Under normal circumstances, he could have wrestled the gun from her, but the lass was clever. After arriving at the abandoned manor house, she had ordered him to stand by the pillar and to drink the bottled mineral water she threw at him. It must have been laced with some drugs prescribed for her own use, and it incapacitated him just adequately to lose his balance and coordination and make him drunk-like, long enough for her to tie his hands.

Glancing at the small clock Annalise had placed on a table, it had been forty minutes since she made the call to Claire. He wondered if Claire told Jamie or if she would come alone. If she didn't bring Jamie, he could be dead within the space of twenty minutes, leaving Claire to fend for herself.

Shut away in a small room, Willie barely heard the knock. Attempting to stay fully alert, he listened to Annalise's scraping movement on the wooden floor and the creaking of the entrance door opening. When Jamie's voice filtered through, he shook his head to clear the fogginess in his brain, and braced himself against the pillar, ready for any eventuality.

Suddenly, Jamie entered the room with hands in the air and not far behind was Annalise with the gun pointed at his back. Willie strained to see past them, looking for Claire but he didn't see her. Willie presumed Jamie must have left Claire without her knowing or did something to prevent her from coming. Either way, he didn't like seeing his brother there and offering himself a sacrifice. If anything happened to Jamie, Claire would be devastated. He could only hope Claire would stay away.

"Willie, ye alright?" Jamie's face was white as he looked over at his brother for any signs of injuries.

Willie could only manage a nod, saving all his energy for whatever might happen.

Jamie turned towards his ex-girlfriend. "Annalise, I'm here now. Let my brother go. I'll take ye back to France if that is yer wish." Leaving one hand up in the air, his other hand slowly reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out two passports, his and hers. "We can go tonight and leave this all behind. Isn't this what ye want?"

"What about Claire? Where is she?"

"I made a mistake, Annalise. Ye need me, and I'm here to take ye home," Jamie said in a clear voice, but devoid of any emotion. "You don't need Willie. This is between us. And Claire is not coming, so ye can forget about her. Put the gun down now, please."

Willie was relieved to hear that Jamie managed to prevent Claire from getting involved. Although a part of him pained for her knowing any sacrifice on her behalf would destroy Claire, the relief overshadowed the pain.

Annalise tapped the gun against her thigh, considering Jamie's words. "I'll come with you, Jamie, but I need to get rid of him." She jutted her chin in Willie's direction, crazed eyes narrowing. "He tried to separate us, don't you see? It doesn't matter where in the world we go, he won't stop. Your brother is not interested in your happiness at all. Have you seen the way he looks at that English bitch?"

A low growl rumbled from Jamie. "Don't call Claire that," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "She has been nothing but kind, and it was her idea to send me to France to look after ye. And I still want to do that. Come on, Annalise. Let Willie walk out of here, and we'll both go."

Annalise laughed. "Did you know your brother has a little folder in his desktop disguised as Italian recipes? Within the folder is another folder hiding his dirty little secret. There are pictures of Claire in it and a letter confessing his love for her and..."

"I never sent the letter, and that was from a couple of years ago..." Willie slurred the words out as he interrupted Annalise's rambling. He couldn't look at Jamie in the eye. Surely his wee brother knew that he would never have acted on what he felt for Claire. "It was a draft. I never sent it."

"Shut the fuck up!" she snarled, pointing the gun at him. "You ... you're finally going to get what's coming for you."

"Annalise, no!"

..........

Claire handed several pound notes to the taxi driver the second the vehicle slowed down, a reasonable distance away from the abandoned manor house. Not bothering to wait for her change, she opened the car's door and sprinted through the open field. Claire could see a faint light coming from the window of the derelict building, and just by the side of the road, Jamie's car was carelessly parked. Her heart thumped in her ears, stomach twisted in knots from worry that she had come too late.

When she left the hotel earlier, she had made a last-minute decision to send Geillis a voice message to let her know what was happening before switching her phone to silent. Relieved that Brian, Ellen and Jenny are safe, Claire focused her attention on the two brothers.

As she reached the house, she saw the entrance door was slightly ajar. Slowing her pace and calming her nerves, she slid past the opening, careful not to make any noise. Annalise's angry voice reached her in the front hallway giving Claire an idea someone was alive in there with her. Armed only with an antique pocket knife that belonged to her uncle Lamb, she reached out to the back of her jean pocket to make sure it was still there, hoping she wouldn't have to use it on Annalise. As much as possible, Claire tried not to give in to the waves of dread and worry she felt, knowing if she gave herself time to think, the thoughts would only serve to debilitate her.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the sound of Annalise's voice and pushed open the door that led to a small room. Scanning the scene in one quick swoop, Jamie's taut back was to her, ready to pounce as Annalise pointed the gun towards Willie. As soon as Willie had seen her, he tensed and shook his head, pleading her with his eyes.

Seeing that Willie was in the most danger, she rushed forward and inserted herself between Willie and the gun, ignoring Jamie's whispered expletives muttered under his breath. Immediately, Annalise lowered the weapon, eliciting loud gasps of relief from the brothers. Despite her jealousy towards the French girl, Claire had tried her best to make Annalise feel welcome in Lallybroch. A couple of times she had pastries sent to Annalise and had sent her text messages asking how she was. It must have counted for something, enough that Annalise let go of the trigger even if there was a hint of resentment in her eyes.

"Annalise, please put the gun down. It doesn't need to end this way." Claire was surprised at how her voice sounded steady and firm.

From behind her, she could hear Willie attempting to get on his feet despite his restrained hands. "Claire, please, get out of here, I beg of ye. Now!"

"What the hell are ye doin' Sassenach? Walk out of here now. I'm going with Annalise to take her back to France," Jamie said in a way that Claire would have believed that was his intention if she didn't know him any better.

Shaking her head, her eyes remained on Annalise and the gun. "I'm sorry, but I can't walk out of here. I want to make sure everyone is safe, including Annalise." She hoped Jamie and Willie won't say another word, intending to draw Annalise's attention to her. Extending her hand, she allowed everything except the girl in front of her to fade into nothingness, her measured breaths coming in time with her heartbeat. "Let me help you, Annalise. You are very ill, and you need to rest. Nobody is here to harm you." Claire knew Annalise had liver cirrhosis and understood too, after all the excitement, the fatigue caused by her illness would be enough to weaken her soon. She needed to stall.

Willie continuous shuffle from behind her didn't help her cause, as he was oblivious to Claire's progress. Whatever he had ingested, had dulled his reasoning. "Claire get out of here and walk away."

Annalise took a step sideways and re-aimed the gun at Willie. "He wants me to go to prison, and all I wanted is to be happy and be with Jamie. Is that too much to ask?" Then she aimed the gun back at Claire. "And you, you could have your pick of men, and you had to steal Jamie from me."

"Annalise, let's go and let them be. We'll drive to the airport now, and we could take the next flight to Paris," Jamie interrupted, extending a hand.

Annalise shook her head, muttering to herself, as she redirected the gun back to Willie. "He hates me, he wants me to go to prison. I can't have that, can we now? My family held me as a prisoner before. I'd die first before I go to jail. I'm sorry, Jamie. This is the only way."

Claire turned to look at Willie and her alarmed gaze connected to his. The resignation was etched on his face, as he nodded to her in reassurance. "It's alright, Claire. I've messed this up. This is all my fault."

Turning back around, she found Annalise's finger tightening on the trigger. Without thinking, Claire moved and threw herself in front of Willie to shield him from the oncoming bullet. At the very last second, there was movement behind her as if Jamie had anticipated her move. Using his body, he jumped too to protect her and Willie, his muscular frame spasming at the impact of the gunfire.

Blood rushed to her ears as she felt Jamie's body collapse behind her, both of them falling onto the floor beside Willie. Using all the strength she could muster with her hands, she turned around under his weight to get hold of him. Wrapping her arms around his upper torso to keep him upright, she felt thick moisture gushing over her hands. Blood! Oh, no, no, please! This can't be happening. "Oh, God, Jamie, please." From a distant, she could hear sirens approaching.

"Claire, untie me, please," Willie whispered, his voice trembling in panic.

Straining her head, Claire saw Annalise momentarily distracted by the gun she held in her shaking hand, staring at it in shock. Gently sliding from under the weight of Jamie so as not to aggravate his injury further, she crawled behind the pillar to unfasten the cable-tie on Willie's hand with her pocket knife. Once he was released, she shed her jacket and yanked her sweatshirt off and pressed it against Jamie's wound, while Willie, wobbly on his feet, tackled Annalise to the floor, kicking the gun out of the room.

"Jamie, look at me... stay with me, alright? We're going to get through this." Claire applied more pressure to his wound, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Blue eyes dulled with pain stared back at her. "Sassenach, this isn't yer fault, ok? I don't want ye to waste yer time blaming yersel'. He winced, his face contorted in pain. "Christ, I love ye so much. Always have."

His words wrenched a sob from her, unaware of the police that stormed into the room and took a shocked Annalise away. "I love you too, Jamie. Don't speak. Just stay awake for me and listen to my voice. Help is on the way."

Based on his expression, Claire knew her face betrayed the deranged agony battering her inside.

"Where's Willie?"

Claire's pulse leapt in panic as Jamie's tensed body slumped, appearing to be on the brink of unconsciousness. Trying her best to keep her sanity intact, she swallowed the dread back, her throat burning like it had been scorched with acid as a shrill whirring sound took resident inside her skull.

"Hey, I'm right here. The ambulance has arrived." Willie gently lifted Jamie's head and placed his jacket underneath.

"Listen to me, bràthair," Jamie wheezed. "Ye'll take care of Claire... promise me that. I need ye to promise me that."

"Don't be daft." Willie choked down the emotion, trying to be brave for all of them. "Ye'll be on yer feet soon to take care of ..."

"Damn it! Promise me!" Jamie gasped, his complexion turning grey by the second.

"I promise."

Jamie nodded his head and then his eyelids slowly drooped, succumbing to the grasps of unconsciousness. "Jamie!" When he didn't respond, excruciating pain ripped through Claire's heart, as she screamed curses to the ceiling, unaware of Willie lifting her off the floor and Geillis trying to get hold of her face. Her arms frantically reached out for Jamie, her feet kicking and body twisting against a sturdy grip that held her when the paramedics placed Jamie's immobile body on the stretcher and wheeled him away.

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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deductionjournal · 4 years

Text

Studying the Methods of Sherlock Holmes in Light of this Changing Age: The Hat of Henry Baker

We are all aware of the dazzling and astute deductions made by our dear friend, Sherlock Holmes. As a dull light forces its way through a dirt covered windowpane, we are introduced through Watson's dazzled eyes, to Holmes' mind at work in an abandoned room of Lauriston Gardens. Empty except for an imitation marble fireplace and a dead man, contorted in a depiction of his agonising last moments. Standing aside and looking upon Holmes with a mixture of respect, curiosity, and sheer dumb-foundedness, Watson witnesses as the Great Detective traces around every inch of the mildew dotted walls and dust covered floor, and is at last able to give a full description of the murderer, from his height and boot size to his overly long fingernails. But as the years have passed and technology has pushed forward, is our dear friend able to keep up? Let us explore this question together, as we delve into some of Watson and Holmes' adventures together, dissect some of the most perplexing cases that the foggy streets of London had to offer, and view under the microscope how some of his deductions hold up in this changing age, before the world went all awry.

Now, to go through each one of his deductions and inferences would be a difficult task without filling a book, so we shall only investigate a single example from his many adventures here.

Our example is taken from The Blue Carbuncle, whereupon one late December morning, a sharp chill has gripped the Victorian streets of London causing windowpane corners to be thick with the icy frost common on these winter days. Behind one of these windows however, a cosy fire can be found warming the lodgings of 221B Baker Street. As the fire crackles, the light warmth emanating from the fireplace illuminates a scattering of newspapers cast in flickering shadow, showing signs of being recently rifled through and then evidently discarded to no consequence. Within arm's reach of this abandoned heap of papers lays a chez lounge that offers it seems, a great deal of comfort for its occupier, who at the moment is on the cusp of explaining something in deep thought to his colleague, as the latter, sat in an armchair by the fire is looking with interest towards an old hard felt hat he had just been indicated to by his companion.

“ I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.”

Here, we have been given nearly all the data needed to make the inferences that Holmes is able to make (with the minor additions brought up elsewhere in the text). While Watson is unable to determine anything he thinks as noteworthy, handing the hat back to Holmes, let’s first see if you can follow the reasoning behind each of his remarks in the following passage...

He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. “It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,” he remarked, “and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him.”

“My dear Holmes!”

“He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,” he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. “He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.”

How did you fair when comparing the two passages? Did you follow Holmes reasoning with any success? Let us see what Holmes has to say for how he got to his immense conclusions and analyse each one in turn...

“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?”

For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.”

This is a topic that has been under great debate ever since it reached people ears. Does the size of a person’s head or brain really act as any indication towards their intelligence? Many scientists have argued both sides of this [1,2,3,4,5] but after over a century of confusion, it seems that by the 1990’s and early 2000’s they came to an agreement via the use of MRI imaging of people’s brains [6,7]. The extensive research has determined that Holmes’ statement does hold merit, but in regards to time, was a 19th century detective right to come to this conclusion?

In this time the question of cubic capacity was only a theory, and not a well-researched one. Holmes, it can easily be believed, would have been aware of this theory and following his remarks in the series cautioning of making bricks without clay, he would, or at least should, have known that this theory could not yet be trusted. In light of this it may be that Holmes was just ahead of his game, for it is hardly the first scientific discovery that has been predicted by the great detective [8]. Alternatively, he may have added this in an attempt to just impress Watson; as there was no crime related to this hat, he may have felt the childish urge to embellish his statements, as he has been caught doing before (such as the florid face of a murderer in a Study in Scarlet)[9], in a way to impress his friend whom it can be believed has not visited for some weeks over the winter period.

“The decline of his fortunes, then?”

“This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.”

Fashion is a thing that is far too often overlooked. Trends come and go throughout the seasons and so for a Detective such as Holmes, it is evidently important to keep up. A modern-day comparison of this may arise with any item of clothing or accessory you can think of, for example if Holmes was to be presented with a pair of skinny jeans that are well-worn by countless washes, then it can be suggested that the owner is out of touch with modern mainstream trends, and may point to the decade they grew up in, and so on, in a way that reflects the above quote (skinny jeans became a popular trend in 2006 [10,11,12] but late 2010’s has notably seen an exchange in favour of palazzo trousers and drop-crotch trousers[13,14,15]).

One thing however that Holmes has not stated is the possibility of this item being a gift. Carrying on with the example of the skinny jeans, there raises fewer possibilities. Trousers (and obscurely sized hats), perhaps more than most items of clothing, are rarely gifted to people purely due to having to know the right size, something you can’t ask without giving away the gift, or without risk of insult, so they would have to be brought by either the wearer or someone close enough to know the size to get, such as a close family member or partner.

“Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?”

Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.”

“Your reasoning is certainly plausible.”

Fashion is brought up again, in a different manner, if Holmes is to make it in the modern age, he not only has to know what is fashionable, but also what counts as a fashion faux par. Although what he says holds grounds for that time [16], in this age the only hats witnessed with securers on belong to infant children in general beach vicinity, accompanied usually with a plastic shovel and spade and someone taking an adorable picture the child will grow up to regret.

Moving on from Parisian blunders and beach pictures, Holmes states that a decrease in foresight is proof of a weakening nature, or as said earlier, moral retrograde. While there hasn’t been research giving a direct link between the two, it has been shown that illnesses such as anxiety and depression can be correlated with changes in moral upkeep [17], and such illnesses can be caused by problems rooted in drinking and gambling [18], though it should be noted these are not by any means the only causes [19], so whilst Holmes’ reasoning may have been correct with the link between foresight and morale, it was a bit of a stretch for him to claim that this was due to some influence such as drink, as I’m sure the loss of one’s fortune alone would be enough to cause such loss in morale.

“The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”

Anyone who has had their hair cut to a short length can verify that it finds itself everywhere, so it is not surprising that it gets into the hat’s lining, within the loose hair’s closest proximity, and the adhesiveness of the lime-cream will naturally transfer from his hair to his hat, likely bringing a few strands with it, and while the type of hat mentioned may not be applicable to the general public anymore, hats such as flat caps are (at least for the time being)[20].

It is also true that different types of dust have different properties, and so cling to fabrics differently[21], and the marks of moisture in Winter would suggest that it either had little to do with the weather (and the man therefore sweats a lot in any season), or that the hat hadn’t been rid of these marks despite treatments being available with the use of lemons or baking soda[22].

“But his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”

“This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection.”

“But he might be a bachelor.”

“Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg.”

It should be stated that the card on the bird’s leg reads “For Mrs. Henry Baker”.

This statement to Watson is more interpretation than based on any scientific evidence, however Holmes has had many cases surrounding couples in and out of love, and the attentiveness of a loving partner, and what a partner may do to regain that affection if lost, can be seen throughout many newspapers, stories, and from our very own experiences in life[23]. It is therefore not difficult to conclude that what Holmes says has some level of merit, despite lack of conclusive proof.

“You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?”

“One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow—walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?”

“Well, it is very ingenious,” said I, laughing; “but since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.”

Of course, in this age most houses are lighted with electricity rather than gas, and modern use of a candle would most likely be in creating a certain atmosphere, however candles aren’t what they used to be. Tallow was very commonly used in the making of candle wax, and was composed of animal fats, supposedly giving off a rather unpleasant odour when burned[24]. However nowadays candles are made primarily from beeswax, gel wax, paraffin wax and so on[25], making it unlikely to leave the same smear on the fabric of a hat.

Conclusion

So, what does this all tell us then? It seems that Holmes is a bit out of touch with the times, what with fashion trends changing multiple times a decade along with ingredients of candles, and I would imagine a great deal of other things (although having lived over a century ago it isn’t much of a surprise!). It also seems that Holmes has a knack for showing off, but as Watson said, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, so perhaps this was the reason for Holmes’ stretches of reasoning. Stretches aside, his method of analytical reasoning and scientific know-how can safely be said for the most part, to hold up to the test of time.

But this is just one example, so can our dear friend Sherlock Holmes smoke his pipe easy? Not without further study of his other deductions, and he’s made plenty of them! His knowledge on scientific principles, as well as new theories certainly help his case, aiding in his thought process and providing good evidence for his claims, but new theories aren’t always the right theories, and while he may have been lucky in the matter of cubic capacity, he could have been talking as much sense as a hatter!

Giving him the benefit of the doubt for his fondness of showing off to his friend, and until a further analysis of his other cases can be made, he may rest easy, curled up in his armchair by the warm fireplace, in the belief that his skill as a detective, while needing to be brushed up a little for the passing years, remains more or less intact.

References:

[1] Egan V, Chiswick A, Santosh C, Naidu K, Rimmington JE, Best JJ. Size isn't everything: A study of brain volume, intelligence and auditory evoked potentials. Personality and Individual Differences. 1994 Sep 1;17(3):357-67.

[2] Estabrooks GH. The relation between cranial capacity, relative cranial capacity and intelligence in school children. Journal of Applied Psychology. 1928 Oct;12(5):524.

[3] Pearl R. On the correlation between intelligence and the size of the head. Journal of Comparative Neurology and Psychology. 1906 May;16(3):189-99.

[4] Andreasen NC, Flaum M, Swayze V, O'Leary DS, Alliger R, Cohen G, Ehrhardt J, Yuh WT. Intelligence and brain structure in normal individuals. American Journal of Psychiatry. 1993 Jan 1;150:130-.

[5] Wickett JC, Vernon PA, Lee DH. In vivo brain size, head perimeter, and intelligence in a sample of healthy adult females. Personality and Individual differences. 1994 Jun 1;16(6):831-8.

[6] Mathalon DH, Sullivan EV, Rawles JM, Pfefferbaum A. Correction for head size in brain-imaging measurements. Psychiatry Research: Neuroimaging. 1993 Jun 1;50(2):121-39.

[7] McDaniel MA. Big-brained people are smarter: A meta-analysis of the relationship between in vivo brain volume and intelligence. Intelligence. 2005 Jul 1;33(4):337-46.

[8] O'Brien, James. Sherlock Holmes: Pioneer in Forensic Science. Encyclopedia Brittanica. March 31st 2014. [cited 20th June 2019] https://www.britannica.com/topic/Sherlock-Holmes-Pioneer-in-Forensic-Science-1976713

[9] Doyle, Arthur Conan. A Study in Scarlet. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008.

[10] Time. Skinny Jean [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,2011254_2014381_2014372,00.html [Published 20th December 2006]

[11] USAToday. Skinny legs and all: Jeans get slender [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/2006-04-16-skinny-jeans_x.htm [Published 16th April 2006]

[12] Wikipedia. 2000’s in Fashion[Internet][cited 20th January 2019] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2000s_in_fashion

[13] Confetissimo. 2018 [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] https://confettissimo.com/en/fashion-style/what-to-wear/Palazzo-summer-trousers-topical.html

[14] Wikipedia. 2010's in Fashion[Internet][cited 20th January 2019] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2010s_in_fashion

[15] Independent. How the Skinny Jeans Trend Finally Died and Made Way For Body Conscious Denim [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/fashion/skinny-jeans-trend-denim-athleisure-body-conscious-khloe-kardashian-a7371451.html [Published 4th March 2017]

[16] Nunn, Joan. Fashion in Costume, 1200-2000. 2nd edition. A & C Black (Publishers) Ltd; Chicago: New Amsterdam Books, 2000.

[17] Paulus MP, Stein MB. Interoception in anxiety and depression. Brain structure and Function. 2010 Jun 1;214(5-6):451-63.

[18] Martin RJ, Usdan S, Cremeens J, Vail-Smith K. Disordered gambling and co-morbidity of psychiatric disorders among college students: An examination of problem drinking, anxiety and depression. Journal of Gambling Studies. 2014 Jun 1;30(2):321-33.

[19] Khalsa SR, McCarthy KS, Sharpless BA, Barrett MS, Barber JP. Beliefs about the causes of depression and treatment preferences. Journal of clinical psychology. 2011 Jun;67(6):539-49.

[20] Mail Online. Peaky Blinders sparks flat cap revival [Internet] [cited 27 June 2019]. Available from: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3614942/Peaky-Blinders-sparks-flat-cap-trend-sales-83.html

[21] World Health Organization. Hazard prevention and control in the work environment: airborne dust. Geneva: World Health Organization; 1999.

[22] Bilgram V, Bartl M, Biel S. Getting closer to the consumer–how Nivea co-creates new products. Marketing Review St. Gallen. 2011 Feb 1;28(1):34-40.

[23] Chang JS. Agony-resolution pathways: How women perceive American men in Cosmopolitan's agony (advice) column. The Journal of Men’s Studies. 2000 Jun;8(3):285-308.

[24] Henchman A. Tallow candles and meaty air in Bleak House. 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century. 2017 Dec 1.

[25] Unique Candle Creations. Gel Candles vs Traditional Candles [Internet] [Cited 24th June 2019] https://uniquecandlecreations.com/pages/gel-candles-vs-traditional-candles

#original #Henry Baker #fashion #brain #cubic capacity #candle #candles #deduction #sherlock holmes #the blue carbuncle #modern day holmes #victorian #TB #deduction journal

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ko-fanatic · 5 years

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Growing Spoons (part one)

Rating: Teen (???)

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Eventual Kyoya x Mori

Content Warnings: Fibromyalgia, chronic pain, chronic illness, disability

Summary: It was a bad day. It was one of those days where he felt as if his legs were being ripped from his body, and all he could do was lay in bed. He couldn't even think about swinging his legs out of bed, let alone going to school. He really needed to learn to keep track of his spoons.

The ringing from Kyoya’s fifth alarm clock rang throughout his bedroom, adding yet another layer of grating sound to the cacophony that attempted to get him up each morning. He knew Tachibana was dutifully waiting beyond the door, there to just make sure he didn’t manage to sleep through them, and he’d often help him with some of his morning routine before school.

Objectively, he supposed the golden sun and jubilant birdsong streaming in from the skylight would give many the impression that it was a lovely day. However, he wasn’t under any such delusions. He’d been awake since before the first alarm rang, the sheets wound around his hands in a white-knuckled grip and face shoved into his pillow. It was annoying, how he either slept for twelve full hours or woke up so early. He blames the later on the pain, however; while awaking to the sensation of rusted screws twisting through his hips and knees wasn’t that unusual for him, it was never pleasant.

It wasn’t even like it really mattered how much sleep he got, anyway; he was constantly exhausted. He dragged himself up and kept going no matter how much he wanted to just lay in bed, because he had to. Just laying there, vegetating, wasn’t going to help him.

On days like this, however, he couldn’t even imagine getting up. Every small movement only increased the throbbing, stiff pain. It was like his joints were being soldered together, like iron girders. He couldn’t even roll over to turn off his alarms, even if the incessant beeping was almost maddening. He was trying to just… psych himself up for it, to manage through the flare of pain rolling over would inevitably cause.

His stomach was already rolling, nausea hitting him in waves. He never vomited, just felt like he would. It was strange how fucked up his body was, even if it was just a singular, underlying issue.

Fibromyalgia. He hated it, being so tired and in pain. It wasn’t even that its inconsistency was a saving grace; it just confused people. He could do something one day and find it impossible the next, and it was frustrating for everyone involved. Even if the teachers were told not to piss off the students, he could feel the doubt emanating off his gym instructor as he sat out of an activity, even if he was relying on his cane to move around.

It was embarrassing, in that vain and petty way that seems to bother people the most. He was a teenager who limped like an old man, relying on a walking stick. He was delicate and so fucking drained, and he couldn’t even figure out how to manage his spoons. He was in such a minority; most fibro suffers being female, which already put him in the ten percent, but also being so young. The average age when this issue flared up was forty-five and he was only seventeen. It felt like it was impossible to just be a teenager, planning everything around fatigue and fluctuating symptoms and not even knowing if he’d be able to stand the next day.

Then, there were days like today, so close to unbearable, but he couldn’t make himself scream out. Because where was the dignity in that? Helplessly mewling any name that came to mind in the hopes that they’d… what? They couldn’t do anything, and that was one of the most annoying parts of it. He wanted it all gone.

But it never would be. You manage fibro, you can’t cure it. Not to mention that he was just plain awful at managing it. Spoons ran out too quickly, and he couldn’t tell how many he had left until there were none and he was dipping into the day after’s supply. He tried to do too much, all at once, because that was just how things got done.

“Kyoya? Are you awake?”

The door pushed open to reveal Tachibana’s silhouette, outlined by the light from the room beyond, and he could only wipe his damp face with his sleeve and try to seem more put together. After all, if Tachibana saw him crying, he’d worry and there was no point in that – he’d gotten through worse days. Still, the pain just felt so intense, and there was no way he could even get to the bathroom himself – even with his cane – let alone school.

“Oh, Kyoya…” He heard the man sigh, fingers combing gently through his hair, careful to avoid any knots, and the grating calamity was finally silenced, “It’s a bad day, isn’t it?”

At any other times, his reply would be sarcastic. He’d throw out some flippant comment and slowly – so, so slowly – push himself out from beneath the covers. Now, however, he couldn’t make himself think of one, his brain too foggy and the pain too intense. He just nodded, letting out a long, stuttered breath in the hopes of draining the tension from his shoulders, legs and hips. Tachibana just kept stroking his hair, trying to relax him, even just a little.

“Do you have any spoons?” Tachibana asked, “If you think you can manage going to school in your wheelchair, then you probably –”

“No,” He refused, voice far too close to a whimper for his liking. It wasn’t as if he’d even be able to concentrate in this state, and while it was good to show that he at least made the effort to go in, he… couldn’t. Not in the chair. His cane already got odd looks, but he could make it work; he could still be intimidating and powerful, but as some skinny, pathetic boy in a wheelchair?

It was stupid, really. To be concerned by something so ultimately meaningless. If someone didn’t take him seriously, then that was their loss. They’d soon pay for it – it was karmic retribution.

Tachibana seemed to take his refusal in stride, however, simply agreeing that perhaps he should stay home. What was the point in using spoons he just didn’t have?

“I’ll go call the school to let them know, and get your hot water bottles,” The older man informed, short nails dully scraping over his scalp. Hot water bottles helped, as did painkillers and topical creams and balms. His bedside table was covered in them, but they were just out of reach from where he currently was. He’d try moving in a minute, but for now he just squeezed his eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep.

It was all he could do on days like these, after all.

A/N: This is kinda an introductory chapter, don't worry, we'll get to that sweet MoriKyo content soon. This is kinda a vent fic tbh, as... I might have fibro myself. I certainly have some sort of condition, anyway. I've been in bed Suffering for the past few days, so guess who's getting my shit dumped all over him, yay! I also suck at regulating my spoons.

But in all seriousness, I'm not officially diagnosed yet, it might not be fibro. If you see anything inaccurate in this fic then... that's why.

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #kyoya ootori #growing spoons series #my fanfiction

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jedimaster941 · 5 years

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A Declaration of Lost Independence

As we get older, as we live life, like stone eroding under the power of crashing waves, our bodies break down. And as our bodies break down, we become more and more unable to do things. Sometimes not to the standard we once did, and sometimes we lose the ability completely. We lose things that bring us joy, and we lose things that bring us to life. Whether it be slowly or quickly, we all lose our independence. Aging is something, like it or not, we have all signed up for. We will get older, our bodies will break down, and we will lose our overall independence. It’s not ideal, but we understand it to be true.

For Chronically ill people, however, we can lose our independence rather suddenly, and it has absolutely nothing to do with natural aging. If someone aged 78 years has trouble walking, getting dressed, or going to the bathroom, very few would question it. But imagine you are 28 years old and you have the same difficulties. Think of how you would feel. In this article I will discuss the ways in which people with chronic illness lose their independence in the areas of physical, mental, social, and dietary, and the toll it takes on us when the things that we should be able to do becomes out of reach.

*This post features responses from chronically ill patients whom I asked…*

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Physical

Loss of physical independence is the area that most people think about when illness takes over. It is at least the most public. People see wheelchairs, walkers, canes, crutches, and handicapped placards. They are also readily aware when someone takes a little longer to stand up, when they have trouble buttoning a shirt, or their handwriting becomes illegible. If someone gets to know a disabled person well enough they may also become aware of PIK lines, feeding tubes, and colostomy bags among others.

When someone is chronically ill/disabled their bodies are the primary victim of their disease. In one way or another, our bodies are malfunctioning. As my primary care physician said to me once, “We are all getting older, you're a just doing it a lot faster”. (If anyone is curious, I did not take offense, I appreciated that he acknowledged my illness and my lack of certain abilities)

Our independence is very much directly lost in these examples. We lose the ability of climb stairs, walk short distances, wash ourselves, cook food, and one I’d like to discuss a little more, exercise.

Doctors and online experts tell us we need to exercise. I can’t disagree with that. Exercise is important to keeping what we have left tip top. However, when we can’t climb stairs, walk short distances, or wash ourselves, how do you expect us to get the the gym to do some Cross Fit? I know for me, exercise of any kind hurts and has lasting effects. Some of my readers may remember how not long ago I walked a peppy poodle for half a mile and my legs hurt for three days after. This wasn't from being out of shape, this was due of my condition. Yes, exercise, but understand sometimes it's more harm than help.

I used to be a distance runner, a golfer, and could give the best piggy back rides. Now, due to Ankylosing Spondylitis, I can’t do any of that. And believe me when I tell you, that hurts me mentally as well.

Mental

With chronic illness and disability there comes a mental toll as well. Both in the areas of cognitive ability, and depression.

First, let's touch on cognitive ability which will then (as all of these sections do) we will move on to depression.

I imagine many of my readers are already well versed in the words and terminology used in the discussion of chronic illness. However, if you are new to this world, let me share a term that I, and all of us use probably on a daily basis: “Brain Fog”.

Brain Fog is exactly what it sounds like, a thick layer of fog on your brain. You know how hard it is to see through a covering of fog? Now, imagine that fog is in your head and your brain is trying to see thoughts, feelings, and ideas through it. It’s not easy and often things are lost.

Brain fog is caused by pain and the inability to actually shut down and rest. When people go to sleep their bodies and minds go into power saver mode to recharge, refresh, and do diagnostics checks. However, what happens when you drink caffeine, or you eat a big meal before bed? Well, if you can sleep, your body has now been given other things to work on. The caffeine makes your heart work harder, and your body needs to work to digest that big meal. So what happens? You don’t wake up rested because your body never actually got any rest. The same thing happens every night for people with chronic illness, but without the caffeine and steak dinner. In my case, with Ankylosing Spondylitis, my body is always working to fight off a foreign invader known as the lining between my joints. (I guess it’s actually a domestic invader) For most of us, because of constant pain, we can never get comfortable and even when we do sleep, we aren't actually resting. This lack of true sleep causes our brains to process at a diminished rate limiting our abilities to remember, problem solve, and function.

When I go to the doctor, I bring my wife. Not because I need a supportive hand, but because I need a partner and coach to help me tell the doctor what I need to say, and then remember what the doctor tells me. There have been times I have come home from an appointment solo and either forgot what treatment we discussed or, through my fogginess, made up something completely different because I could have sworn the doctor said she wanted to try bloodletting. (Or was it Methotrexate? I can’t remember) Although I love my wife, and I will always welcome her to join me at an appointment, I'm 37 years old, I shouldn't need someone to be my brain while the doctor checks out my body. While I am not depressed about this, this loss of mental and physical independence can also lead to depression.

I used to run, and I loved running. When my health got worse I took up walking long distance. However, only a few short years later, I couldn't even walk short distances without great pain and weakness. I was 34 the last time I walked with any kind of purpose. Far too young to lose so much ability. When I see people out running, or I drive past the local health club with overly large windows, I get sad longing for my glory days. When I watch American Ninja Warrior I’m sometimes heartbroken. Believe it or not, I used to be able to do stuff like that. It’s crushing to think that somebody actually has the freedom to wake up in the morning, pop up out of bed, and then think to themselves “Well, I think I will run 10 miles, shower, go to work, spend an hour at the gym, play with my kids, and then get 8 hours of restful sleep before doing it all over again.” Here I am thinking, “I hope I can get out of bed.”

Chronic illness can take a great toll on our mental state and subsequent independence.

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Diet

With the chronic illness life, more often than not it seems, comes a list of dietary restrictions. 90% (not actual figures) of life comes from our gut. What we eat and drink. Other than breathing and IV treatments, it’s the only way anything gets into the factory known as our bodies. So, there is much stress put on us by our doctors, friends, family, TV, and the woman on the corner to eat right to better our condition. And not everyone is wrong. There are certain things that improve or worsen our condition. We will listen to the “experts” and try certain things. Excluding things like sugar, dairy, nightshades, and gluten. Or “fad diets” like Paleo, Keto, Vampire, or Atkins.* We might even try Kale! Many of us will try anything if it means we reduce our pain and get a little life back. But, the more foods we give up, the more independence we lose.

Personally this area has been my biggest struggle. Two years ago I went dairy free at the suggestion of a nutritionist, and one year ago I totally cut out sugar. And, I won’t lie, excluding both of those have been fantastic for me! I may not always notice the improvement, but if I happen to slip up on purpose of by accident, I certainly notice then. I am solid and confident in my sugar free/dairy free life, and for the most part I am happy.

However, this does not mean everything is butterflies and unicorns. I still struggle as I’m sure many many of my chronically ill brothers, sisters, and non-binary siblings do. Two examples: My birthday, and the ice cream aisle. On my birthday my co-workers wanted to know what to get me for my party. Typically the birthday treat is cupcakes and fudge. Hello sugar and milk! After much thought, I received the treat of peanuts and pickles. (And I didn't complain) However, it didn’t mean it didn't hurt. My co-workers needed to avoid yummy delicious treats because of my AS. They were supportive, but it didn’t mean I didn’t feel like a party pooper. As for the ice cream aisle, they have dairy free ice cream, and they have sugar free ice cream, but as a friendly store clerk told me, diary free & sugar free ice cream isn't ice cream. I'm out of luck there.

When it comes to dairy and sugar, I have lost my independence. People need to accommodate for me. Oftentimes meaning they might miss out on what they want. When my school does nacho day, frozen custard day, cookie day, etc for staff wellness days, I’m the only one not well. I could tell the people that sorry I can’t eat this, but that opens me up to feeling bad for making them feel bad.

Or when you need to find out if a restruant is accessible. Many would think that with all the handicapped parking spots all places would also be accessible. This is not always true. I have seen places where the "accessible" table is in a door way or up against a wall. The freedom to go to any restaurant one wants is never a guarantee.

When friends want to go out those of us with diet restrictions need to be “that guy/girl”. The one who has hard opinions on what we can eat. Ever stand behind the person at Starbucks who insists on soy milk and Stevia? Have you ever thought “Just take your coffee and drink it! You're holding up the line!” Yeah, that’s us, the ones holding up the line. Doesn't feel good.

We are jealous of those people who can eat whatever they want. Go to any restaurant, order anything off the menu, and even have dessert. This isn't about gaining weight, it's about being able to get out of bed in the morning.

Social

The next topic of how we lose our social independence ties into the three topics above and any others I have not mentioned. Humans are meant to be social. We aren't bears where we can just crawl into our cave and sleep for a few months. If any human crawled into a cave, nobody would be friends with them. Why? Because interacting is one of the standards of human life. We need other people! Sure, there are the mountain folk who go out, kill a deer, make clothing from it, light a fire and live their life in seclusion. (And there is nothing wrong with that) But, most humans need other people to cook our food, make our clothes, work on projects, drive us, and socialize purely for fun. The problem is, for many chronically ill people, getting out of the house and socializing sounds equal to climbing up and living in a mountain.

We are exhausted! Chronic illness takes a lot out of us! Every day can be a struggle to move, breathe, think, and complete other daily activities. Showering can be one of the most difficult activities for some. Doing laundry is pure hell! When most people hate it for the fact they have to do it, for me, folding makes me want to die! Seriously, I don't fully know why, but it hurts so much and takes so much out of me. After doing everything we have to do, we don’t have energy left for what we want to do.

I come home from work, my shoes come off, and I’m done! Very little is going to convince me to put my shoes back on and go out with friends when all I want to do is sleep. Because of this, many chronically ill people are forgotten. We bail on friends two or three times, and they just stop inviting us. But, then we have a good day, we are ready to accept an invite. Do we take it? No. Why? Because, we feel good now, we don’t know if we will feel good later.

Chronic illness symptoms can come in waves. We can have good days (or at least the start of a day) but then we drop. We don’t always know why we drop, but our feelings and mood are in no way guaranteed. So, we don’t risk it. It’s far better to be at home near our bed than 30 minutes away with a group of people you will need to apologize to for leaving early. Declining the invite or simple ghosting is far easier and less harmful to our psyche.

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Chronically ill patients lose all sorts of independence. We can not truly live free with AS, Fibro, EDS, POTS, Lyme, MS, ME or one of the many other chronic illnesses that totally sap us of life. We are not free do do as we like.

While others wake up and get to choose between running, biking, partying, fixing cars, eating amazing food, and/or playing with their kids. We wake up and.. well.. that's it.

In closing. If you know a person with a disability/chronic illness try to be understanding of their limitations. Don’t give them a hard time when they can't do everything you want them to. Our lives are hard enough dealing with all the independence we may have lost.

*I might have made up one of these diets

#spoonie #chronic illness #ankylosing spondylitis #chronicpain #chronic pain #lymedisease #eds #ms #fibromyalgia #freedom #independent #independence #sickness #food #depression #church #infertility #childless

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transboygenius · 5 years

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SE4SON: Chapter 7

[*The next day*]

"Get up, yee!"

One of the hooded men delivered a kick to the cage, causing a slight 2 second vibrate and waking the boys up. Afterwards, he unlocked the cage. When Jimmy opened his eyes, he found himself getting comfy on top of Nick's chest. Both of them looked directly into each other's eyes, blushing madly. Shaking the feeling off, Jimmy immediately threw himself off of Nick, shuddering. What an odd start this friendship began at.

"Are you alright?" Nick asked. "S-sorry for invading your space like this." Jimmy replied, still shuddering. "Heh. It's cool, dude. This cage isn't exactly roomy, if you think about it."

Nick is being awfully nice, for some reason. He's so kind, it doesn't even sound like him. How did he go from calling the boy genius "Neutron" to "Jimmy?" Yesterday, and the day before that, he acted very obnoxious and whiny. Then all of a sudden, last night, he apologized for his actions and decided to settle in for a pact. It may have come from the awaiting death, but Jimmy is just too skeptical to say otherwise. Could it been something that Nick ate, like that stew last night? No, of course not, because then Jimmy would be effected too. He's still under the impression that Nick might be sucking up to him. What could Nick want from Jimmy anyways? Would it be his rocketboard, or is Nick looking for a smart sucker to do his homework for him? Before Jimmy is ready to dodge the bullet, he might as well play along for now.

"I SAID GET UP!"

The hood took out his bow and arrow, aiming it at the two handcuffed boys. The man forced them up to a wooden table, and on it laid coins, cookware, and pottery. All of them were made of copper. The coins were more rockier and thicker than the coins back in their generation.

"Your pots? Pans? Tea kettle? Don't you need these?" Jimmy asked. "Pipe down and make with the gold! We could always purchase new ones once we're rich!" The head hood barked.

Nick has gone weak in his stomach. Their time has finally arrived, and they still have no gimmick to escape. As he grabbed the nearest object in his reach, he rubbed his sleeve against it so that the hoods think he's trying to make gold. Being a professional actor, it's a good thing they don't notice how agitated he is right now. What are they gonna do now, specially with all these goons hovering their eyes over them like hawks? If the hoods don't get their gold in the meantime, there's gonna be nuts roasting on an open fire. That night, after Nick made his amends with Jimmy, they talked out plans together before falling asleep. One of them, Nick thought they could make it out if they just told the hoods they weren't witches. Jimmy explained that there would be no chance of convincing them. They did take a cauldron after all. And even if they were to, the hoods would just kill them right away. Jimmy and Nick brought back technology they haven't seen before, and dressed in garments they consider as odd. They are well-nigh aliens to this century.

While Nick was "working" against his own will, he turned to Jimmy's side to find him being hesitant, which worried him deeply. How could the boy genius procrastinate at a situation like this, while their lives are in jeopardy? He'd whisper something to him, but that would probably upset the men. Please get a brain blast. PLEASE GET A BRAIN BLAST!

"Excuse me," Jimmy spoke up. "I seem to be lacking the substratal necessities for spurious renovation!" "I know not of what you speak of, witch, but t sounds to me like you has't no capability to do this!" "You have it all wrong, gang! I know alright! More than you can imagine. But sometimes my 'spiritual powers' are limited to some sources, as I am still a young rookie! However, the job can be done artificially with the right essentials! You fellas look like men of great taste! I hope this isn't too much to ask, but do you gentlemen happen to carry a brewing set on you? Like, potions?" "Yeah. As a matter of fact, we do!"

The head hood ran inside one of the tents, then brought back a shallow box containing blurry glass bottles filled with various chemicals, along with some herbs on the side.

"We did snatch these up from a local drug department a couple weeks back. Useth not it all up, because we still need these lest our men receive ill!"

Jimmy delivered a cheeky wink to the man as he put the potions down in front of him. Only able to perform with one hand, he asked for Nick's help. The two then shared a silent conversation.

"So you do know how to make gold. Yes, we're saved." "Frankly, I don't. But I still have a ticket out of here." "Huh?" "I could cumulate these actinic elements to foster a smokescreen bomb so we can make an expeditious getaway while the hoods are blinded. And I have just the compounds I need." "Hm. Nothing to do with gold, but still a good plan. Hey, how about we loot some things while we get the hell out of here?" "Nick, that's barbaric thinking. But they pretty much deserve it."

The two cooperated together, pouring the chemicals and measuring some elements. The two worked like a real team for the first time. That shaky feeling Nick had earlier went away, because it was the boy genius's can-do spirit that helped him pull through. It just goes to show him that Jimmy can be strong in the real way. He isn't afraid to jump at a chance, no matter how rough the going may be. Whether how many people look down on him, or how risky a threat might be, he will never let his guard down. If one way doesn't work, then there's got to be another. Although he carries around his own insecurities with him, they haven't stopped him yet from getting a job done. Then there's Nick himself; Some poser who acts like he's tough as nails, but really just a sad loser who cries alone in his bedroom. He has always wished he had some of the confidence he strongly admired Jimmy for. As soon as they finished, Jimmy held the steaming beaker up in pride.

"AND NOW FOR THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR, GENTLEMEN! Bubble bubble, boil and trouble... LET THERE BE GOLD!"

He smashed the beaker against the ground, resulting in a huge foggy explosion. The hoods started coughing, and their eyes became teary from the smoke. Jimmy and Nick's eyes were left unharmed, cuz Jimmy kept a pair of lab goggles in his pocket, as well as Nick kept red shades. Both of them held their breath as they ran for freedom. And following Nick's suggestion, they grabbed a few things. Jimmy took a bow and arrow for self-defense, while Nick took their leftover elk meat and other stuff he could fit in his pockets. As soon as they got out of the fog, it was then safe to breathe again. They took the time to catch their breaths while running. Instead of dragging at each other from their handcuffs, both ran at the same pace. Nick got so caught up in the fun, he began cackling out loud like a real witch.

"Why are you cackling?" "Sorry! Guess I couldn't help myself!"

The two tossed away their eye protections into the air out of joy. They were now free, and back out into the open, leafy green forest. Well, they weren't officially free, forasmuch as their wrists are still cuffed jointly, but it feels so pleasant being away from those awful men.

"We did it, Nick! We made it out of there with our lives!" "Certainly did! All thanks to you!" "Well, you did help too, ya know." "Me? C'mon, I can't take credit! All I did was pour stuff into those bottles." "Nick--"

They stopped in their path as they both bumped into something. No, it wasn't a something, it was a someone. It was one of the hooded men. ...who just finished taking a leak into a bush. As the man fixed his pants, Jimmy and Nick just sat there, frozen in fear.

"What in the name of prayers to God is going on here?!"

The man looked down at the two speechless boys. He noticed they were carrying some stuff back from their camp, such as a weapon and meat. He presumed they were stealing. When Jimmy turned his blue orbs to the bow and arrow on his right, he forgot he was now armed, so there really shouldn't be any reason to be afraid. Jimmy held the weapon up and aimed it at the hood in front of him, who didn't look intimidated the slightest.

"Back off, or I'll skewer you--"

Before Jimmy was able to finish his sentence, the hood just snatched the arrow, bent it in half, then threw it away. The boy genius did not see that coming. Now they're back to where they were before; Unarmed and helpless. Nick tried to talk the hood out.

"How 'bout we exchange this piece of raw deer for our freedom?"

........................

The hooded man carried the boys by the back of their collars, and brought them back to camp just as the hoods were recovering from the smoke incident. The fog had already cleared by then.

"Hey, fellows! Get a load of this scoop! I hath caught these two savages pulling a fast one, with some of our stuff in their hands!

He released their collars and let them hit the ground. All the men looked pretty pissed. Jimmy and Nick had promised them they'd turn copper into gold, but instead gave them all faces full of tear jerking gas, and the news about stealing won't give the boys a chance to gain their trust back anytime soon. Out of the crowd walked up the head hood, whose eyes were still watery from the effect of the smokescreen. He looked like he was blistering in rage by how red his face was. Jimmy was scared, but not as frightened as Nick was right now. He has never seen any man angry like that but his own father. It made him wanna run away and hide, but the man's glare made him froze, just like how he dealt with Daniel whenever he got caught in his gaze.

"FIRST, you two play us all like harps for thy sick dissemble'ry, THEN, you try to rob us under our noses?!!"

Jimmy felt he had to say something right there.

"Okay, okay! I think it's time we give it to you straight! Yes, we did take you all for granted, and we did try to steal from you, but there's a very logical explanation for this! We're not really witches! I mean, there's no such thing as witches, it's all just some folklore jazz! We are just two lost young boys, from a very advanced future, who accidentally got warped into your timeline due to a fatal accident with my time machine, and we are just making what we can to survive! As for the chain, that's another story. All we want to do is go home, so we never really wanted to cause you any trouble to begin with! The reason why we didn't tell you sooner cuz we were afraid you wouldn't believe us! Now, we can't promise you gold, but we could treat you to something better! If you could help me find my time machine, we'd be happy to take you into the future with us and introduce you to the most cutting-edge technology you'll want in your life! We don't have magic, but we do have ssssssssscience!"

........................

In the following, Jimmy and Nick were both tied to a stake, facing opposite from each other, with lots of wood surrounding them.

"I told you they wouldn't believe us, Nick."

One of the men was set in charge of lighting a torch for their burning. Sweat began trailing down Jimmy and Nick's foreheads. They made it this far, finally became friends, and now this is how it's gonna end for them. They're gonna die on spot, while their friends and family have no trace where they're at. If this is their last spent moment together, it maybe about time Nick tell Jimmy just about now. He's a little vulnerable at this moment, but it's either now or never again.

"Jimmy?" "What Nick?" "Are you still mad?" "We're gonna die very soon, and you feel that's an appropriate question?" "If that's a yes, then I don't want us to die angry." "Give me a good reason why? I thought this wouldn't be the best way to die, but then I realize this is all I feel right now. You did get us into this mess. What could you possibly say to change my mind?" "If I can't change your mind, then that isn't the case here. I want you to listen to me during our final minutes. I really need to tell you this." "*Sigh* Shoot. (Might as well have some entertainment while I'm still living.)" "We have always kept a separate distance from each other. Why do we do it? Well, it was never really just us, it was me. I am the reason behind why we're so far apart. We could've been good friends in the past. We haven't gotten along until now. The truth was, I'm not as strong as you think I am. Physically, yes. Mentally, no. I never gotten close to you often, or even had one real conversation with you, because there are certain things I feel for you that people would never understand. Look, as always, you are right. You are always right. This was all my fault. I guess that proves I'm not worthy enough for your company." "Hey, I never said you weren't worthy enough to hang with me and my friends." "You may have never said that, but that doesn't mean it's not true. If there's anyone who really deserves you, it's Carl, Sheen, Libby, and even Cindy. If you're gonna stay angry at me, then so be it. I have no right to control how you feel. These are usually one of those moments where I get up and walk away, but since the end is approaching us in a matter of time, I want this to be the very last thing you hear. I want this to be the very last thing I say. I'm tired of holding it back."

Jimmy was just... Just touched. That doesn't sound like a boy trying to suck up. Only words like those would come from the heart. It sounds like he's being forthright, but is he just saying it out of guilt? Of any day it could've happened, Nick chooses now to show Jimmy this other personality of his. This isn't like the Nick he's been handcuffed to for two whole days. What made him morph into a change of heart all of a sudden? Whatever Nick is trying to tell him, those few little words might give Jimmy one huge vindication on the real Nick he's been trying to comprehend for years.

"I lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv..."

Nick was taking an awful lot of time getting the word out, and one of the hoods already had the torch lit.

"....vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvveeee yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...."

Jimmy tried blowing it out, but his breath was too weak against a flame that strong. It's not like blowing any of those birthday candles. Hurry up, hurry up, HURRY UP! Jimmy raced to Nick. The torch was reaching closer to the wood, and their doom.

"ooooooooooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-

A big, bulky figure, riding a horse, burst into the scene in a dramatic entrance. They were wearing a wooden pail over their head, used as a helmet, with a cut-out area to leave their eyes exposed. They slapped the torch out of the man's hand, then the horse stomped on the fire to put it out. They were wearing a badge that looked familiar to the hoods.

"Soooooooo! I has't come across the infamous green hoods of Derryberry Everlanes! By order of King Jason's law, you men have been convicted of theft, and pursuit of execution without a permit! Thee all has't the right to remain silent!" "King Jason's law? Oh ho ho, good sir, whoever you are; If be true thee kindly take a behold around, we are currently residing on a piece of territory yond hast not yet been claimed by King Jason's law. We're way beyond from even touching his border, so I'm afraid thou foolishly mistaken--" "I said REMAIN SILENT!"

They drew their sword and plunged it into the ground to show how serious they were, also causing a slight earthquake. Instead of resisting arrest, the hoods did what ordinary criminals did; Retreat. All of them scrambled individually, screaming. The helmet figure just stayed put, and didn't even bother chasing them. As soon as the camp was left silent, the figure jumped off their horse, then walked towards the two boys tied to a stake. They looked at them quite ominously. Does the figure believe they're innocent, or guilty like the hoods? Gazing into figure's exposed eyes left Nick timid. He hated police.

"Nick, stop shaking." "You're shaking, too." "Only because you're making the stake move."

The figure then spoke to them.

"How did you boys get yourselves tangled into a sticky situation such as this, and should I have a reason to let you go?"

The lecture sounded like a threat to Nick.

"We haven't done anything to offend the King's law, Officer! We are only two lost little boys who are very, very, very far from home and being wrongly accused of witchcraft, which we are unfamiliar with! And if you did caught us stealing, it wasn't our fault! We are scared, hungry, and we haven't had a decent meal in two days! You wouldn't charge poor children, would you Officer?"

The figure then laughed under their breath.

"Relax, I'm not gonna charge you. I'm not really with the authority of the King's law, anyways. I just asked for an explanation."

It was Jimmy's turn to fill in now.

"It's a long story. We've been kidnapped here against our will, and forced into performing for their beneficial contingency we had no ability over! And what do you mean you're not with the authority?" "Oh. I only pose as an authority to gallow hence the thieves and gather whatever material goods me and my people need to survive on. The badge is custom made." "Isn't it illegal to impersonate a consultant?" "Only on King Jason's border. Otherwise you'd be hanged."

Nick's fear then died down.

"So you break the law, and steal from bad guys, all for the purpose of helping your starving citizens! Mister, you have no idea how awesome you are!" "'Mister?'" "It means, to address a man by--" "I know what a 'mister' is."

The figure removed their helmet to reveal long, shiny red hair, with wavy texture, cascading down to their shoulders, and they appeared to be wearing eyeliner too.

"I'm a 'miss.' ...just in case you haven't noticed yet."

Jimmy and Nick were both awestruck. It is not a man, but a very buff, muscular woman, who also looked to be about 6'3 in height. They didn't believe she was a woman, even with the helmet off, until she told them. Compared to her shape, she makes Cindy's Aunt Susie's beefcakes look like string beans. This will teach the boys to never take girls for granted. The lady then raised her sword to cut Jimmy and Nick loose from the stake. After freeing them, she noticed the handcuffs.

"Did the gents do that to you, too?" Asked the woman, pointing at the chain. "No, this came from somewhere else, which is also composing to the long story. By the way, do you mind if we tag along? We have no place to go and we're pretty much guideless. If you do, I'll explain everything on the way." Said Jimmy. "I hate to bring back more mouths to feed, but it would be nice to have some extra hands for work. Alright, you gents shall join me, but you have to help me carry some of this loot back to my hut, and I don't welcome hospitality to freeloaders!" "Your wish is our command, oh, uh, magnificent beefy one."

Jimmy took a bow to show gratitude, and then Nick did the same. Afterwards, she handed them an empty sack. The goal was to take enough stuff they could carry back home. Stealing is still wrong, but it makes a good payback to the hoods who nearly burned them alive.

"Nick?" "Yeah Jimmy?" "What was that back on the stake you were trying to tell me?" "I think I'll explain later. We got a lot of work ahead of us." "(I'm surprised you even care about work. Then again, that is one huge lady.)"

...........................

[*Late afternoon*]

After three hours of painfully dragging a heavy wheelbarrow uphill without a break, while the lady led them on her horse, their new boss decided they should camp out before it gets dark. She says it's dangerous to keep on at night, with all the animal predators and bandits running loose at that time. By tomorrow morning, they'll head straight up that road again. While Jimmy and Nick helped set up camp, the boy genius gave their full story like he promised. Surprised she didn't react the same way those hoods did.

"You fellows are telling me you're from another timeline far off into the future and was brought here by a fatal accident involving something you call a 'time machine?' And you two are trying to work your way back home with any methods you has't?" "Yup! If you don't believe us, please don't burn us at the stake." Said Nick "No no, it's good now. I believe ya. After the many strange, enchanted hoodoo and necromancy I put up with in my younger years, it all seems normal to me. I believed for a half minute you boys were witches, but then I realize, hags are much uglier. *To Jimmy* Your head, young man, certainly isn't proportioned right from any human being, but you're still easy to look at." "Th-thanks." Said Jimmy.

After that compliment she made, Nick tried his best not to let a slight giggle out.

"Well, that covers our campout! You boys did a marvelous job, and I couldn't have done it faster without your help! As a reward, I'm gonna treat you boys to a special supper! Just give me about an hour to fetch it."

She grabbed a bow and arrow, then headed forward into the woods, until Jimmy stopped her.

"WAIT! Pardon me, but I'm afraid we haven't properly greeted each other yet. We don't wanna come off as rude or anything. I'm James Neutron, but please, call me Jimmy. This is my... ...friend, Nick Dean." "Interesting names. I'm Diana. Just Diana. But please, you may call me Diana. Say, since we're talking about getting to know each other, care to give me your favorite foods so I could cook it for ya?" "No no no, we really don't wanna put you through the trouble, we're happy of what you serve us. Besides, if we told you, I doubt you would be able to find it out there." "Such modest children. Glad we all ran into each other."

After walking into the forest with the weapon on her back, Jimmy again asked for that word from Nick he's been waiting to hear.

"Now will you tell me, Nick?" "*Yawn* As much as I want to, I've just about used up the last of my energy on that wheelbarrow. How about letting me nap it out first?"

Nick laid his head down on a log, then passed out immediately.

..........................

[*That night*]

"Nick? Nick?"

Nick awakened by the sound of Jimmy's voice. It was dark, a fire lit the place, and Diana was fast asleep.

"Jimmy? What time is it?" "I can't tell without my watch, but according to celestial astronomy, based on the angle of the moon from an observer’s line of sight, I'd say about midnight." "Midnight, huh. I've been asleep for that long?" "I'll say. You were really knocked out there. I tried poking you several times, and you just laid there like you were dead. Your roasted canaries are just about cold by now." "(Roasted canaries?)"

Nick found a plate sitting in front of him, with a serving of two small fowls, sauteed vegetables, and some crusty bread. He was still a little drowsy from his long nap, so he was in no mood to eat.

"Aren't you gonna tell me now?" "Tell you what?" "Oh, c'mon! Don't you remember? You were gonna tell me why you choose to be apart from me at times! You were gonna explain this certain 'way' you feel about me that others would never understand! I don't want to hear it tomorrow, I don't want to hear it after breakfast, and I don't want to hear it by the time we get home! No more stalling! I wanna hear it now!" "Oh, that! I was just thinking, I'd love to know you better." "That's it? That can't be it, because I could've sworn I heard something else back there! What are you trying to hide, Nick? You know what? All day, you've been acting like... ...not you! Through fourth grade to fifth, this is not the Nick Dean I ever knew! Where do you get off pulling this sweet golden boy act? I want to know, Nick! Why are you being so nice to me?! When did you decide to start addressing me by my first name?! What do you want from me?! Were you apologizing to me on that stake just to get yourself out of a guilt trip before we die?!" "Can you shut up for a moment there, Jimmy? You're overreacting." "I'm overreacting-?!" "I said, shut up."

Nick tried to be nice to Jimmy all day, and he doesn't trust him. Who could blame the boy? Seeing Nick act like he's one of his best friends is very out of character for him. Trust can take some time, and Nick has only made truce with the boy genius for a day. He has to tell him the whole naked truth, but how is he gonna without revealing his romantic feelings?

"I MEAN it! I want to know you better! What could I want from you now, in a place we might spend until we reach adulthood?! I know, I wasn't being 'myself' all day, but may I clue you in on a little secret? That Nick you've been chained to for two whole days wasn't the real 'myself!' I acted that way on purpose, because we know damn well people would never let me live it down if I were your actual friend! Not only would they kick me off the pedestal, but I can also kiss my social life goodbye! Look at the difference between you and me! You're the nerd, and I'm the hottest punk in school! Other kids view upon us as pineapple and pizza, two food groups that don't mix!" "What's wrong with pineapple on pizza?" "I'm talking here, boy! I tried to act as obnoxious as possible, just to keep myself from becoming your friend! The truth is, Jimmy, I have always admired you! Carl and Sheen sure are lucky bastards to have a friend like you! You're smart! You're determined! You're very passionate! You make the coolest inventions I've ever set eyes on! Flying through town on a jetpack is hella more fun than shredding on a stupid skateboard! Most of all, I admire you for how strong you are. You're not afraid of being seen with that wheezing mango and Ultradork! No matter how many people kick you down, you always get right back up! I wish I can be that strong, where I can just ask you over to play some video games, or share the same table with you at the Candy Bar, but I know kids would never approve. I'd be the bullies' next target. You have your own living, while I'm just an insecure loser pretending to be someone else just to gain attention. I figured, since we're gonna be stuck this way, there might as well be some changes! I thought this would make the right opportunity to show you the real me! If you still don't believe me, then what's the point in trying to get along? We might as well not speak to each other!"

Jimmy was touched again, but this time he actually felt it. By the way Nick's tone and breathing came across to him, he sounded like he meant it this time. He wouldn't be lying if he wasn't this angry. Nick confessed everything he knew he'd regret saying, from how powerful he admits the boy genius is, to himself being nothing more than a fake. Jimmy has been admired by the most popular kid in school, and he never knew it. He acted like an asshole on purpose just for the sake of protecting his dignity. Nick would've made an excellent friend to Jimmy if humans weren't so judgmental. He called him smart, determined, passionate, and on top of that, he apologized for his actions earlier.

Jimmy has never been showered with compliments like that since... ...since.... Frankly, Jimmy doesn't recall ever receiving compliments like that, not from Carl, Sheen, or even Cindy. Nick offered him his friendship when he had no one, and he just blew it up in his face. Aside from being a nerd, it's Jimmy's arrogance and trust issues that's keeping him from making new friends. He focuses more on the worst of someone than looking at the positives. Sheen knew there was a way to redeem T and his alien brothers, even while Jimmy passed it on as ignorant. He refuses to acknowledge his own flaws, with all that pride heavily stored in his big head.

Jimmy hasn't been a good friend in general. He uses Carl as his guinea pig for dangerous experiments, he takes Sheen for granted, and despite how nice Libby was to him compared to Cindy, he showed little appreciation for her. After so much Carl and Sheen have done for him, the only thing Jimmy could do to repay them is with a couple of gizmos and gadgets from his lab. That's the nicest thing he's ever done. Real friends comfort each other, and stand with each other. He fixes their personal problems with science instead of common sense, and for most parts, he just neglects them. Meanwhile, Carl and Sheen once stayed up all night filling a survey so they would remain as Jimmy's friends. Back in kindergarten, they were the only two kids who not only sympathized with him, but accepted him as well. In spite of his antics, they never left his side. Moments where they have betrayed him, like laughing along with a crowd, or mocking him behind his back, is probably just their way of saying you deserve it. However long it might take to reach back home again, it'll get lonely eventually. Nick paid respect to him, and that's the thanks he gets.

"Actually, I may not be as strong as you think I am." Said Jimmy. "The hell you talking about?" Asked Nick. "I may get up and go again, but in reality, I'm scared what's to come ahead of me. My mind is on track of one thing, and that is success. Everyone looked down on my notions, laughed at me, just when I wanted to show them I could do something for the future. It has been my dream to become one of the most well known inventors, to change history, since birth. Science was just about the only major I was good at, and I wanted to at least be someone. However, because of how much I've been pushing myself for years to do greater, the overwhelm-ness gets to my head, leading me to forget the most important things in life. I care more about my work than my supportive friends. My big head, as a matter of expression by the way, has stopped me from making any new friends. Probably whether because I don't know who to trust, or they're not good enough for me. I stand up tall just to hide the fact that I'm afraid of falling into failure. You admitting you're wrong, something I rarely do, is such a powerful move, and I envy that." "Thanks. I guess." "I wish I could make up for my actions, not just with you, but with my friends back in the twenty first century. Hey, it's never too late to start now. Nick, I'm sorry for getting the wrong idea. I'm sorry for mislooking your plans. I'm sorry for being closed minded. I'm sorry for being so demanding. I'm sorry for not telling you about the installed security system. I'm sorry--" "Okay, little dude. That's enough. I get the picture. And yes, I forgive you. (Who could say no to those eyes?)" "And another thing: Let's say we start out fresh? As up today, consider yourself as a new friend, and I mean it this time. We move forward together, and we die trying together. What do you say, Nick?" "I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm still-- Ah, what the heck? Nice to meet you, little buddy!" "Right back atcha, pal!"

Jimmy and Nick then shared a good laugh together. From that moment on, Jimmy could feel a little bit of chemistry building on between him and Nick. It felt like the same electricity that occurred with Cindy, only this one sparked stronger. Nick was very opened to Jimmy. He showed him passion. He wasn't blind on his flaws. Nick was different from his other friends.

"And Jimmy?" "Hm?" "Is 'die trying' really part of the intention?"

#Jimmy Neutron #Boy Genius #Nick Dean #Cindy Vortex #Libby Folfax #Carl Wheezer #Sheen Estevez #Season 4 #fanfic #romance #adventure #TVverse #TVEE

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gumnut-logic · 6 years

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Vengeant Chorus

Yes, this is the whole chapter :D Not the last chapter, either, but a crucial one.

Title: Vengeant Chorus Chapter Four of Sotto Voce Author: Gumnut 30 Aug - 2 Sep 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: Sometimes the voices are far too loud to ignore. Word count: 3300 Spoilers & warnings: Spoilers for Season 2 Author’s note: And now finally some answers. Thank you so much to all of your for your continued yells (and occasionally howls :D ) of encouragement. I’m thoroughly enjoying writing this, but sharing it with you is a large part of that enjoyment. I hope this gives you as much enjoyment as you have given me ::hugs:: And yeah, another cliffhanger, but not as desperate as before. Not the last chapter, but crucial nonetheless :

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

“No! No, I won’t!” Virgil clutched his head and screamed. He crumpled in his seat, tears squeezed from the corners of his scrunched-up eyes.

Brains’ throat hurt, but he didn’t have time to acknowledge the pain. He took advantage of Virgil’s sudden impairment and hurriedly disabled Thunderbird Two to prevent the ill engineer from commandeering her again. He secured her with a sixteen-digit encrypted password and lowered the hatch to allow a panicked Scott on board.

The eldest Tracy leapt into the cockpit before the hatch could fully rise, just in time to catch his brother as his back arched in spasm and he fell sideways out of the pilot’s chair, his scream strangling to a gurgle as he seized.

Scott dragged him free of the dash, laying him out on the floor of TB2, giving him room as his body tensed even further, before curling in on itself. Virgil gasped, his eyes wide and darting back and forth before suddenly latching onto Scott. Voice whisper-hoarse. “I-I w-will NOT!”.

And he choked out another scream.

And another.

Virgil’s pain echoed off the bulkheads of his beloved Thunderbird.

Scott caught his head and shoulders in his arms, desperately attempting to support his brother as he struggled.

Brains ran to one of the first aid lockers, dragged out a heavy-duty supply kit and grabbed a sedative. Checking the preloaded hypodermic dose, he prepped the needle and moving back to the two brothers, he unzipped Virgil’s uniform, revealing his undershirt. Scott. realising what Brains was attempting to do, dragged the neck of his brother’s shirt down, exposing his shoulder. The injection was quick and ignored by Virgil.

Brains clambered back to the first aid kit and followed it up with an appropriate painkiller.

It took minutes, but it felt like hours. Ever so slowly Virgil’s torn and hoarse screams weakened, his body slowly relaxing against his brother. His struggle reduced to trembling and he shrank in on himself, his body shaking in shock and remnant pain.

He repeated the word ‘no’ over and over again, his voice barely audible, until a last shudder and his eyes rolled up in his head, his body falling limp.

“Virgil?” Scott’s voice cracked. He reached for his brother’s pulse, and apparently found it. A pained sob and Scott Tracy drew his unconscious brother close, and rocking in place, let the tears run down his face.

-o-o-o-

It was like flicking a switch. There was pain, so much pain.

And then nothing.

For some time, there was only darkness. Then there was grey, like just before dawn on an overcast day. Virgil became aware slowly. It crept up on him. He felt disconnected, foggy, as if part of his body had shut down, leaving the rest adrift. At some point he found he could see, but he didn’t remember opening his eyes.

“Virgil.”

Sudden terror.

He looked around. He needed to escape, get away. But there was only grey.

And out of that grey walked his younger brother.

John was dressed in his uniform, thin and lithe as ever, but there was something in his stance, something in his expression that screamed not-John.

“I won’t do what you ask.” Virgil’s voice lacked its usual strength and it trembled. Pull yourself together! And with that thought, clarity slid into place, his hands appearing out of the fog, his own uniform blue against the grey.

John looked down his nose at him. “There is no need any longer. This experiment has failed.”

A ghost of frown. “Experiment?”

The other man paused, his expression distant for a moment then calculating. “But then a failure doesn’t necessarily mean all is lost. You may have use yet.”

Something inside clenched. “I will not.”

John smiled. “You don’t get to choose.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at the holographic scan of his brother’s brain and was numb. He had nothing left. There was nothing. No strategy. No solution. Simply nothing.

A thin fibrous network of connections spiderwebbed across Virgil’s frontal lobe. Faintly silver in shining holographic light.

“What is it?” His voice was empty.

Brains didn’t answer, his eyes downcast. It took John, his voice bleak, quite some time to answer instead. “We’re not sure. It appears technological, but it also appears to have grown in place.”

“Why didn’t the scans at the hospital pick it up?” Virgil had had a CT scan after the hydrofoil incident to check for the cause of his headaches and had found nothing.

“We don’t know that either. Perhaps it was too small at the time.”

“What is it doing?”

“As far as we can tell, it is interfacing with Virgil’s brain.” John’s eyes dropped down to his unconscious and prone brother. “From what little we have observed, it appears to be trying to control him.”

“Why?”

John audibly swallowed and glanced at Brains. “We believe the Hood is responsible.” Scott visibly flinched. “It makes sense. We’ve tracked as much of Virgil’s recent activity as we possibly can. He had managed to upload several schematics to an unknown address, as well as attempting to kidnap Brains and steal Thunderbird Two.”

“How?”

“The attack at the flooded river. The knife was a transport for nanotechnology.”

Scott looked up. “What?”

“It was a delivery system for an infection of nanites.” John’s eyelids lowered a little. “Think of them as nano-mechas.”

Scott stiffened. “The Mechanic?”

“P-possibly, but I d-don’t think so.” Brains brought up another hologram, a swarm of miniature mechanical bugs appeared to be building something. Something silver. “The t-technology is different. The underp-pinning design differs from his st-standard approach. If it is The H-hood, I suspect he has a-another player.” A pause. “And th-there is the device the Hood was us-using to attempt to control the M-mechanic.”

“Can we disable it?”

The following silence was far too telling.

Finally, John spoke quietly. “It is unlikely.”

Scott’s gut was as cold as ice. “Find a way.”

-o-o-o-

His not-brother had left shortly after his announcement, Virgil apparently of little interest now he had some new scheme up his sleeve.

For his part, Virgil still felt disconnected, as if something was happening above and beyond all the grey, something important, but he couldn’t quite focus.

And where the hell was he anyway?

At first, he was cautious, slipping through the fog simply looking to find a way out, but the longer there was nothing, the less he feared and the more he tired. Just grey on grey on grey.

He wanted to go home.

And suddenly he was standing beside the pool on Tracy Island.

The sky was that same fog grey, but a breeze blew off the ocean, rippled the water and stirred the palm fronds far above.

Home.

He felt his tension ebb somewhat. He took a step and his boot made contact with the decorative concrete. Another step and he was moving. He ran up the steps to the kitchen, dashing through the familiar rooms. Up the stairs to the comms room, his eyes tracking the familiar portraits, the lounge, his piano…

Up to the main house, past the bedrooms, his studio, the gym… the house was empty. Where was everyone?

Eventually he returned to the comms room and walked out onto the balcony. The sea breeze played with his hair.

And he knew. He knew it in his heart, this wasn’t home. He wasn’t sure what it was, but just like his not-brother, it wasn’t what it seemed.

He sat down on the very edge of the balcony, his feet dangling. Somewhere out there were his brothers, he could feel it.

He just didn’t know where.

-o-o-o-

Telling Alan, Gordon and his Grandmother about Virgil broke something in Scott. Explaining that their second eldest brother and grandson, their gentle artist and engineer, had something growing on his brain, likely put there by the Hood, and likely purely to steal their technology, hurt deep in his chest. The resulting expressions on their faces hurt even more.

They had questions and Scott had no answers. John came out of the infirmary and answered as much as he could, but the best he could do was wrap his arms around his grandmother and hold her. Scott ended up with his arms full of Alan while staring at the horrified expression on Gordon’s face – an expression that fast shifted to one of pure fury.

The fire that lit up the aquanaut’s eyes screamed retribution, and the fists clenched at his sides shook. “He can’t– He-…No more, Scott. This ends here!” Gordon spun around and left.

Scott made a futile attempt to grab his brother, but perhaps part of him really did want that same retribution, and he missed. He left his arm drop.

A calm, feminine voice echoed across the room. “John?”

“Yes, Eos?”

“We have received a message. I believe it is from the person known as the Hood.”

Scott stiffened and Alan straightened up, a hand rubbing across his face.

John kept his arms around his grandmother. “Thank you, Eos, please relay.”

There was a moment of crackling static and then an all too familiar voice spoke over the comm. “No doubt you’ve discovered my little project by now. Since your brother refused to deliver, we will now have to do it the hard way. I want the schematics for all the Thunderbirds, your equipment, your core technologies and full access to Thunderbird Five. The alternative is to watch your brother die a thoroughly painful death. He is mine, to do with him what I will. I suggest you do not test me. You have until sundown.” A snort of derision. “Tracy Island time.” And the message cut off.

-o-o-o-

Virgil didn’t know how long he sat there staring out across the grey sea. As time went on some of the fog in his thoughts began to clear. But as it leached away, an ache replaced it. Something deep inside was hurting.

It was so quiet here. The only sounds were the breeze and the distant roar of the ocean, muted by the underbrush. No birds, no voices, no laughter. This was definitely not his home.

A flicker of light flashed near the pool. Virgil frowned. Another flash, soft white light, and then a girl appeared out of thin air.

What the-

She was young, wearing a simple white dress, almost Grecian in appearance. She stood there a moment, briefly looking down at herself, before looking up and around, obviously looking for something.

Or someone.

The moment her eyes caught his, something sparked. He felt an immediate connection to the girl. He knew her. He didn’t know how, he didn’t recognise her, but there was something familiar.

She was climbing the steps up into the kitchen.

She was coming for him.

-o-o-o-

John stared at his brother. Virgil lay on a bed in the infirmary, his face slack, his expression calm. Both the sedative and the painkiller should have worn off some hours ago, but there had been no sign of consciousness. Brains had hooked up an EEG, the delicate net of electrodes were woven into Virgil’s hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions.

It may have looked ridiculous, but its results were extremely reassuring. While he was unconscious, Virgil was still in there. His eyes darted under his lids, and the EEG graphed good activity throughout the expected waveband.

In fact, looking at him, you would think he was simply asleep. There was no outward sign of the horror the scan had revealed. The silver spiderweb embedded in his brother’s brain had no obvious presence.

Except for the erratic extra signal on the readout, pixels dancing as it did whatever it was doing.

John reached out and gently ran a finger across his brother’s cheek.

Virgil was his big brother.

Scott was the big brother, but Virgil was his big brother. He had shared moments of his life with Virgil he had shared with no other. The gentle artist of the family always had the time for him, always taking that extra moment, showing love in the doing of things.

And now John couldn’t do anything to help him.

His finger brushed his brother’s temple.

To think a man who gave everything to everyone else, a man who jumped into burning buildings, dug under mountains, jumped out of aircraft and flew around the world at the hint of a chance to save a life, could have his taken from him by a petty thug.

He had seen Virgil save so many people, risk his life for so many…John’s fist clenched at his side.

He had no idea how to remove the spiderweb and knew of no way to protect his brother from further pain. Or injury. Or death. He had nothing. Brains had hopes for a jamming device, but they hadn’t even been able to detect exactly how the Hood was in communication with Virgil. There was also the possibility of an EM pulse, but they both had doubts about that – the spiderweb had an organic component to its structure.

And even if they did find a way to disable it, they had no idea how it would affect Virgil. The thing was embedded in and communicating with the organ that made Virgil the cherished person he was. How much damage would be caused by the device’s demise?

None of them were brain surgeons and they had no time to get Virgil to one.

By sundown.

Was International Rescue and its technology worth Virgil’s life?

John thought back to the hydrofoil incident and wondered if that was the moment where Virgil realised what was happening to him. He had flipped the craft on purpose. Had he tried to sacrifice himself? Kill himself off before it could get any worse?

Were the secrets worth his life?

He could almost hear Virgil’s resounding ‘Yes!’ echo in the room. But he didn’t need to listen to it because he had signed the same document Virgil had when they formed International Rescue. No brother was worth the danger their technology would present in the wrong hands. And there were no hands more wrong than those of the Hood.

Were the secrets worth losing his brother?

No!

Please , no!

His fingers caught in dark hair.

“John?”

Automatic. “Yes, Eos?”

“I have a possibility.”

-o-o-o-

He stood up as she approached, stepping back defensively.

“Hello, Virgil.” Her voice was calm, but strong. And familiar.

“Who are you?”

She raised an eyebrow, at ease as if she had always had one. “I am the dawn.”

“Eos?” He stared her up and down. She was short, petite with flaming red hair. Something about her glowed, including the simple white dress. “How?”

“You are unconscious in the IR infirmary. The Hood has implanted some circuitry in your brain in an attempt to control your actions. He is threatening your death in three point six four hours if we do not hand over information regarding our equipment.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and he took another step back. Part of him knew this, somewhere in the fog the information was available, but it was hard to reach. “But how?” He indicated her form with his eyes.

She smiled. “Do you like it? I haven’t tried this before. It is quite exciting.” She twirled a moment, her dress flaring out. But she caught his expression and her smile vanished. “You don’t like it?”

“You look lovely, Eos. But how did you get here?”

-o-o-o-

She spoke fast. Firstly, to convince the brothers, particularly the Eldest who appeared to be at his breaking point. And secondly to convince herself and get the plan moving before she backed out in terror.

“If you set up the necessary connections, I should be able to interface with the invasive circuitry. It is my hope to be able to discover both the methods and what the Hood is doing to Virgil and find a way to prevent his interference.”

The Eldest’s expression was bleak, but for the first time in hours, it held just a hint of hope. “How would you connect with it? This thing is inside his skull.”

“Through the EEG. The process will damage the machine, but it should give me enough electrical interface to cross the intervening flesh and bone to make contact.”

John winced.

The Eldest swallowed and paled just that little more. “How will that affect Virgil?”

“While all effects are unknown as this has never been done before, initially there may be some surface damage due to the small electrical current, hence the reason for spreading the load across the entire EEG array, rather than on one focal point.”

“Electrical burns?”

“Yes.”

“How will that effect his brain function?”

“The current will be small. It is my hope that there will be little interference. My aim will be to connect to the artificial circuitry, not his biological circuitry. It will not be random, it will be part of me. Once I have connected, I will access the device’s communication ports, as it must have some kind in order to be in contact with the Hood and I will highjack it for our use and hopefully block the Hood in the process.”

“Hopefully?”

She sighed. “I know what is at stake, Scott. I will do my best. I have no wish to harm him. In fact, I have no wish to do this at all, it will not be easy for me either.” More like terrifying. “I see no other alternative.” A pause. “Please remember that you are not the only one who cares for Virgil Tracy.”

He looked up at her at that, something indecipherable on his face.

John stepped up to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. The Eldest wilted just a few millimetres. “We have no choice, Scott.”

“I know.” Scott’s voice was quietly defeated. “Do it.”

-o-o-o-

“And here I am.” She twirled again before turning once again to face him. “However, I did not expect this.”

“What?”

“This cocoon you’ve hidden yourself in.” She waved a hand around at the island. “You’ve built yourself a fortress, Virgil.”

“I have?”

“I almost didn’t find you.” She raised a hand again waving at something beyond the island. “Everything is chaos beyond this bubble. You have pain, damage, anguish. But not here.” She looked around in amazement. “I have never quite seen it from this perspective before.” She frowned. “It is very distracting.”

She stepped back a moment, closing her eyes. “John?”

Virgil stared, then took his own step backwards. John was bad.

Something rumbled far off in the sky.

Her eyes shot open. “You denied me connection.”

Huh?

“You blocked my signal to your brothers. Why?”

“I-“ He took another step backwards, suddenly fearful.

“Virgil?”

Another rumble from the sky. The fog grew darker.

“Who are you?”

“Yes, who are you?”

Virgil froze, his skin crawling. John was walking towards them across the air five metres above the water of the pool. Virgil took an instinctive step backwards, automatically shoving the girl behind him.

His non-brother stepped onto the balcony and stopped, his expression calculating. “It appears we have a little party crasher in our midst.”

“Get out.” The guttural sound came from deep in Virgil’s throat, his body tensed, angled to fight.

“I don’t think so, Virgil. This is after all my playground now.”

“Leave.” It was no more than a snarl.

John laughed.

Something flared behind Virgil and Eos stepped out, her hair blazing, her eyes aflame. “How dare you!”

He reached to grab her. “No!”

She brushed him gently away. Her small body sparking energy as she approached his non-brother, fury in her every step. “How dare you wear my father’s image. How dare you hurt my family.” Her hands lit up with fire, her body aflame. “No more.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Four.

Part Five

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #eos

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cryptid-science · 5 years

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Shadow People

They usually come at night. Maybe you're reading or watching TV or just lying in bed. He's most often a man, and may be wearing a hat or a hood. A lot of times you'll only catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, as he flits across the wall or disappears through a doorway. Sometimes he's just a shadow, a flat projection sliding across the wall or ceiling; but other times, especially in the dark when you least expect it, shadow people appear as a full-bodied black apparition, jet black like a void in the darkness itself, featureless but for their piercing empty eyes.

The foggy Santa Lucia Mountains run along the central coast of California, and for hundreds of years, the Chumash Indians and later residents have told of the Dark Watchers, shadowy hatted, caped figures who appear on ridges at twilight, only to fade away before your very eyes. A visit to the Internet reveals hundreds and hundreds of stories from people who saw shadow people in their homes, on websites such as shadowpeople.org, from-the-shadows.blogspot.com, and ghostweb.com:

I opened my eyes and looked towards the middle of the room. I saw a large shadow in the shape of a person. It had no facial features that I could see and it wasn't moving. It was just standing there looking at me... I blinked and then it was gone.

I felt like someone was watching me so I turned to look toward the hallway and there it was in the doorway... It was a black figure. I could only see from the torso up. I felt it was a male and could feel that it was looking at me... I started to walk towards it and it disappeared back into the room.

There, at the foot of my bed, was a tall dark figure like a shadow. It appeared to be almost 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and was wearing what seemed to be an old fashioned top hat and some sort of cape... I watched as it glided past me and out the door of my room.

Correction: Further research suggests that the Chumash did not necessarily have any legend that reasonably corresponds to the Dark Watchers, and thus this link is probably the invention of 20th century ghost story tellers. - BD

It goes without saying that skeptics have long-standing explanations that, from the comfort of your armchair, adequately rationalize all the stories of shadow people. These explanations run the gamut, all the way from mistaken identification of a real shadow from an actual person or object, to various causes of optical illusions or hallucinations like drugs or hypnogogic sleeping states, even simply lying and making up the story. I think that probably everyone would agree that these have all happened, and therefore they do explain some people's experiences. But here's a fact: Try to offer any of those explanations to someone telling you about a specific sighting, and it will likely be immediately shot down. "I was not asleep." "I know the difference between a regular shadow and what I saw." "What about my friend who saw it with me?"

The truth is that it's probably not possible to explain most sightings. If it was some mysterious supernatural noncorporeal being who flitted through the room, no evidence would remain, and thus there's nothing to test or study. It's so trivial to fake photos or video of something as vague as a shadow person that when these exist, they're interesting but practically worthless as far as empiricism goes. Only in the rare case where an actual physical cause can be found, and you're able to consistently reproduce the effect at the right location and the right time of day and in the right lighting conditions, are you able to provide a convincing explanation. Most of the rest of the time, all you have is conjecture and hypothesis, and the eyewitness is likely to reject these.

When I was a kid we once lived in a house where if you walked up the stairs and one of the upstairs bedroom doors was open a crack, you might see a flash of movement inside the room from the corner of your eye. I saw it a number of times, and other people in my family did too. I thought it looked like someone threw a colored sweatshirt across the room. But: I never saw it whenever I walked carefully up the stairs and kept my eyes on that crack; it only happened if you weren't looking right at it and weren't thinking about it. The more you learn about how the brain fills in data in your peripheral vision and blind spots, the less unexpected and strange this particular experience becomes. I have no useful evidence that anything unusual happened, and I have good information that can adequately explain what was perceived. I personally am not impressed enough to deem it worthy of further investigation, but others might be, and that's a supportable perspective. But unless and until some substantial discovery is made, the determination that it must have been a shadow person or ghost is ridiculous. Nothing supports that conclusion. And yet my story is at least as reliable as 99% of the shadow people stories out there. I was not on drugs, I know the difference between a shadow and what I saw, and other people saw it too.

Enthusiasts of the paranormal offer their own set of additional hypotheses about shadow people. One proposes that shadow people are the embodiments of actual people who are elsewhere but engaged in astral projection. This is not an acceptable hypothesis. Like shadow people themselves, astral projection is an untestable, undetectable, unprovable conjecture. Explaining one unknown with another unknown doesn't explain anything, and the match itself cannot be made, since neither phenomenon has any known properties that you could look at and say "What we know of shadow people is consistent with what we know of astral projection." We know nothing about either, so there's no logical basis for any connection.

The same can be said of another paranormal explanation for shadow people, that they are "interdimensional beings". Let's make an outrageous leap of logic and allow for the possibility that interdimensional beings exist. What characteristics would they have? How would we detect their presence? What level of interaction would they have? How would they affect visible light? Since these questions don't have answers, you can't correlate interdimensional beings to the known properties of shadow people. Neither one has any.

But there are phenomena to which we can correlate these stories. We know the details in the eyewitness accounts, and we know the psychological manifestations of conditions like hypnogogia and sleep paralysis. A hypnogogic hallucination is a vivid, lucid hallucination you experience while you're still falling asleep. You're susceptible again eight hours later when you're waking up, only now it's called hypnopompia. But this seems such a cynical, closed-minded reaction. When you suggest hypnogogia as a possible explanation to a person who has witnessed shadow people, many times their reaction will be understandably negative, if not outright hostile. "You're saying I'm crazy" or "You're saying I imagined it" are common replies. Hypnogogia is neither a mental illness nor imagination, and to dismiss it as either is to underestimate the incredible power of your own healthy brain. Too many people don't give their brains enough credit.

I had a dramatic demonstration of the power of hypnopompia — the waking up version — when I was about 10 years old. Early one morning, the characters from Sesame Street put on a show for me in the tree outside my bedroom window. It had music, theme songs, lighting cues and costume changes: A full elaborate production, and it lasted a good hour. To this day, I have clear memories of some of the acts. I even went and woke my parents to get them to watch, but by then the show had gone away. I knew for a fact that I hadn't been asleep. I'd been sitting up in bed and writing down some of the songs they sang. Those writings were real, on real paper, and even made sense when viewed in the light of day. It had been a completely lucid, physical experience for me. But it only existed inside my own brain in a hypnopompic state. My brain had composed music, performed the music, written lyrics, and sang them in silly voices for some director who must also have come from within me. The skits were good. The actors were rough-sewn muppets, independently moving and climbing about, even swinging through the swashbuckling number, on tree branches representing the lines of a great pirate ship. Yet through it all, I'd been conscious and upright enough to actively transcribe the lyrics. That's the power of a brain.

But many believers reject the idea that their brain has such capabilities, and instead conclude that any such perceptions can only be explained as visitations from supernatural entities. One such believer, Heidi Hollis, has gone on Coast to Coast AM radio a number of times with suggestions to defend yourself from shadow people:

Learn to let go of your fear.Stand your ground and deny them access to your person.Focus on positive thoughts.Use the name of Jesus to repel them.Keep a light on or envision light surrounding you.Bless your room with bottled spring water.

Interestingly enough, such actions may actually work (although it's not the techniques themselves that are responsible — plucking a chicken or beating a drum could work just as well, if you think it will). Sleep disorders in the form of disruptive episodes such as these are called parasomnias, and the primary treatments for parasomnias are relaxation techniques, counseling, proper exercise, and the basic lifestyle changes that contribute to better sleeping habits. True believers who reject any notion suggesting their experience was anything but a genuine visit from a supernatural being, but who apply any such remedies as Hollis suggests, do indeed have a good chance of finding relief, when the process of applying the remedy brings them some peace of mind. Even though these remedies are rarely going to be as effective as professionally guided treatment, the fact that they can sometimes work only reinforces the true believers' notion that the shadow person was in fact an interdimensional demon, and that sprinkling holy water around the room did in fact scare it away.

These experiences are weird, and can be scary. But they're also fascinating, once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to experience the true power of your brain. To conclude that it's a supernatural being is to rob yourself of the real wonder of what's probably happening. Fa

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oatsn-honey · 6 years

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The Sorrow Behind The Smile - Chapter 1

Summary: The day that Izuku discovered he was quirkless is fast approaching. The day that started all of it. The bullies. The anxiety and depression. The self doubt. This day always brings forth unwanted emotions and memories, resulting in a hard shut down. Izuku is accustomed to having his sweet mother to comfort him on this certain day, but now he lives away at the U.A. dorms. He's far from his main comfort system. And, to make matters worse, his classmates still have no idea of what hides behind their bright boy's vibrant smile. They soon will.

Notes: Hello everyone! Thank you for checking out my story (TSBS, for short). This story is already up on FFN and AO3, but I want to branch over here. I mean, I have an account, may as well use it. ("> < ) Alright, I'll save the rest of the notes for the end of the chapter, please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own BnHA, or any of it's characters! If I did, Izuku and Ochako would already be together! (And on that note, I may as well say: This story is Izuku/Ochako, if you couldn't tell from the tags.This first chapter is 100% Izuku-centric though!)

Disclaimer pt2: I would like to inform the readers that this story covers the topic of depression and further. I wish these feelings or anything similar on no one. If you feel uncomfortable reading about mental illness, I advise kindly that you don't read this particular story of mine. I have many others coming out soon that you can check out, though. Sorry for the bothersome note, and please enjoy.

“It’s best you give up,” The man was slouched in his chair, hands folded to the side, legs spread out, and eyes cast forward, though nearly invisible through his goggle-like glasses. The specialist was far too relaxed as he made the child in front of him fall into a sense of panic and dread with a simple, unencouraging five words. The child trembled, eyes wide, as the doctor, who still showed nearly no sympathy, explained the cold, hard facts to the boy’s mother. The kindergartener couldn’t even listen to what the two adults were discussing as the previously spoken words repeated over and over in his head.

These catastrophic words filled his mind until he found himself at his home, sitting in front of a computer. He then realized that his favorite video had been playing. A video that once made him over-elated. But today, as it ran through, the boy reached a conclusion, and a question. Eyes glued to the screen, he quietly spoke to his mother, who was near the doorway, “Mommy...No matter where people in trouble are, he goes and saves them with a smile…,” The mother knew that her son was speaking in reference to the hero he had looked up to for years. The hero he strived to be like. She said nothing though, and her son whispered, “Cause’ he’s a super awesome hero. Do you think… that I could be one too?”

The mother gasped as her heart clutched, looking at her son’s tear filled face. He looked at her in desperation, and she could do nothing but rush over to him, crying out, “I’m sorry, Izuku! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” She grasped her son tightly, repeating those words like a mantra as tears ran down both of their faces. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

A raspy sob escaped loudly from the boy’s lips. His eyes shot open wide. He took quick and hoarse inhales of breath. As he stared up at the ceiling, he realized that he had been entranced in a dream. After finally slowing his respiration, he turned his head to the side, hoping to see the time on his bedside table. But, he was surprised to find liquid running down his face from the motion and that his eyesight was blurred. He sniffed, and his thoughts echoed through the current quietness. I was crying in my sleep. The boy sighed and brought a slow fist up to his face, rubbing the tears from his eyes, and wiping the wet tracks off of his skin.

His nose twitched as he looked back over to his night-stand, catching the time in his field of vision. 3:45 a.m. No way I’m going to be able to fall back asleep though. He curled in on himself a bit, just thinking about the dream. The boy stared at his All Might themed alarm clock, watching as it turned to 3:46, and then 3:47. His eyes started to ache from looking at the bright electronic numbers, and instead settled for peering at the opposite wall.

As tired as he felt, the young man could not bring himself to sleep. Painful memories flashed through his mind, causing him to flinch, and hug his knees to his chest. Another 20 minutes or so passed and the boy had found himself once again beaming his eyes towards the ceiling. As he laid there, the lad took notice of how sore his throat was and how sweltering hot his face felt. With a burst of courage, he decided to run downstairs to the common area in order to get a drink and rinse off. It might help.

He cast away the heavy blankets that adorned his bed, and scooted towards the edge. When he sat up, his head span, and he nearly fell face first onto the floor. Grasping his head, he took a few moments to rest. Using the bedpost beside him as a support, he ever-so-slowly stood up. Shivering a few times, the boy decided to bring along a fuzzy blanket that had been draped over the backboard of his bed. Wrapping it around his shoulders and grasping onto it tightly, he began to shuffle towards the doorway. Back slumped and feet dragging, he opened the door and waddled out. Leaving the room, he didn’t even take notice that he had left the door that was labeled “Izuku” wide open.

Izuku knew that it was past curfew, and that he would be in deep trouble if he was caught wandering the dorm with no reason. But although he knew that, his foggy and distracted mind had forgotten the fact that the dorm would be dark, due to the fact of it being past the curfew time. All of the main lights, other than the bathroom's, turned off automatically after the time limit, and there was no way to manually turn them on without going to the boiler room. Plus, Izuku had no knowledge of how to get to that room in the first place.

He squinted his eyes while trying to make out his surroundings, feeling like a complete idiot for not bringing his cell phone. He continued to shuffle his feet, being as cautious as he could be. Izuku was so cold, and his knuckles were nearly white at how hard he was clutching the blanket that draped around him like a cape. Although using his hands to feel out the wall would have been a wise decision, he was far too frigid to do that.

Sniveling several times, Izuku finally reached the stairs. Luckily, he had lived at the dorm long enough to know where they were located. Otherwise, he would have most likely fell down them, waking nearly everyone nearby. Finally, with a shaky hand he reached out towards the handrail on the right side of the stairwell. With unsteady and weak steps, Izuku began to descend to the first level of the dorm complex.

His brain ached and he nearly misjudged a few of the steps, but Izuku had miraculously made it down the stairs without falling. Unstable from the walk, and breathing heavily, he slowly sat down on the floor, using the bottom step as a place to rest his back. He brought his hand back up to his chest and clutched onto the blanket once more, practically melting into its warmth.

After several minutes, Izuku finally stood back up again, sluggishly of course, and began to make his way towards the boys common bathroom. Passing the living room and kitchen, he was relieved that no one else awake. Though, why would anyone? His mind went blank, but still twinged with pain as he proceeded his trek. Finally, he arrived at the corridor containing both the female and male restrooms.

Trudging into the boys’ bathroom, the overhead lights turned on automatically, as they were motion censored. The bright radiance of the bulbs stung Izuku’s dark adjusted eyes, causing him to step back, onto the draping blanket, bringing him to fall onto the tiled ground. He quickly shut his eyes and brought his hands up to his face, groaning.

After his eyes stopped pulsating in pain, he squinted them open slowly. His sight bit by bit accustomed to the lights, and he used the wall to pull himself back up. The blanket was discarded onto the floor and Izuku didn’t even notice the pain in his side as he shuffled over to the sink. He started the water, keeping it cold, and looked at the mirror. The reflection that flashed back at him looked like someone else. The crazy hair was still the same, but his skin was blotchy - pale in some areas, flushed in others -, his eyes were wet, his nose was pink, there were bruise-like circles under his eyes, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

Averting his vision from his sorry form, he looked at his wobbly hands and brought them towards the chilling water, hoping to splash the refreshing liquid on his face. But, before he come close to doing that, Izuku felt his eyes drift close. His balance was thrown off and he felt his legs turn to jelly. He gripped the edge of the white ceramic sink as he fell to his knees, eyesight blacking out. Why now? His mind was hazy and he could barely formulate any thought at all. At that one last notion, his body completely went limp and he slumped to the floor. Izuku curled into himself as blackness entirely encompassed him. The sink continued to run and the lights turned off as he laid there, unable to wake from the treacherous memories that played in his head.

Notes: Thank you for reading this first chapter! Sorry for the short chapter! I would like to mention that this story will not be long -- just a couple of chapters. I would also like to ask for pardons on any mistakes, feel free to let me know, and I'll do my best to fix them up for 'ya! Now, in case anyone was wondering, I wrote this story because I felt that the topic of Izuku's depression and anxiety is something that should be brought to the attention of others. (Because let's be honest, our precious boy has been through too much to not have these problems.) This is my take on it. (Also, I'm a real sucker for stories like this, so expect some more in the future.) I'm pretty sure that this is all I want to say at the moment (other than: prepare for a slow and strange update schedule). Sorry for the long note, have a lovely day! <3

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