ive been thinking about language a lot recently and doing a lot of studying of my irish grammar books and one thing that is always in the back of my mind no matter what is the grief over not being able to speak my own language, having to learn it in schools and at home, picking up a book in irish and feeling this unassailable choking frustration guilt and grief that i cant understand it at all. i can parse bits and pieces, stray words and phrases, but thats it. watching things on tg4 and not understanding a word and drowning in guilt over it. ive always felt this huge impenetrable wall in my mind separating me from from irish. and the prevailing attitude of most everyone i meet and talk to about irish is that yeah its sad that we got colonised and dont speak it anymore, but its dead and useless and redundant. the goverment puppets its corpse on roadsigns and documents and titles, paying lipservice to this unimaginable violence done to us as people that we cant speak our own language, but does nothing substantial that would actually help. is fearr gaeilge bhriste ná béarla cliste yeah but is there not a need for gaeilge cliste as well? this surrender to inability across the nation is such a disservice to the language and the people who speak it. im not talking about people not having perfect irish and still speaking it, of course not like i barely have any irish myself, im talking about the disrespect given to irish that it doesnt need to learnt and loved, only bastardized. my family have spoken english for a hundred years, irish for thousands of years before that, and even in that english, vestiges of irish have lingered in hiberno english form. irish hovers just out of reach for me, i surround myself with it through music poetry tv books, but i never am fully apart of it. and the thing is, something that im only just realising in recent years, is that (white) english people dont feel this! theyre not assaulted from a very young age by the knowledge this grief and inadequacy and the injustice done to their people. they dont even learn in schools about what they did to us! to every peoples across the world they colonized brutalised and exploited, every culture they massacred and did their very best to erase! they have the luxury of not caring! and thats incomprehensible to me, that people can live in this world free of the inherited grief of history, that they dont have to carry the weight of their families history on their shoulders, dont have to live with the fact that something intrinsic to them has been stolen! i have always felt like something was missing, and i cant even imagine living with a sense of wholeness, but for these colonisers that is their life! they dont have to face consequences for what theyve done to the world, they dont even have to remember! i wish i could speak irish, i wish i didnt have to know the ugly harsh syllables of this language. tá brón an domhain orm

The Number I

Chapter 20: Vincent Damages Company Property

Sorry for holding this thing back for a couple weeks. We've finally reached a turning point and I had to make sure there were actually things happening in between the dramatic plot-twisty bits. Like plot to twist in the first place.

I had a bit of extra help in that regard -- apart from my usual crowd, I'd also like to thank @socialmimikyu and @terror-billie for helping me get my thoughts in order so the rest of the story past Chapter 21 won't be a disorganised mess. And thank you guys for commenting, because that does wonders for my motivation.

There are holes in the world, and spaces between numbers. Neither should exist. Cloud starts noticing them, and he isn’t the only one who has. And unfortunately for him, he’s both. (Contains graphic depictions of violence.)

The floor was immaculately clean these days.

There had been a time when it wasn't -- when it was covered in dust and dead insects from disuse. Stacks of paper from promising research projects that piled up in corners and on desks. Uniforms and equipment from new subjects. And, once upon a time, stones of all shapes and sizes and colours, and crumbs from home baked bread, and dirt tracked in by a boy that was small enough to squeeze into places he ought not to be.

All of it had been swept away long ago. The place had been cleaned and remodelled and sterilised, and not even rats would enter the mansion anymore, even long after it had been abandoned by the scientists. All that was left were the failed projects.

Something moved in the dark. There was a scraping, then a creaking of old, damp-riddled wood, and with a crash the lid of one of the coffins was knocked the floor and crashed against the Buster Sword lying on the ground next to it.

Vincent Valentine arose from the coffin. All this time he had listened. Heard the screams of defiance and anger, and then weeping, and the pleading to no one in the dark, and at long last the sound of resigned mantras, repeated one after another, and then of silence. He had listened, and he had done nothing. Until now.

Vincent had realised long ago that he could do nothing for them. It was yet another consequence of his failures. One by one, they were fed into the ravenous combine that was Shinra, and one by one they were used up and discarded. But the boy... the boy had been the first in years. The same child that had been so eager to feed himself into those whirring blades one day, and lo and behold, now he was here. Another testament to his cardinal sin.

And yet... there had been something strange about his eyes. He'd seen that look somewhere before. In fact, it had been one of the last things he'd seen before a bullet had ripped itself through his chest, tearing his old life away with it. The look those eyes had given him as he choked to death on his own blood had been full of many things, but one that they were utterly devoid of was regret. He had failed, and in the end, she had chosen this path. For better or for worse.

Lucrecia. The tissue grafts -- they were continuing her research posthumously.

This boy, the boy from the village that hadn't stopped bringing him rocks, that was now huddled in a dog crate and muttering nonsense to himself, that was half-mad already and twisted into a shell of whatever he used to be, was here because of him.

Vincent shut himself away after that, never to reemerge. There could be no atonement for this.

He would awake from time to time in response to noise -- always reminders of why he was here in the first place. Sobbing, rattling against the walls of the little metal box, incoherent rambling... he heard it less and less as time went on, until one day it ceased altogether, as did the visits to the storage room. Vincent hoped that by some miracle the boy had perhaps died in his sleep. He did not awaken for some time after that.

The sounds of a struggle dragged him back out of the deep slumber he had returned to. This was a larger group than he remembered.

"Hold its arms so I can get the legs in," said a voice. One of the lab assistants.

"I am holding. It can't move, I don't see what the big deal is."

"There's still the issue of involuntary muscle responses, and from this guy that could easily wind up taking your head off. So pay attention. I gotta get this all the way to the nerve."

A plaintive, muffled wail echoed through the room along with the voices of the lab assistants. He knew that voice. He doubt he'd be able to forget that voice. The boy was still alive?

"It's looking at me."

"No it's not, it just has its eyes open. Doesn't got any real brain function anymore. Just between you and me, this is why you don't stick a pressurised pump into someone's spinal column and fill it with mako, that's probably what did it. How can you be smart enough to grow a person in a vat and not know that?"

"The president gave him the grant money, man, I ain't gonna question it."

"Yeah, well, that's why we don't have grant money anymore, do we? Hurry up and finish the form so we can leave, it's freezing in here."

"Humanoid... purpose for archiving... organs?"

"Maybe education. It's not gonna make very interesting combat training exercise, and it's technically still alive. They'll probably want to keep it in one piece so they can figure out what not to do for the next time."

"Serial number... six seven dash two, Series three. Jenova Project."

"Project head?"

"Let's see... says here it's one of Crescent's, officially. Guess that explains why Hojo's so bummed out about the cancellation."

"Urgh. Freaks me the hell out. Her and the doc. Somethin' not right about her."

"Hey, you can't say it doesn't make sense though, right? Birds of a feather."

"Yeah, whatever." There was a loud click, followed by the sound of rushing fluid. "So... she's gotta sign off on it, right?"

"Yeah. She's in Midgar right now. The doc's planning on leaving too, so just give that form to him and he'll deliver it to her himself. Guess we're all out of a job now..."

"Yeah, guess so..."

Vincent barely heard the door close and lock behind him over the pounding of his own heart in his chest. Lucrecia was still alive. Head of the Science Department, from the sound of things. This boy -- Lucrecia had done this. To him. To both of them. And Hojo -- he was still involved in this as well? The first child, the one she'd had with Hojo, must not have made it to term. That must have been why the project was still running. The boy -- he was Series 3, it all made sense now. But Lucrecia couldn't have been his mother, could she? He had mentioned a mother quite frequently all those years ago. She did not seem like Lucrecia, and the boy looked nothing like her nor Hojo. This boy had simply been fallout.

It all made a sickening amount of sense. At least now he finally knew, so he could have some peace of mind.

But peace of mind did not return to Vincent. He waited days, and then what must have been weeks, and the men did not return for Series 3. They really were just leaving him here.

He was ill, it seemed. Severe mako poisoning, not to speak of whatever else had been done. If anyone would know how to treat this, surely it would be Lucrecia? She was in Midgar... still making choices like she had the first time he did nothing.

But Lucrecia was still alive. This boy was still alive. Surely something here could be salvaged out of this nightmare.

Vincent decided to leave his coffin.

His legs felt weak as he took his first step in what must have been at least ten years, but they held steadily enough, and he strode over to the wall and flipped the light switch.

The back of the room was lined with glass pods. Vincent did not want to think about what was in most of them, but resting in one of them, a light coat of dust covering the glass, was the boy.

It was a mistake to call him "the boy" now, he realised -- it was a much sharper face peering blankly back at him from inside the cylinder. But while his hair had grown out to his shoulders and solidified into a mat, he didn't seem to have much in the way of facial hair. Perhaps it was malnourishment? Every part of him looked chewed and diminished, and his skin was every bit as unhealthily pale as Vincent's.

He inspected the pod and found a small button in the side that seemed to open it. The fluid inside slowly drained, and Vincent watched impassively as the body inside slumped against the wall of the cylinder, being held up by the tubes coming from its mouth and nose. Vincent carefully disconnected them, and hesitated only briefly before removing the intravenous lines and the feed hooked into the back of his neck. If he had caused any damage removing them, it would be another thing that Lucrecia could fix.

The boy -- no, not a boy. And it wouldn't do to call him Series 3, either. He'd had a name that he said many years ago he would remember. Something to do with the sky. An old Nibeli one, translated into one succinct word for the sake of the Standard that everyone in Midgar spoke. Cloud. His name was Cloud.

Cloud's emaciated body fell to the floor. It appeared they had taken his clothes long ago, and he likely would not survive for long this far north, damp and naked. He pulled a couple of the Soldier First uniforms off one of the shelves and used one of them to pat him dry, then set about stuffing him into the second. It was far too big on him. Another pang went through Vincent at the thought, and he steeled himself against it. He must remain focused. It was unlikely he would have another opportunity for redemption.

The old wooden door had since been replaced with a steel one, requiring some sort of key combination to open. Vincent braced himself against the door and pushed, but it held firm. They had taken his gun from him long ago, and the two spells he had mastered during his time in the Turks worked strictly on people and not doors, and would be of no use here.

One of his sabatons clicked against something metal. The sword. His strength wasn't nearly that of a Soldier, but it was certainly much more than it should have been, and would do for his purposes.

He picked up the sword out from under the lid to his coffin and, with a loud grunt, rammed it into the door like a battering ram. It took another ten blows or so before the metal finally caved and the door opened outward, now crooked on its hinges. His arms ached, especially from disuse, but he held the sword steady and stood absolutely still, listening for the sound of boots on stone and cocking weapons. Someone must have heard that.

A minute passed, and no one came. Something stirred in one of the cylinders on the wall behind him. Vincent refused to look at it again, and dragged Cloud over to the door. Upon further reflection, he placed the sword on the magnetic harness Cloud was now sporting on the back of his uniform, then hefted them both onto his back. Until he could find a gun, it was better than nothing.

He had mastered some magic, but not much. He looked around the storage room for anything that might have been useful. Something was still shining in his coffin. The healing materia -- it was still there. Perhaps...? No, that wouldn't work. Mako poisoning, if that's what this was, was well beyond his capacity to heal with an unused materia. Still, he pocketed it anyway, just in case.

Starved as he was, Cloud was fairly light. It was just as well, since the sword weighed easily as much as he did, if not more. The mansion might be abandoned, but he was still stealing company property. Someone would notice eventually. He would have to move quickly.

Nibelheim was just as he remembered it. Perhaps his mother... no. If they had her child, Shinra would have tied up the loose ends involved. He himself had done as much during his employment. Besides, there was nothing she could have done for him. That's where Lucrecia would come in.

They both stood out rather badly, as he quickly found out. He gave Cloud an impromptu haircut with the Buster Sword's edge, and stuffed his own hair into the back of a coat he'd stolen from a guard station. Would anyone still recognise him? How long had it been since he had gone missing? Or the boy, for that matter? At least ten years, judging by how Cloud had matured. A lot could change in ten years.

The main problem was food. Cloud would not chew, and it took a fair amount of coaxing to get him to swallow. He'd managed to get him to swallow a bit of bread he'd already pre-chewed for him, but it came back up not long after: Cloud had apparently gone quite a while since eating any real food. He considered sneaking back into the mansion for a pack of glucose. He decided against it -- if they hadn't noticed Cloud was missing before, they certainly would now. He would have to figure something else out.

He wound up breaking into a clinic and stealing medical supplies when they reached the next town -- there was a military presence here too, if the massive remains of some sort of missile labelled Shinra Type 26 looming over the skyline was any indication. Vincent dimly recalled mention of a war with Wutai. Was it still ongoing? Was this meant to be used against them? He almost turned to ask Cloud before catching himself.

The expiration labels on the gelatin cups he'd purchased with the stolen money clued him in as to how long he'd been gone. Expires 09/58. Assuming these cups were new and would last about a year, he'd been gone nearly three decades.

The shock didn't really hit him. It didn't seem fully real. He supposed technically this was the "future". That explained how Lucrecia was in Midgar: it seemed they had finished building it. He wondered who was directing the Turks in his absence. Orwell, perhaps, or Avery. Assuming either one of them were still alive. It suddenly struck him that nearly everyone he knew could very well be dead. Thirty years was a lot of time for people to learn too much and become a liability, or for loyalties to waver too much for the company's comfort, or to simply catch a stray bullet at the wrong time. Nobody left the Turks except in a body bag. Or, in his case, a coffin. He was briefly amused by the mental picture of Avery covering up his death. She'd have addressed it to the wrong department, she always did...

He wondered if Cloud had any friends that were still alive. Had he actually joined the military, or had Shinra simply abducted him off the streets? He himself had taken part in such "scouting" expeditions at times, on the occasion when they couldn't simply find a poor, desperate family to volunteer. Eight to ten was the preferred age of most samples -- young enough to be impressionable, old enough to follow complicated orders. And small enough that no one cared when they went missing. The child mortality rate in the slums was quite high in his time. Nobody thought much of it if one or two children slipped through the cracks.

He never saw any of the samples again. Vincent had been a professional, though, and hadn't asked where they had gone. No Turk was stupid enough to want to know.

Next to him in the grass, Cloud made a noise of distress, his hands unconsciously groping for something. Vincent watched him for a few moments until he went limp again. He didn't seem to be responding to any stimulus that Vincent could see. His arm lay twisted at an uncomfortable-looking angle, displaying his serial number quite clearly.

Vincent carefully picked him up and moved Cloud's arm so he could more efficiently bandage it with some of the gauze he had taken from the clinic. One or two times, his hand would twitch, still grasping at nothing. Vincent ignored it. Cloud likely wasn't cognisant enough to feel pain or discomfort, let alone respond to stimuli. Any comforting he did would be lost on both of them.

He had grown quite a bit from the last time Vincent had seen him. It was difficult to tell what was him and what was Shinra's doing, though. He was still just as sickly-looking as he had been the first time they'd met. The strange bony physique he had was doubtless a product of whatever experiments they'd been running on him. His eyes were hollow now -- whatever had been there before, it was beyond Vincent's reach or help. Shinra had shaped his body, and the mako had claimed his mind, and Cloud himself seemed to have gotten lost somewhere in the middle of it all. He wondered who he could have been once, and how much of the boy he'd encountered in that crate steadily becoming more and more unhinged years ago was the person he was currently feeding gelatin and broth too. Not that it mattered much anymore.

Vincent wasn't sure if his own answers were any simpler. He was no longer a Turk -- Hojo had seen to that. Perhaps that just made him Vincent.

Who was Vincent? A dead man, he knew. A man that had failed Lucrecia. A man that wouldn’t fail a second time, though at what he wasn’t really sure. He could offer Lucrecia redemption, but only she could accept it and atone for them both.

Cloud had stopped swallowing, and Vincent didn’t have anymore success afterwards getting him to take more food. He couldn’t have possibly been full, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about that either. Another thing out of his hands.

He, Vincent, was still alive. And apparently Lucrecia had been as well. And so had Cloud. Perhaps it wasn’t so farfetched to assume someone else had returned from the grave.

A week later, and Cloud was still not taking solids. Vincent could not afford to break into a second clinic. It would give him away, if it hadn't already. He would need supplies. And money. He'd need employment on a very temporary basis, with someone that wouldn't ask too many questions -- it was highly unlikely that Shinra was looking for him specifically or expected his involvement in the first place, but he also couldn't risk leaving Cloud alone for too long. His pulse was weak and irregular, and his skin was clammy. His hands no longer twitched, reaching for something that wasn't there. He was practically dead already.

He would not have been the first, or second, or even third person Vincent had watched die. He likely would not survive long enough for Vincent to take him to Lucrecia, if she agreed to fix him at all. In the end, he'd be delivering him right back into Shinra's hands anyway. His eyes landed on the sword on Cloud's back.

It would be kinder, he knew. Whether or not Cloud was aware of it, he was still suffering. It was the principle of the thing. And it wasn't as though he would have much of a life to return to, should he recover. He would spend the rest of his days running. That was no way to live.

Vincent removed the sword from Cloud's back and levelled it at his neck. One cut. He wouldn't even feel the pain. No one recovered from mako poisoning this deep, and it was much better than letting him slowly starve to death or die of exposure. He would be free from Hojo, from Lucrecia, from Vincent's mistakes. Truly free, not out in the wild being hunted like an animal, a marked man for the rest of his life, even if they were to one day stop pursuing him. Vincent had often heard it said that one's face looked peaceful in death, but all anyone had looked like to him was a corpse. Cloud, with his eyes glazed and his face gaunt, was no exception. He sighed and adjusted the blade.

"Why can't I just pretend? Why do you care so much if I just pretend?"

The words came to him unbidden, and he frowned.

"Because it has never done anyone an ounce of good," said Vincent sharply. He realised he was talking aloud to no one. Another thing that wouldn't actually help. Cloud could not hear him.

"Why can't I just pretend?"

He still didn't know how old Cloud was. He could have been fourteen, or forty. His body was too warped, by chemicals and fear and time, for him to tell. Vincent knew he himself was fifty-seven or fifty-eight. He might not look it, after all these years, but he felt the age somewhere very deep. It had settled into him and wrapped itself around his bones, sinking into the fingers that held the sword above Cloud's neck.

Vincent put the sword back down. He was perfectly capable of pretending. He was going to pretend Cloud was awake right now.

"It gains us nothing. You being alive does not serve you any. Neither does my insistence upon talking to you. It's purely for my benefit, in order to come to terms with my thoughts."

Cloud said nothing, as expected.

He had skills he could use. A few mastered spells, though it was likely only fire would be useful to him here. He couldn’t take any jobs that wouldn’t be extremely temporary, both for Cloud’s sake and his own; the longer he was tied to an area, the sooner people would notice he was there. People were not yet asking questions about Vincent Valentine. He did not want them to start.

So, what sort of work was available for former Turks that had avoided the usual method of retirement? Most of them wound up as assassins, most likely. Or mercenaries. Once a Turk, always a Turk, he supposed.

He began picking up small jobs -- a day or two as a porter on the Corel river. That had been one of the first shocks of many -- Corel was gone. He’d expected an economic decline, of course. Coal couldn’t begin to compete with mako in price or efficiency. But Corel was gone. Turks gone. Wiped off the map by Soldier from the looks of things. The bustling little coal town he’d seen pictures of was forgotten and unspoken of.

Phones were portable now, he’d learned as well. He didn’t see much point -- any time one would be away from home long enough to necessitate a portable phone would be long enough for the battery inside it to die anyway.

President Shinra was still alive and still in power. That one was a bit of a surprise, if only because he’d expected the man to have a coronary long before now. Perhaps the science department had perfected biosynthetic organs by now. He drummed the metal fingers of his false hand against the floor of the boat he’d stowed away on -- perhaps they’d be able to grow him a new hand. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d lost it in the first place. He wasn’t sure if it would help if he did.

That was how he made ends meet from week to week: small jobs. He had to be in and out and gone in no longer than a week. Cloud began to put on a bit of weight, but he showed no signs of waking. Little by little, they made their way across the wilderness, and little by little Vincent saw things that were familiar, and things that were different, and things that perhaps had always been that way, but he had simply never bothered to look before.

Not for the first time, he wished he could ask Cloud. Perhaps he should have asked more questions when he had the chance. But then, he hadn’t wanted to know back then.

“If you felt like saying something, now would be an excellent opportunity to start,” said Vincent one day. He had propped Cloud up against a bundle of hay in the barn he’d snuck into. The birds -- chocobos, mostly, with a few aggressive swallows -- were watching them both warily.

“You must admit, there is a certain irony in risking one’s life for someone unable to appreciate the act nor the selfishness of the motivations behind it,” he added.

Cloud said nothing, as usual. Vincent sighed and sat down by the hay next to him.

“I did not care for your visits,” Vincent continued. “I do not felt they accomplished much.” He set about the task of removing his metal hand. Now that he intended to sleep -- truly sleep, not enter a state of prolonged hibernation, he’d found it was rather uncomfortable to have it on during the night.

He stared at the stump that remained of his forearm. He could dimly recall pain. That didn’t really surprise him. And a lot of yelling. And a piercing agony through his arm that seemed to be spreading, and then blissful oblivion.

“Although,” he added, “perhaps I am not without blame myself. If I had been more interest in dissuading you, we would not be here now.” He leaned back against the hay, feeling that strange heaviness building up in his bones again. “It seems my lacking skills as a conversationalist have caused more than a fair bit of misery.”

He looked at Cloud again. It was strange to see him so quiet now. Orwell had always been rather chatty in the beginning. After they'd had to dispose of Yang to prevent a security leak he went quiet. Everyone went quiet in the end.

“Of course,” said Vincent, “you cannot hear me now. This conversation between us is as pointless as the first thirty. You might not have listened then either, even when you could.”

One of the chocobos squawked at him, raising its head crest in warning. Vincent gave it a look.

“And so, here I am, a man that should be well into retirement, peddling my skills as a mercenary,” he said. “That is the hand fate has dealt me.”

He put Cloud to sleep with a quick spell. It was difficult to tell if he was actually resting. This was easier. Vincent wondered if he still dreamt.

He kicked a bit of dirt over their fire and watched it sputter out.

“We are simply what the world makes us, Cloud. No more, no less.”

Vincent limped his way up the staircase, the body draped over his shoulder unwieldy and making each step grind further into his knee. One of the MPs had managed to get the drop on him with a baton, and while it wasn’t broken, he could feel something grinding against something else that had no business grinding against anything in the first place. The gun he’d stolen was clutched tightly in his other hand. An assault rifle. Inelegant, but better than nothing.

There were more than a few bullets lodged in his abdomen by now. Vincent may have been a former Turk, but that was before thirty years of inactivity and the body he'd been carrying over his shoulders had dulled his skills and slowed his movements. He could heal, he knew, but he wasn't sure if there was a limit to it. He may have died before, but he was certainly alive now. Alive and mortal.

He heard the sound of a pistol firing, and Cloud let out a sharp gasp. He'd been hit. Vincent quickly ducked down a hallway by the staircase leading to the sixty-eighth floor.

It was just a graze, luckily. A gash on his leg that was already closing up right before his eyes. He tore off a bit of his cloak and quickly wrapped it anyway. There were already voices approaching them from down the hall, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted this close.

If he had been a bit less focused, perhaps he would have paid more mind to the fact that Cloud had made a noise at all.

Still, he paused outside the door of the stairwell, the ID card in his hand hovering by the reader uncertainly. There was a very good chance he wouldn't come back out of this door. Cloud might not either. Of course, that wasn't really much of a tragedy. Cloud was practically dead anyway. He would either recover or he wouldn't. And he himself... he was a relic. There were still Turks around, most likely, but the world did not need Turks. The world did not need him. He and Cloud were both relics, forgotten in a basement for too long to have any place besides the one carved out for them there. An old man lingering around older sentiments. A boy who had long since missed his chance to ever pursue newer ones. It wouldn't really be such a terrible loss for either of them.

Still, he supposed he must try. Lucrecia still had a place.

Vincent swiped the card and watched the door retract with a quiet humming noise. He adjusted his grip on Cloud and forced his knee to carry him up the stairs.

There were about twenty guns trained on him all at once the minute he set foot in the lab. He took out two right away as he turned the corner, scrambling for cover behind a desk. A third was close enough to knock out with a quick sleeping spell. That left twenty... at least until backup arrived, at which point his death warrant was signed anyway. He shoved Cloud further under the desk and risked a quick peek at the room around him.

Seventeen guards, with likely some higher ranking military personnel among their number. Five scientists that appeared to be scrambling for cover. Vincent recognised two of them.

He forced his breathing to slow. His ears were already buzzing from the sound of unshielded gunfire.

He heard something behind him and quickly flattened out on his stomach in time to shoot the man that had been sneaking around on his blind side with the rest of the cubicle. Sixteen left.

He couldn't carry Cloud with him, but couldn't leave him alone either. He doubted they'd target him given he was still drooling onto the floor, but he wasn't willing to risk the possibility that he could be wrong. Unless -- he could have sworn his eyes moved to follow him as he crept away along the wall to peek around the corner. No time to check for sure.

He encountered another two trying to flank from the front now that they knew he was headed around the other way. They were only MPs. Vincent was a former Turk. It wasn't really fair. Fourteen.

Controlled, deliberate, methodical. Two in the torso, and one in the head. Thirteen, then ten, change magazines, then eight, then seven...

There were noises. Things moving beyond the loudest silence. Something stopped to listen to the Other that were noises that were not the loudest silence. Not him. He was him. He was I. I am.

A loud crack sounded in Cloud's ear, making him wince in pain. It was too loud here. It was quiet before. He wanted to go back to the quiet. The noises around him began to drown it out. His eyes focused on something blurry.

White. Blurry white. And grey, and something red and black and brown that danced around him. He feebly reached for it.

The dancing stopped. He realised something had been at his back only when it was pulled away. The blurriness in his vision receded with the fog and the silence, and he could hear voices.

"...did you get here?"

"What have you done? What have you done, Lucrecia?"

The second voice... he knew that voice. Everything was a blur, not just his vision -- he couldn't seem to focus on anything but the floor beneath him, and the voices above him, which kept getting louder and louder.

"What reason could you possibly have to come back here?" A third voice. An icy, sticky voice, sharp and intent and unforgiving. Cloud hated it, and loved it, and a powerful hurt flared up in his chest. "You were a clever man. I'm sure you know how this will end."

Hojo. He hadn't been good enough for him. He could never be good enough. They'd hurt him because he wasn't good enough. He shivered.

"Behind me," said the second voice. "I brought him for you."

"The Series 3 prototype was discontinued six months ago," said the first voice. Soothing, twisting, indescribably beautiful, profoundly hungry, reaching into parts of himself that called for something he had no name for. Part of him.

Director Crescent. He'd dreamed of her touching him, the way Ma once had.

Ma... the village... Sephiroth... it was all gone now... everything was gone...

"Listen to yourself," said the second voice. "I implore you -- was this the world you wanted to create? You both set out for the betterment of mankind -- he's led you down a path much like your own in feature but unlike yours in virtue. He may have chosen, but you --"

"I thought I made my choice clear, Vincent. I thought you knew that as well."

"Your son, Sephiroth, surely --"

"Vincent... Sephiroth is dead," said the Director.

"And you would condemn another to that fate?"

He knew that voice. Cold and rough, like stone under stone under dirt and snow and frost. Magic rocks. A companion in the dark.

The Pale Man.

Cloud's eyes fixed on the shape above him -- the Pale Man was here. The Pale Man was with him. And the others -- he was real? He was real. The Pale Man was real.

"I set out for the betterment mankind, and Series 3 was a stepping stone towards that goal." Director Crescent was looking at him coldly now. He wanted to go to her and the Professor, but he couldn't move. The Pale Man was still standing between them.

"You were always a hopeless romantic, Vincent. We both know why you came here," said the Director.

"Is it is such a crime, that I believe you are worth saving?" said Vincent.

"There is nothing to save us from," said the Professor sharply. "And certainly nothing you could provide deliverance from in the first place. You should have remained in storage. Goodbye."

The sound of weapons cocking echoed around them. He couldn't move. He was trapped in his own body, and he was useless, and he couldn't move, and the Pale Man -- Vincent, after all these years, he'd been there for him, and he, Cloud, was still as useless as ever --

The world bent. The people around them seemed to refract and waver like a passing reflection. The loudest silence howled around him, impossibly loud, and the ground beneath him felt as though it were about to break at any moment and let it all in. Cloud's hand spasmed, desperately reaching for Vincent, who seemed to be a million miles away and right in front of him.

Vincent was consumed in a wall of flames. It happened almost instantly -- one minute he was standing there, convulsing, and the next he was crumpled on the floor, spasming intermittently, ragged screams quickly trailing off as what was undoubtedly spellfire rapidly charred his flesh. A moment later he stopped moving entirely.

The Pale Man was gone. Everything was gone. The Pale Man -- he saved him. He saved him, and he was gone, because Cloud hadn't done anything, and he was gone and he was real and he wasn't alone in the dark and he was gone and the pale man was gone and ma was gone and he was alone and he had never once been held or wanted by the pale man the director the professor all gone it was all empty empty empty empty empty --

There were many things Cloud remembered about that day. He remembered the hands, shoving him and Vincent's charred corpse into a disposal chute in the lab. He remembered it all being too much. He remembered falling, further and further, his already limp body impacting against metal and concrete, and still there was so much further to fall, and knowing there was nothing in the world that had ever wanted him, Series 3, a failure, alone, broken, who ruined everything he touched. He remembered the other things that had been thrown out all around him in Sector 2, about not knowing where the Pale Man's -- Vincent's body was, so that maybe once he might hold it, and know that something real had wanted him, Cloud, that the something was alive. He remembered the rain leaking down from the plate below, splashing onto his face, creating mud that he felt himself sinking into. He remembered screaming and screaming and screaming, and not knowing how to stop. He remembered understanding that no one could ever want Cloud or even Series 3, that no one would miss them, that the world moved further and further away the more he realised it, and that soon enough it didn't seem real, and then soon enough he wasn't real either. He remembered lying there, the water pooling up around him even as he drifted off into unconsciousness. Some time later, perhaps days, perhaps a week, he remembered a pair of rough, work-worn hands holding him, pulling him close, and moving him out of the mud garbage piled up around him, and carrying him to a little run down dive bar in the slums.

The one thing he didn't remember was the look of confusion on everyone's face in the tower, from the guards to Hojo to Lucrecia herself, because none of them had actually fired yet.

Alpacas Over Flowers

who? : MXM’s Im Youngmin fluff bullet-point ver. 

the ‘Our Two Lips’ flower boys LDH PJH PWJ KJW

LGL [ coming soon ] | JH [ coming soon ] 

blog navigator. ndlahdkdhdj last few instalments of the flower boy AU series….for now. Please don’t request anymore for this series until further notice but I thank you to all who requested, these were really fun to write and experiment with but it is not something I want to dwell on for too long. I don’t think I’m very good at it either…lol rip. There’s still Guanlin and Justin left. Since it is October, it’s time to get spooky. 👻 Request Halloween, fall-related things, please! Never had a go at them but I will try. Thank you so much to everyone who has contributed to this series, especially all the sweet and kind comments you guys leave. 💕 It was fun, and until Guanlin’s! - Admin L

• so there’s this cute adorable lovable amiable guy in your uni lecture • you have a major • major • major crush on him but honestly, who doesn’t ??? • but he doesn’t attend classes very often bc he’s sick • jokes • he’s just out there being an underground rapper • you don’t really pay attention to that scene but your best friend found out and pretty much told the whole squad • and she also spilled the part where you really liked him • wow thanks a lot andrea 

• 2017 best friend award • it’s embarrassing asf • now everyone ships you too together • Jinsoul offers to accompany you to one of his gigs but you decline since it’s super close to mid-terms and you aren’t sure how Youngmin can keep his grades, music and life balanced • plus, you can’t exactly picture cute, red haired Youngmin with an alpaca keychain on his backpack as a rapper • let alone one that spits utter fire • it’s lit 🔥🔥🔥 • you listened to two seconds of his diss track for Mnet and shut your laptop • contemplating life and sobbing over how good he was • it was that good • howdareyoumnet • the track was titled was titled SnakeNet™ ft. Park Woojin • bouta catch snakes with my net • * insert badly edited picture of Admin L swinging a net at Mnet and SM * • I need to stop making Mnet snake jokes i’m sorry • so • yeah, Woojin, that shy, awkward kid who majored in dance • Brand New College thrived with the talent • so anyway, your alpaca boy rarely came to class but whenever he did, you tried to sit as near as him as possible • he radiated sunshine and happiness • it made you all fuzzy and happy on the inside too, it was like he rarely had a bad day • trying to suck some of that positive energy • moving on…………….. • somehow, you always ended up like three seats away • Youngmin seemed to always be flanked by his best friends, Jeong Sewoon and Kim Donghyun • they always protected him from the world • asdfghjkl stop separating me from my man • but it’s cute to have such an amazing protection squad, they’re a force to be reckoned with • one day, you decided to approach him after your lecture • yes you did it • two steps away • his back was towards you, displaying some expensive brand of the shirt he wore • one!!! • unfortunately, he seemed to be hurried and rushed off,  a few pieces of paper dropped out of his backpack • even his cute little plushie alpaca keychain thudded to the ground • “hey! Youngmin!” you had yelled but he was already dashing down the corridor with his friends struggling to keep up • you were the last one in the lecture hall • deciding to return it to him another day, you picked up the soft plushie and the sheets of paper that fell out of his bag • c'mon you were a decent classmate • as you shuffled through the papers, a pastel coloured flyer fell out from one of them • it was very pretty • puzzled, you picked it up and examined it • “Our Two Lips?” • you showed it to the queen of knowing everything that happened in your city, Jennie • “ahhh, so the rumours are true.” she said, amused • furrowing your brows and frowning, you cocked your head to one side “what?” • “ahhh, Im Youngmin, Park Woojin and Lee Daehwi are rumoured to have been hired to work at this new cafe” • you swore you walked passed the place before when it was all boarded up and had no clue what tf it was • you nodded as Andrea cackled away • “oh my god Y/N you would love that place so much” • your friends confused you beyond imagination • “huh, why?” • Jennie and Andrea burst into laughter • “It’s a flower boy cafe!” • oh my god • w a s t e d • i’m still confused by this idea though…never heard of it until now and even though I’m able to grasp the basic concept, idk much i’m sorry :(( • okay just imagine • Im Youngmin as a barista • Im Youngmin as a barista in a flower boy cafe • Red-haired Im Youngmin as a barista in a flower boy cafe, Our Two Lips wearing a flower crown • Red-haired Im Youngmin as a barista in a flower boy cafe, Our Two Lips, wearing a flower crown as he serves you coffee • and food • food is important I hope you guys are eating well • you pretty much spit out a bunch of gibberish as your face becomes tomato red • “Oh! Wasn’t your last lecture today? Looks like you’ll have to visit him if you want to return his charm” • a s d f g h j k l • you really can just wait until the summer is up but that’s mean and he might want his charm back immediately • of course, he loves his charm, it is adorable • you love it too • it’s a soft, small plushie that has been patched on the side • :“) • you make it sit on your bed side table so it’s the first thing you see when you wake up and the last thing you see when you sleep • also because you’re scared of losing it • how would you explain to the flower boy? • it takes you a couple of days to visit the place • a few of your classmates went on the opening day • it’s safe to say they almost fainted from the cuteness • they facetimed you right after • "oHMy gOD y/N yOu goTTa cOMe anD SEE YounGMIn” Jinsoul yelled as she shakily held her phone • “yO i’m shOokeTH” - Andrea, about the cafe, 2017 • “bye bye sweetie” • honestly, you were a anxious mess, your palms were sweating, your legs felt like jelly • it’s just to return his charm! • and his lecture notes • calm down!!!!! • nah • you fretted about it until you reached the cafe and put on a fake relax look • the plan was simple, approach the counter, ignore the food, pass Youngmin his charm back and leave • that was the original plan • until you saw how breathtakingly beautiful he looked • it was probably the first proper glance you had gotten at him • that was not from your seat, far away, through the lens of a pair of binoculars, like a creep • “hello! I’m Youngmin, and I’ll be your flower,” proceeds to grab a rose out of his apron pocket, “boy for today” • you weren’t joking when you said you felt a teensy bit light headed • your hand closed around the plastic-wrapped rose and you stared at it in awe • stick!! to!! the!! plan!! • you cleared your throat, “actually-” • “ahhh, table for one” • youngmin wasn’t being rude - at least he hoped you thought so- he just wanted to get to know you a bit better, plus, you willingly came to the cafe • “you’re in the same friday and wednesday lecture as me right?” he asked as he escorted you to your seat, ignoring your reluctant protests. Youngmin was going to keep you here • “um yes.” you replied softly, heartbeat accelerating by the seconds • he nodded, “ahhh, no wonder your face seemed familiar” • eye contact, charming smile, faint tinges of pink of his cheeks • “i knew i’d never forget a beauty like you” • he left you with the menu and your red face with a disorganised plan • that boy is smooth • @ Youngmin, I see you • it’ll be rude if i reject him as a server…..no i can’t do that • you ordered something because you were hungry though, it seemed too good to resist • “what’s a beauty doing here all alone?” Youngmin posed as he collected your menu • you mumbled out an incoherent, embarrassed reply • he chuckled, “will my aegyo get you to open up?” • instead of speaking, you plucked the plushie charm from your pocket. “i found this in the hall the other day, I figured I should return it.” • “oHmYgoD!” • truthfully, Youngmin allowed it to fall, hoping you would return it and take it as a sign • Donghyun had taught him a trick or two on how to be the nation’s boyfriend and he was ready to win your heart • “are you serious? I went crazy trying to find this! Thank you so much! Isn’t your name y/n? Can I call you that?” • he appeared a little flustered and surprised, clutching his plushie close • he genuinely treasures his plushie okay, fight me • it was cute • ugh • “y/n, and yeah sure” • Youngmin opened his mouth to speak but he was called away by another server. He smiled apologetically and thanked you again, promising to be back with your order soon • you scrambled to text your friends but your hands were trembling like a leaf that you missed all the keys • do leaves tremble? • your texts to them were a mess but they got your drift anyway • Youngmin arrived with your order, “I’m here to give you your food and my heart.” • you really couldn’t help but burst into giggles • “will you accept it, Y/N?” • beaming brightly, you nodded but was still unable to keep the laughter at bay • youngmin chuckled along with you • boi i kid you not hearing his laugh was a blessing • b l e s s • since the cafe was pretty empty, Youngmin settled down in the seat across from your own because “everyone should have company” • he wasn’t much of a talker but he was a good listener, the more he warmed up to you the more he spoke • his eyes lit up when you mentioned you listened to his mix tapes • “you’re a really great rapper” • he just blushed and mumbled a 'thank you’ in reply, the ability to speak left him • “ahh, t-thank you.” • you took note of how well his red hair contrasted against his peach coloured flower crown. It only made him all the more charming and prince like • Youngmin’s company was enjoyable and you could foresee him becoming one of your good friends • you were reluctant to leave • he felt the same way • Youngmin isn’t the kind for a hella lot of aegyo but he has a way with words • even though he says he doesn’t • “y/n? do you have a map? cause honey, I’m getting lost in your eyes,” he said, tapping the pot of honey on your table • o i love puns • “you’re so sweet, are you made out of sugar?” *lifts up jar of sugar* • you’re just out there dying at his lame ass puns • but at the same time, dying bc he’s FLIRTING WITH YOU • imagine your crush flirting with you • hah can’t relate • “y/n, we’re like a four-leafed clover, you are C, I’m R and there’s love between us” he purred out, making finger hearts • you’re nearly dead and although these are somewhat awful, it’s cute • “i never knew you were like this, you never really talk in class…..” you muttered. “so innocent…” • “the only crime I’ll commit is stealing your heart” • bYE BYE IM • it gets late and you eventually have to bid him goodbye • but before you leave, he slides you a note and says, “y/n, if you can accept my love, how about accepting my number?” • “yes! I’ll text you.” • you hastily punch his number into your phone, nearly messing up because you’re still freaking out • there’s an alpaca, llama emoji next to his name, whatever you can find on your phone • suddenly, you become the envy of all the customers, especially when he gives you a matching alpaca plushie • *makes a mental reminder to attach it to your uni bag* • Youngmin smiles bashfully at you but says nothing • when you hand back the board to him after writing your signature - because you paid by credit card, he whistles • “damn, i was looking for a signature on you because a masterpiece always has one” • you are about to punch him • but only out of love • your heart is going to explode • he winks from behind the counter as you head out • “see you soon, Y/N.” 

i don't have anyone to talk so i thought i'd give this a go. i really don't know what's wrong with me. i have there terrible mood swings where i'll be fine but in a matter of ten minutes my emotions will be off the wall. during these spells i feel angered, frustrated and do nothing but cry. im not sure what triggers them but sometimes to calm down i'll pinch myself. im kinda worried pinching will turn into worse things since the pain feels almost like a release. this sounds crazy i'm sorry.

Hi beautiful,

I am sorry to hear that youhave been dealing with such intense mood swings recently. I want to start offby saying that nothing you had told us sounds crazy. Actually, a lot ofdifferent people have to go through the exact same feelings that you are currentlyhaving. The positive thing though, is that you have realised that something haschanged within you and that you may need help to learn how to deal with thesesudden behaviours.

I’ll come back with thepinching later and will start off with the mood swings first, since they seemto be the cause of the painful behaviour you’ve been inflicting to yourself.Mood swings can be caused by sooooooooomany different things. That means it will be hard for me to put my finger onexactly what has been causing yours. Of course, I am not a mental healthprofessional, which means I do not have to power to tell you why you’ve beenfeeling this way, but I will still list on the possible explanations for your intenseand frequent mood swings. Remember that self diagnosis is not a good idea andthat you should always seek help from a professional, who will be able to offeryou the proper help on how to get better.

They could be caused by depression : Have you been feeling moretired lately? Have you been feeling like the only thing you want to do issleep, unable to find the motivation to do the things that once made you sohappy? Have your emotions been all over the place, unable to concentrate onanything else but sadness and intense feelings of emptiness? Have you lost weightor felt like you’ve been getting sick? Have you felt like it was hard toconcentrate and hard to think straight? If the answers to these questions areyes, then the mood swings might be caused by depression.

They could also be caused by bipolar disorder : Have you been feeling like yourthoughts are all rushing through your mind at the same time without you beingable to control them? Have you been feeling like your moods are more irritableand elevated lately? Have you been feeling impulsive, doing different thingsand taking decisions that you would of have never made before? Have you beenfeeling sleep deprived, like sleep does not seem to matter anymore? Do you tendto not be able to have a stable conversation, changing quickly from one topicto another without them being related? If the answers to these questions areyes, the mood swings might be caused by bipolar disorder.

The next one might soundcompletely strange, but mood swings could also be caused by premenstrual syndrome if you are agirl. The most frequent behaviours you can feel when in pms are :oversensitivity, crying, anger and irritability, anxiety and exaggerated moodswings. If you are having premenstrual syndrome, this is what you should besensing in your body : feeling tired, feeling bloated, having weird cravings oran increase of your appetite and even insomnia. If you are feeling all this,your mood swings could be caused by premenstrual syndrome. Those feelingsshould happen for a few to several days before the one week of your menstrualcycle.

Now in more rare cases, moodswings could be caused by schizophrenia: Symptoms of psychotic behaviours are :Have you been having disorganised behaviour? Have you experienced any type ofhallucinations of hearing, such as having voices in your head? Have youexperienced any type of hallucinations of seeing, such as bugs crawling on yourskin? Have you experienced any type of hallucinations of taste, such as tastingthings that are not connected to reality? Symptomsof less psychotic behaviours are : Have you felt inhibition of facialexpression? Have you felt a lack in your care and self hygiene? Have you beenfeeling lack of motivation? Is your speech lacking or incoherent? If the answerto these questions are yes, your mood swings could be caused by schizophrenia.

Mood swings can also be causedby ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivitydisorder) : Have you felt like your capacity to concentrate on a task is low?Have you felt like you are easily distracted or have short memory? Do you havetrouble staying seated for a long period of time? Do you always feel the needto talk? Do you easily feel bored? If the answer to these questions are yes,then the mood swings you have been feeling might be caused by ADHD.

It could also be, in more rarecases, dementia : Have you beenforgetting things easily? Do you have trouble doing certain tasks that you wereonce able to do with very little effort -likegetting dressed or going to the bathroom-? Is your ability to communicatedifficult? Have the people surrounding you seen a big change in your behaviourand are struggling to recognise you? If you are feeling those things and havesaid yes to those questions, your mood swings might be caused by dementia.

Now, I know all of that was alot of information to take in. As I said before, I am in no case aprofessional, which means I cannot diagnose you and as I said earlier, selfdiagnosis is never a good idea. Your mood swings could even be related to noneof the above, coming from a complete other source. That is why I highly suggesttalking to a professional about what you have been feeling lately.

Now, let’s talk about thepinching. I can understand that you might feel scared that the pinching mightturn into scarier things. In the end, any type of behaviour that is done toprocure you pain, is considered like self harm, even though no blood isinvolved. You should definitely talk to your therapist about that as well. I amvery proud of you though, for realising these behaviours quickly before themgetting worst. It shows how incredibly brave you are. There are a lot ofoptions that can make you feel better, other than pain. You could look at ourdistractions page to get more ideas. To avoid injuring yourself, I suggesttrying to keep yourself surrounded by people when you feel sad, to avoid beingalone. I would also suggest staying away from the emplacement where you usuallypinch yourself as much as possible. You can also grab a pen and whenever youfeel like pinching yourself, you can draw a little dot on the spot you were thinkingof hurting. That way, you can look at the crayon instead of the red mark itwould do on your skin. The crayon marks at the end of the day will show you theurges you were able to resist and will make you feel quite proud. Remember thatno matter what struggles you are going through right now, you are beautiful andwonderful. You do not deserve to get hurt. You can also have a look at ourAlternatives to Self-Harm page and to the Reasons not to self-harm  page on our blog. Theycan be a massive help whenever you feel like pinching at your skin.

Remember that there isabsolutely no shame in getting help. You are beautiful and wonderful anddeserve all the happiness in the world. We love you and are always here for youwhenever you need to talk. You are not alone lovely.

Storms don’t last forever, your strength will fightthe clouds away and let the rainbow shine throughout the sky.

Sabrinaxx

So I just scrolled 20000 years back on your blog like the creep I am and I saw you mention schizophrenic Keith headcanons but never actually saw schizo Keith headcanons and I'm 👀👀👀

once again thank you so much for sending this! i really really love this au but i never talk about it bc i feel like no one cares and this makes me sooo happy!

also sorry again for answering late i just wanted to be able to type everything relatively quickly and use a readmore

(i added links that lead to wiki pages to explain what certain stuff is, you don’t need to click them or anything)

ok so here goes

[Food mentions and slight emeto for this part]

Keith has a lot of trouble with food, both bc of sensory issues and paranoia

when its sensory, its mostly if the texture is too different to whats hes used to, or if theres too much taste and theres anything else (a sound, some lights flashing, whatever) hell get overwhelmed really easily. so he tries to stick to relatively tasteless stuff

Keith also gets a lot of persecutory delusions and some of the most recurring ones is that his food has been poisoned, having relatively tasteless food helps with not being as convinced of that

On good days (well as good a day as you can have when you think your food has been poisoned anyway), he can sort of just power through it and eat enough to not be starving.

On bad days, he either doesn’t eat at all, or if he only realises it after having eaten he becomes sick/makes himself sick.

Back on Earth, especially during his year alone, he had 3-4 “trusted foods/brands” and he almost exclusively only ate those

Once on the ship, things get very complicated, because from the start, he doesn’t trust the altean food goo (he still doesn’t if he’s entirely honest, but they’ve all been eating it and none of them are dead yet so if it is poisoned its slow acting enough) so he mostly only eats when hes absolutely starving for the first month or so before he slowly starts to eat more of the altean meals

He does however trust what Hunk cooks partly because he trusts Hunk, partly because Hunk eats it too, and (taste+texture of the food goo aside) hes always more comfortable when Hunk cooks.

[Warning ended]

While developing and after when he had it (which was 2 or 3 years before he entered the Garrison), Keith ended up almost entirely isolated from people, in part because he would willingly withdraw from others, in part because the people who took care of him after his father left/died (foster families i guess? i dont really know how the system works and i cant imagine how much worse it must be for a schizophrenic kid so) didn’t really know what to do with him because he had really bad emotional blunting

Because he was mostly left alone, he started focusing alot on the delusions he had at the time, the main one of which was that he just wasnt human (which yes turned out to be somewhat true, but it’s still a delusion). that led him to thinking of going to space because of a feeling that something would happen there. which led him to the garrison which is how he ended up there.

At the Garrison, he was amazing at flying and mediocre at best in all his other classes.

This is partly because outside of doing stuff that could actually directly get him to space, he wasnt able to get any motivation to do anything else. (even if he gets kicked out, he can just steal a rocket or something right?)

he also didnt really have any friends because he didnt approach anyone and more or less actively avoided anyone trying to get close to him.

the way he just was; never showing any emotion, barely speaking, the weird things he sometimes did, etc; sort of drove ppl away on its own

(this is also sort of the reason he didnt remember him and lances “rivalry” in s1ep1. he never actually noticed lance thought of him as a rival, he just thought lance was sort of loud)

Shiro ended up like being a mentor or something to Keith, and Keith wasnt able to really avoid him

They start off sort of rocky, because Keith hates interacting with other people, due to paranoid thoughts (”he can read my mind”, “he wants to hurt me”, and so on) that, while they werent nearly as bad as off meds, were still present even with medication.

Slowly though, Keith warms up to Shiro and starts trusting him (though shiro is never really sure because Keith doesnt show it at all)

Keith starts doing better in all his classes, because he’s interpreted that shiro will be extremely disappointed in him if he ends up getting kicked out because of poor grades, and hes terrified of disappointing literally the only person in the world he trusts

It also leads to Keith putting a minimum of effort into becoming at least somewhat expressive 

When the kerberos mission fails, keith is destroyed. all his grades almost instantly drop and he barely shows up to class because losing the only person he trusts essentially makes him totally apathetic, and go back to having alot of paranoid thoughts/delusions (mostly surrounding the garrison staging the entire thing, sort of fake moon landing style but with actual murder to make people back off on exploring space because of Something), and feeling like he’s being stalked by people (not entirely untrue tbh), and deal with anhedonia. and thats how he gets kicked out/how he drops out 

Living entirely alone (as in without any supervision) was hell for Keith.

Moving to the shack after dropping out messed with his entire routine, and without a relatively strict routine, he ends up forgetting his meds

Off medication, he had really really really horrible episodes that almost always ended with him getting hurt in some way

Off-meds, he starts his garrison/shiro conspiracy wall

He also found the blue lions cave during an episode

After a while (keith never tries to find out how much time he spent without his meds because he forgot about them), he ends up taking his antipsychotics again, and almost destroys the wall, except theres a feeling he still has that he rememebers he had during an episode.

He ends up going to the cave again, and “Holy shit that was real??” so he restarts his wall while being a bit more down to Earth.

The day shiro crashes on earth is one of the best days of his life bc, well, shiro, but also because he was actually right for once.

Overall, Keith’s pretty good at organising his thoughts and not speaking incoherently, but if hes at all stressed, hell go through a lot of thought blocking

It’s really annoying because Keith hates not being understood and not finishing his points, but often, even if the person hes talking to reminds him what he was talking about, he cant remember what he was going to say after

He also used to think that the thought blocking was aliens and/or the government stealing away all his thoughts to study humans (or, before the garrison: not entirely human entities)

His thoughts are alot more disorganised than his speech shows (under normal circumstances, there are occasions where he does get mostly incoherent). He’s learned to think of what hes going to say step by step before saying it

What he says often still comes off as not entirely thought out, rude, etc because thinking about what order words are going to come out of his mouth doesnt fix not understanding how to interact with others

And here’s a bunch of stuff i couldn’t really make long enough to warrant a separate section:

Keith stims mostly when hes nervous or bored, and he stims by scratching his nails against things, because he likes the sounds it makes.

[self harm (sort of)] at some point, the team notices that when theres nothing for him to scratch (like a wall or something), hell scratch at his own skin, because scratching fabric feels/sounds horrible, often until he scratches part of it off. so they make him these little squares of material to scratch at

Keith does a lot of magical thinking (i cant find an easy link for this but in this case its like seeing signs in things that are seemingly unrelated if that makes sense) where he’ll see a ‘sign’ and feel like he has to do something (what something is varies from something very specific to just “something”)

since he obviously cant always do what hes supposed to do after seeing the signs, hes started writing down everything so he can do it later (lance’s idea). it helps a lot.

Keith hates places with background noises that arent constant (like they stop and start, stop and start), even if they arent particularly loud, because he loses his entire train of thought whenever it stops or starts

Ok! that’s all I can think of right now, I hope this answered what you were looking for! 

I lost my entire train of thought at least 5 times while typing this so I’ll probably add more things in my tag later on when I think of them again!

I’m also writing an actual story with this, it should come out around the end of June if you’re interested!