I never showed you what I wore to Tokyo Tower, so here it is for Sailor Moon Casual Cosplay week 2017! Because I’m a huge nerd I wore a pink dress as a reference to Michiru’s dress during Usagi’s birthday episode! As always, I’m hugely projecting myself onto Michiru, so I’m overall very pleased Michiru wears so much pink during the anime.
things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear // things said
he was made to be their perfect instrument, he knew that well. was it not their goal that he made his? he had fallen asleep, it seemed, the music fading in his head, darkness replacing gilded light. he’d known the price that he’d pay for his ideals, but he’d not expected this. it had been quite some time since he’d felt like this ( fully aware, but he couldn’t show it ), was this not what he’d felt like while they did their horrid tests?
‘ what’s its condition? ’ a voice cut through the silence ( that of an older male ), senses flaring but still, he felt disconnected. ‘ the arkheloid has a steady pulse, all central nervous systems seem to be active. ’ another voice, younger ( likely, a youth just hired )stop — i’m not your instrument, i’m alive, i’m alive — ‘ what about its peripheral system? why won’t it move? shock it again, professor otowa said that it has a body that functions just as any other naturally born human being. shock it again, raise the goddamn voltage if you have to. ’ the familiar sound of that device sent his mind into what could only be seen as anxiety, the following jolt felt like agony. ‘ anything? ’stop — it hurts — i’m not your instrument —‘ it feels the shock, but shows no ability to move otherwise. something’s wrong with its motor neurons. wait — ’
he heard commotion, faint murmurs, they were preparing for another test — ‘ wait, stop!! look at these scans, the arkheloid is displaying conscious brain activity. ’ this time, it was the voice of a young woman — ‘ mitsuru, that’s irrelevant, ’mitsuru… did she want them to stop hurting him? her comment seemed to cause more irritability in the other scientists than do any good — ‘ it’s a goddamn machine, mitsuru, you even helped design it. it can’t possibly be conscious, & even if it is, it’s a machine & all machines can be reset. ’mitsuru… she designed me… am i not human? i’m not a machine, i can feel — i’m here, i’m here — stop!!‘ you can’t reprogram anything that’s broken, we’re already behind schedule, right? we have to try something else before we’re back at square one!!’mitsuru… are you trying to protect me?‘ god dammit, if there’s no response with this sort of testing, try something else!! clearly, the alkheloid must be able to hear us, that’s the only way that these charts would look like this — why don’t we try something like music? ’ they played him music, his music & the golden light broke through the darkness —
he’d caught a glimpse of freedom, only to find himself shackled again, familiar sound flooding his senses ( this was not how his world was supposed to end, this was not the prelude that he’d yearned for ) — ❛ this is my music… ❜
❛ mitsuru — ❜ she looked at him with a terrible & twisted love in her eyes ‘ you said my name — you said my name for the first time — !!’
‘ my name is mitsuru, i’m going to give you music; they’re not going to do those tests anymore, they won’t hurt you anymore. i wonder… when you wake up, will you remember my name? i hope you do. i think i’d like it if you said my name, even if it’s only once. ’
I picked some flowers for you💐🌸🌷🌹🌻🌺🌼🥀 'cause it's spring 😀
Well, since I apparently can’t sleep anyway, I may as well enjoy the lovely spring flowers that my effervescent (which I believe is a really big word for bubbly), kind, talented, and loving friend Shikha sent me. Ah spring, probably almost everyone’s favorite time of year. My mother’s birthday was in early May, as is mine. Throw in mother’s day, and voila. Fond memories of many years spending vacation around that time of year with family and friends. Yes, I guess you could say I too love spring, that magical season when everything comes or returns to life. Thank you!
Ugh do antibiotics mess anyone else up? Because I’m pretty sure the stomach ache and headache are from that.
Also I guess I always just get sick in March. When I was at the clinic today they were like, “Oh you were here on March 8th of last year for bronchitis.” And I was like WHAT.
Then Facebook memories was like on this exact day two years ago you had walking pneumonia. So. That’s cool.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My lungs always seem to be doing… some shit. I have asthma, but, I dunno. It’s never affected me THAT much. I hardly ever ever have to use an inhaler and I often forget to even carry one on me. Worst time I ever had was gym class in high school before I was diagnosed and I kept having mild asthma attacks until they gave me an inhaler.
But I get bronchitis and pneumonia “at the drop of a hat” as my mom put it to me on the phone yesterday. She also brought up my grandmother who had like some breathing machine… thing that she occasionally would use because of her lungs. I was young and I honestly don’t remember what it was but, uh, thanks for the comforting thought, mom. :V
I just want to breathe and that’s been difficult for the past two weeks :V
Centuries, years, months and even days can pass. However memories and fragments of someone significant in your life, even someone who made a difference would stay forever. Even through old age, the memories might become vivid but they will still vaguely be engraved…..
[closes eyes] Yeah. Yeah, I thought this might happen. [chews lip] We can.. try to blunt the memories for a day or two, enough for you to talk to him? So that your most recent memories of him aren't... [shivers] I don't know how much that would help, if it would at all. And that's ignoring the fact that... however temporarily, whatever our intentions, *we'd be messing with your mind.* [shivers harder]
“Here, let me see,” Flint pries his hand away gently, and turns his face to the light. Silver’s head throbs with the beat of his heart. He feels heavy and stupid, like he’s been drunk for three days, only his fuzzy memories of their dramatic return from the town don’t include any alcohol at all.
“You’ll need to be careful,” Flint murmurs, letting go of his face finally, settling down to sit on the cot by his hip, setting it swaying dangerously. “Rope burns like that can take a long time to heal.” He tries for a smile, and almost halfway manages one. “Keep the talking to a minimum. Don’t eat anything large.”
Silver despairs. A line like that, and he’s completely unfit to do anything with it. He rolls his eyes instead, and shuffles himself carefully up until he’s half-propped against the wall of the cabin. Whole new worlds of pain make themselves known to him as he does; his shoulders are on fire and something in his back is very not-right, but sitting up is worth it, though he’s got Flint’s too-soft, too-worried eyes on him the whole time.
“I’ll be fine,’ he finally slurs, trying to move his lips as little as possible. “Jesus, they couldn’t have had us for more than six hours altogether. That may be a record, even for you.”
🐥- A memory about their children (past, present, or future)
(( Future times, if Misaki and Lucius have children! ))
The summer had been hot, and most of the days of the Sylla family were spent at the seaside – though it wasn’t exactly a far trek, given that it was practically at their door. The little family had, three suns previously, had their first addition to the family. It was a bright-eyed, giggly little girl with rolls on her arms and her legs. Her hair and face shape belonged to her mother, but the eyes belonged to her father – Garlean third eye upon the forehead included. Though they were monolidded like Misaki’s, they were a brilliant blue, the same hue as the sky that had charmed Misaki from the first day she met Lucius.
Her fingers ran through the silken locks of her daughter as she pulled them into two neat pigtails, smoothed the bangs over her forehead, and kissed the top of her head while the girl played on the toy piano she’d been given. She was a bright and talkative little girl, empathetic and kind even from a young age. Her bucket and shovel sat by the door, and with a gentle nudge from Misaki, she was given permission to stand and slap her little bare feet against the floor to retrieve her toys for their beach day.
“Daddy coming?” she asked as Misaki gently took the thumb her daughter was sucking out of her mouth.
“No fingers in your mouth, Rei!” she chided gently, smiling as she smoothed her hair from her eyes. “And he’s busy today, but he’ll come join us later on.”
The little girl named Rei nodded almost comically seriously at her mother’s reply and looked over her shoulder, rosy lips pouty in thought. Bright blue eyes peeked back up at Misaki, who understood the look, and nodded her head once in reply. A dimpled smile splayed across Rei’s face and she turned in the garden, letting out a yell:
“’Mon, Akira!” she called before placing her little fists on her hips, waiting.
Their dog - a large, fluffy beast with dark brown hair all over except upon her chest - came bounding from the back yard, tail wagging as she lapped her tongue over Rei’s face, to a chorus of pleased giggles. Misaki laughed and beckoned to them both to follow her down the little path to the seaside in front of their house. Rei sped ahead of her with Akira in tow, barking and giggling in a chorus that warmed her to her core.
They had charged into the calm waters and Rei had screamed in playful shock, stomping her feet against the soft sand. Akira nipped at gentle waves, but stuck close to her little charge, watching her carefully. When it seemed as though she might topple, gently was the child’s bathing suit clamped between her jaws and righted again. Misaki ran down to the shoreline and scooped her daughter up into her arms, tickling her belly as they both laughed. She swung Rei around with her arms securely around her before placing her back into the sea, pointing at shells and helping her find them for her to gather into her bucket for the craft they were making in secret for Lucius.
Spending time with Rei and raising her was Misaki’s career, but never had one made her half so happy or so fulfilled. Her daughter was the light of her life, endlessly endearing and entertaining with something interesting or strange to say. Bound and determined were her parents to ensure that Rei never questioned whether or not she was wanted or loved, to never feel the pains Misaki’s parents had inflicted upon her when they left her at the geisha house. Lucius was an adoring and doting father, as serious-minded as he was. He had been so excited to become a father, to raise a child with the love of his life, soldier though he might have been. Misaki was so grateful for him, every single day, for showing Rei what a father should be, for being a husband that she could have only ever dreamed of being so good.
“Momma, will you tell me the story about the mermaids?” Rei babbled in Doman, the language they spoke at home, for the most part. Misaki smiled and looked down as the golden hour blessed her child in its light, reflecting in her black strands of hair.
“Whatever you want, my precious girl.”
(( thank you for the ask, @rihqa! writing this made me feel many things.
Anne Frank could be a 87-year-old woman living in Boston today. But was denied a US visa.
“As President Trump prepares orders to wall out Mexicans and shut out refugees from America, today marks one of the most hateful days in our nation’s history… Today the Statue of Liberty weeps over President Trump’s discrimination. President Trump is beyond the wrong side of history. He is driving our nation off a moral cliff. When President Trump uses national security as a guise for racism, he doesn’t strengthen our national security. He compromises our national security by engendering disrespect for America by people around the world. Make no mistake, suspending visas for citizens of Middle Eastern and African countries is not called national security. It’s called prejudice.
President Trump is now exacerbating the largest global refugee crisis in history. His slamming America’s doors on the starving, the wounded and the abused is a grotesque blot on our nation’s history of freedom. The President’s actions are an embarrassment to the timeless vision of America as inscribed by Emma Lazarus to “give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Demonizing refugees and immigrants, and spending billions of taxpayer dollars to keep them out of our nation, will go down in American history as one of the most tragic deviations from our national conscience.”
- Statement of Steven Goldstein, Executive Director of the Anne Frank
Center for Mutual Respect