since this blog is new, i’ll keep this post short for now—
i’m kai (or vii, whatever you want to call me), and this is sort of a random sideblog.
i’ll probably talk a lot about Transmigrator’s Guide to Twisted Wonderland (TGTWST) here, which is my yuusona/partial SI’s journey through twst; and also some oc stuff as well. all my oc info can be found on my main @distant-velleity
expect a slightly darker tone in terms of content here, since i like to keep that stuff off of my main.
enjoy your stay! (or don’t, i can’t tell you what to do)
If every universe is its own self-contained “seed,” and every alternate of it a new “sprout” branching outwards, then “Earth” and “Wonderland” must be two seeds planted in the same field. So close as to share concepts, but vastly differing in natural law and history.
The flow of time in Wonderland had long since been corrupted. It became encased in an isolated samsara, where the same few people would be reincarnated and history would repeat itself. Their stories became twisted, lost to time and faded memories. Everything changed, and yet everything remained the same.
“I see,” observed a certain being who had taken it upon himself to watch both Earth and Wonderland. “Their desires for a ‘happy ending’ have changed the fundamental laws of that world. Then, if it’s a ‘happy ending’ they want… I will write it for them.”
So he undertook his next task, indulging himself in the name of ‘order.’ A story he wrote by taking bits and pieces and fragments from others, a System he programmed, a method of fixing the error as much as his powers allowed him to.
“Now… What shall I name this story? Ah, yes, this one sounds fitting—Twisted Wonderland. It’s what they call themselves, isn’t it?”
It was complete—or, rather, it was almost complete. There was only one problem: his story lacked the perfect main character. A novel is pointless without a protagonist; a game is pointless without a player. As the ‘author,’ the ‘administrator,’ he could not fill that role.
Therefore, he created a blank vessel and waited. And waited, and waited.
Until finally, a soul with that same desire for a “happy ending” came along. It was a pitiful soul, one that had ended its life on Earth far too early. It even bore resemblance to that of the Spectator’s original body.
“How amusing. Then, why don’t I give you this second chance?”
Gently, he guided the soul into the blank vessel and allowed natural desires and magic to adjust its shape.
“You will gaze into their memories, get to know them, and eventually set them on a new path. But for you, there is nothing but the vague promise of a ‘happy ending’ waiting. So I’m looking forward to seeing it—what choices you will make along the way and where that will take you.”
He smiled, and allowed the story to take its course.
“All things considered, it's a win-win situation, isn’t it? After all, 'endings' are just new beginnings.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Present day.
The presence before the 'protagonist' feels overwhelming, but not oppressive. Still, it sends an eerie chill through his whole body - he's survived eight overblots, and yet to come face to face with this kind of being...
so remember that shitpost about a hole being punched in the wall? this one? yeah, well. hmm. RIOFY yuhua is a piece of work because there's so many yuus
[warnings: internalized transphobia for a second but otherwise it's just typical yuhua self-hatred]
~
You’re not perfect.
This is a fact. One you’ve been painfully aware of for far too long.
Every single comment ever made about you has been logged in your mind, most compliments forgotten and every insult or slight retained. When you mess up, when you hear someone say something about you, it becomes an obsession. Like a single drop of dye falling into water, something that everyone else will forget about in an instant becomes a fixation that spreads through you like poison.
Every obsession in that fashion ultimately comes down to this one fact.
After all, you’re pretty weak and pathetic. Your stamina and physical strength is laughable. You’re slow on the uptake. You’re not good at making and keeping friends. You’re clumsy and butterfingered. You get anxious over stupid things easily, and you can’t look people in the eyes when you talk. You have no viable talents. You’re ugly, your proportions are all messed up, and some days you don’t want to go out because you can’t bear the thought of living with your own face. With your own body. Hell, you’re not even a guy like you claim to be.
You don’t have anything that makes you special. If you do, it’s something that makes you the circus act—the laughingstock, the one getting booed off the stage.
…So why? Why did you have to end up with… all of these other people?
Everyone is so much more unique than you. So much more vibrant. So much kinder, or dedicated, or capable, or confident, or good-looking, or talented. They’re all something, compared to your nothing. You’re all from worlds that aren’t this one, but they’re all so much more than you could ever hope to be. So much closer to “perfect.” Even the ones who are just from Earth, even the ones who are the same species as you.
It doesn’t sit quite right with you, to be lumped together with everyone else. If you had to make it an analogy more digestible for your own incoherent thoughts, it would be like putting a useless NPC with the cast of main characters.
You simply aren’t good enough to belong.
But the feeling is so strong that it overflows into your thoughts about others. It’s exhausting trying to get along with these “perfect,” “better” people. You’re bitter about being so obviously inferior and you hate the fact that you are. If you have to put up with another day of pretending to like people you don’t, you think you might just lose your mind and quit.
(You won’t. You won’t, and you know it.)
But you’re so tired of this. It would be so nice, to let loose. To be able to tell someone that you hate them. That you’re praying for their downfall. Except—that’s not quite right, and that’s not the “nice” or “situationally correct” thing to do. Besides, it won’t do anything to them. Everyone has friends and supporters, people who would choose them over you in a heartbeat.
They won’t lose anything. You will. Because they’re “perfect,” and you’re not.
The thought of it pisses you off.
What can you do about it, though? When you hold this anger in your chest, so hot it runs cold, do you really think you can let it out? Will you simply cry it out futilely, like a child? Or—
Without thinking, your body moves of its own accord. The aged wall gives way under your fist, crumpling and cracking around the edges. Classic Ramshackle dust attacks your senses as you retract your hand. The pain waits to set in, and then your knuckles sting. The joints of your fingers complain from being clenched so tightly.
Sure, it hurts. But it feels good, at least for a moment—to hurt something, to break something, because everyone else feels so untouchable and invulnerable.
And then the “moment” wears off, and you stare at the hole in the wall in horror.
The flow of time in Wonderland had long since been corrupted. It became encased in an isolated samsara, where the same few people would be reincarnated and history would repeat itself. Their stories became twisted, lost to time and faded memories. Everything changed, and yet everything remained the same.
...
“Now… What shall I name this story? Ah, yes, this one sounds fitting—Twisted Wonderland.”
...
“You will gaze into their memories, get to know them, and eventually set them on a new path. But for you, there is nothing but the vague promise of a ‘happy ending’ waiting. So I’m looking forward to seeing it—what choices you will make along the way and where that will take you.”
He smiled, and allowed the story to take its course.
oh no, my bottle of yu angst… oh… oh no i spilled it all over the floor…
(CW: unintentional misgendering, mentions of s//icide)
~~
Hic… hic… “I just don’t understand.”
Sobbing. It’s the sound of sobbing, coming from the mirror as it emits that same strange glow. Although it sounds disturbingly like laughter to Yuhua, all the same, he feels compelled to check. To look.
Inside the mirror, a vision of a room. A table, and a woman seated at it with her head in her hands. Her “friends” gathered, all dressed in black. No husband or eldest daughter of hers to be seen.
Something suffocating settles in Yuhua’s throat.
“Why did she kill herself? I don’t get it at all!” wails his mother in her native language. Tears glisten in her eyes. A friend rubs circles into her back and offers her another glass. She downs it like there’s no tomorrow. “I don’t understand…”
It’s—unsettling. Terrifying. Yuhua doesn’t remember the last time he saw her cry, let alone drink. He doesn’t know if she’s ever done that.
She was always too proud, too untouchable, too angry when provoked. Always a pillar in his life, the ever-present watch tower of his prison.
And yet—
“I loved her! I tried my best to take care of her! I did what was best for her every single time!” she cries, shouting now, spurred on by the alcohol. “Why didn’t she tell anyone? Why didn’t she say anything to me?!”
Your fault, your fault, your fault. Never your mother’s.
That’s all Yuhua hears. That’s all he’s ever heard coming out of her mouth if he did something that didn’t appeal to her.
More than anything else, he wants to shut it out. He wants to break something, he wants to tell her to shut up.
He wants to, but he can’t.
He’ll never be able to. He can’t even look away, watching as her friends continue to try and placate her because—
“I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” She runs a hand through her hair. “God, what did I do to deserve this? I raised her like I should! I got married to that bastard and worked long hours for years so my children would have a good life! I did everything I was expected to! So why couldn’t it have gone normally?! Why me…?!”
How many times had he heard those complaints from her?
You drive her crazy. You drive her crazy all the time. Because you can’t behave, she has to put up with you on top of everything else.
It’s all the same. Always the same.
Everything’s the same.
Yuhua can’t breathe. In and out, he tries to get oxygen, to clear his head, but—
He thought that killing himself would have changed something! That it would have fixed something in their family, that it would have destroyed their awful status quo. That it would have gotten rid of the problem.
So why? Why didn’t it work? Why didn’t it fix her problems? Why—
“I loved her so much!” his mother sobs once again. “And this is what happens? It’s not fair!”
A response is right on the tip of Yuhua’s tongue, on his lips, waiting to be said. But he can’t vocalize it, no matter how hard he tries—opening his mouth again and again, tears streaming down his cheeks all of a sudden.
It’s like he’s seven years old again, small and stupid and a waste of space. A waste of her time, energy, and money. Another plate broken, another question missed, another several years and dollars spent for nothing.
You just can’t stop fucking things up, can you?
Yuhua feels his nails digging into his palms. The image in the mirror is distorted, twisting, becoming blurrier and blurrier the longer he looks at it.
If only he’d been normal—
If only he’d been perfect—
If only he’d been content—
If only he’d been the precious little daughter she wanted—
If only he’d been someone else—
“If only, if only, if only—”
Like it’d never been there at all, the scene with his mother vanishes from the mirror.
WHAT'S GOOD CHAT did you miss overblot!yu? no? too bad lmao
i wrote his post-ob flashback monologue 😊🥰 enjoyyyy
(cw: implied s//icide, s//icidal ideation)
~
I’ve spent my whole life trying to please people.
I did everything my sister liked to do. I did everything my parents wanted me to do. I behaved as they wanted me to.
I tried my best to go along with what my friends wanted. I tried to excel in school so that teachers would like me.
Even when I slipped up, I worked twice as hard to become a “good girl” again.
Everyone was happy with that, so I was happy too.
I… was definitely happy, too.
…
Why, then, did I start to hate myself like this?
Maybe it was because I knew that deep inside, that “good girl” was a selfish little boy.
A black hole of personalities that just wanted to feel good about himself, using other people as a means to an end.
A fraud who didn’t really have any sense of “self,” relying on the perceptions of others.
But what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to tell anyone about this? Who could I even turn to for this? Who would understand me? Who wouldn’t laugh at me and brush it off as a joke?
Who would… even care?
…Whatever. It didn’t matter. My “problems” didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. After all, everyone only cared for the “Yuhua” they want to see.
I was too much of a coward to reveal the “true,” twisted, horrible version of me. The ugliness that I couldn’t even face in the mirror.
And because of that, I was so,
so tired.
…
When I took the easy way out, I thought that would be it. I thought that it would be a grand exit for me. The same way a firework is fleeting, burning in a blaze before vanishing into the night sky.
But it wasn’t over—far from it. I woke up in the coffin, and my journey began anew.
…
It isn’t as if I hate the time I spent here. Even though I was terrified at first, even though I fell back into old habits, I grew to care for this world and the people I met.
And I came to the horrifying realization that
I want to stay here.
I want to stay with that person. I want to stay with my friends.
I want to stay so bad that it hurts.
But… How could I do that to all of you? When I don’t provide anything of substance—when someone else could take my place and nothing would change—when, even in a twisted world, I continue to drag everyone down?
Even in this second life, I’ve found myself in the same dilemma.
Like a dancer at a masquerade ball, I’m sure that everyone only “cares” for the version of me I present to them. If I took off this mask, they’d be disgusted by what lies underneath.
I can’t blame them. I didn’t give them much of a choice in what “me”s they got to see. I was still greedy, and thrived on their misguided acceptance until that shallow greed came back to bite me.
…Not for the first time, I…
I wish that I wasn’t the way I am.
I wish that I could have changed at all.
I wish that I had never been born.
But who would grant my wishes? In the end, I’m just another escapist trying to run away from reality. I’m nothing but a pathetic, miserable phony—
a liar—
and a coward.
So I hope you don’t mind that I’ll take the coward’s way out again, that I’ll be a nuisance
putting yu in Situations is so funny bc he has “moral” standards compared to most twst chars, but in reality they are very low and if he sees an opportunity that benefits him without strictly going against his standards then boy oh boy will he go for it
same person who doesn’t want people to suffer from blot will not hesitate to blackmail people if it suits his needs ajdhahdhsd you know, all that
obviously there are some cases where he WOULDN’T, but i appreciate the irony of writing him
i keep forgetting about it-- i have a fic idea pertaining to the glimmering soiree event, but i don't want it to be associated with the main thing because it's just a silly angsty little thing;; ... maybe i'll write it anyway?
i've never. addressed it because Reasons but i've always felt like yu being trans played something of a role in his imposter syndrome, in his feelings that he doesn't belong anywhere
Summary: Sometimes, people who are too similar will also clash.
Word count: 2.2k+
Warnings: violence
A/N: Wheeew. Chrysos and Yu hours again. I'm not going to comment on the quality of this one for reasons, but I'll just post it anyway. Here you guys go. (I'll also reblog this on my sideblog so you guys can see some additional thoughts and such.)
~
Dammit. Where did it all go wrong?
Yu doesn’t necessarily storm out of the infirmary, but it’s something close to it.
With the longest, swiftest strides he can muster, he intends to head back to Ramshackle—to rest, to collect his thoughts, and to figure out where the hell Vil’s blot stone went.
It hadn’t been anywhere in the infirmary or on his person, even though it was right in his palm when he passed out the night before. He didn’t have any memory of waking up another time between blacking out and ending up in the infirmary, either.
But if either the nurse or Crewel or Crowley had confiscated it, then they hadn’t addressed the issue at all when they had every reason to as highly-qualified staff members collectively responsible for the school’s safety.
So somehow, it disappeared right out of his hands. Somehow, a very potent crystallization of dangerous magical waste has disappeared and Yu needs to find it.
Maybe, just maybe, it ended up somewhere where no one will find it before me—
“There you are, Wei.”
It’s a gentle but accusatory voice.
Yu blinks and stops, emerging from his thoughts. Thanks to the fair, the hallway is empty except for him—him and a certain Octavinelle student.
“Chrysos,” Yu says pleasantly, waving to him. Speaking as if nothing out of the usual had happened at all, as if he isn’t high-strung with nerves. “Headed somewhere?”
“I meant to visit the infirmary to find you,” admits Chrysos, “but… it looks like you’ve already been discharged.”
Yu’s mouth curves into a small smile, a mask of politeness, since he doesn’t really feel like smiling. “Yeah. It was probably a cause for concern for some, but I’m fine. An overnight stay in the nurse’s office was treatment enough.”
“Oh?” Chrysos tilts his head. “That’s fast. If I might ask… what were you in there for, then?”
The inevitable question, of course. Thankfully, he’d prepared for this.
“Stress-induced sickness, I guess? It got to the point where I fainted.” Yu laughs softly. Habitually, he adds in a dash of something pitiable: “I’m about as weak as people expect me to be.”
Chrysos narrows his eyes ever so slightly, lashes dipping—as if the half-lie about the fainting spell is a dried-out organism he’s about to viciously dissect.
“I see,” he replies after a moment, instead of the expected accusations. “You’re sure you feel fine now, then?”
“Yep. Thanks for being worried, though.” Yu doesn’t mention that he pretty much blackmailed the nurse into letting him out, the second time in less than 24 hours. After all, it was better if no one noticed and questioned his abrupt admittance to the infirmary from last night…
…Yu frowns.
“Wait a minute—” he starts quietly, at the same time Chrysos says, “That’s good to hear.”
They look at each other, only one of them stunned into silence; and it isn’t Chrysos, who—ever composed—wordlessly and expectantly gestures for Yu to speak.
“How…” Yu hesitates, and then cautiously continues, “How did you even know I was in the infirmary?” After all, no one—absolutely no one besides the staff—should have been aware. It was far too early in the day for them to have told anyone…
Chrysos crosses his arms, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to take a guess?”
“No. Just tell me outright, please.”
“In that case…”
Almost innocently, Chrysos gives a slight sideways incline of his head again.
“I was the one who brought you to the infirmary to begin with.”
As if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell of a realization on Yu, the ever-polite and ever-observant freshman waits for a reaction with a perfectly neutral expression. Or, Yu reflects, maybe it’s because he understands the significance that he watches so calmly.
It wouldn’t be surprising in the least.
Of course, still, Yu is filled to bursting with questions; opening his mouth to ask after a moment’s delay—then, what about the blot stone? Why were you out there in the dead of night like I was? Why did no one mention you to me? Why, and how—only to realize he can’t ask any of them. He can’t without giving up the little lie he’d made up for this conversation.
Even Chrysos, composed and paradoxically reckless Chrysos, can’t be told the truth lest he try to stop Yu.
So Yu closes his mouth and then puts on another smile, a soft laugh. “Seriously? Well… Thank you a lot, then. I owe you one.”
And, then—
“But I’m kind of in a hurry, so maybe we can talk about that later.”
Yu turns his back, then, and starts walking off in his original direction at what he hopes seems like a normal pace. It’s rude, and he knows it, but he doesn’t have any alternatives that will end well for him. Or, rather, he simply just doesn’t want to consider or choose those alternatives.
He doesn’t get to go very far before he’s stopped.
“Yuhua.” His given name sounds strange coming from Chrysos’ mouth. “Do you know what I’d appreciate in exchange? An explanation.”
“For what?” he asks, turning around again but refusing to meet Chrysos’ eyes.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Yu’s mouth feels so, so dry. Still, he musters all the false sincerity he can, letting it bleed deep into his voice as he replies, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
The heels of Chrysos’ shoes click, clack against the floor with startling emphasis. “I don’t appreciate you continuing to lie to my face,” he says, voice dangerously soft. “I found you unconscious at the Purple Stage last night, holding onto something you shouldn’t have looked for. Do you want to deny it any further?”
Holding onto something I shouldn’t have looked for? That’s rich.
“Maybe I should ask what you were doing there,” Yu deflects. “Isn’t your convenient presence equally as suspicious?”
“The Film Research Club was debriefing late into the night. You can ask anyone about it.” Chrysos narrows his eyes further. “That’s when I saw you. To be frank, it’s more of an alibi than yours.”
“Well—”
“And,” Chrysos interrupts, now that he’s found a weak point, “that’s not all. Don’t think I don’t know about the other blot stones you’ve been hiding.”
Yu freezes, struck with the overwhelming feeling of he definitely shouldn’t know that. That this has gone very, very wrong—or that this conversation wasn’t really within his control from the very beginning.
Of course, it isn’t that he hid those dangerous crystals for malicious purposes—just that someone has to do something about them, but now he has no idea what would happen if everyone found out.
And at this point, he’s already too far in over his head to stop.
“...How do you know that?” he asks, trying to school his expression back into place.
Chrysos basically scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You’re lucky I’m the only one who’s noticed.”
Yu is and he knows it. That doesn’t mean he likes it at all.
“You—” Yu shuts his mouth, and feels his nails digging into the palm of his fists. “Thanks for your concern, but seriously, this isn’t any of your business. I don’t need any help.”
“Actually, I feel a little inclined to intervene. Do you even know what effects continuous blot exposure has on a normal human?” asks Chrysos incredulously.
“Does it matter if I’m just keeping them safely locked up?”
“Contrary to what you might think, you’re not invincible.”
What a disgustingly know-it-all response, one that he would have given himself if their roles were reversed.
It’s unbearable.
“I can’t believe you’re telling me this. Remember when you almost Overblotted because you overused your signature spell?”
“And so I’ve stopped using it.” Chrysos looks at Yu with what seems to be disdain. “Can you say the same for yourself?”
“What am I supposed to do? Leave the stones somewhere and hope they’ll just despawn without affecting anyone?!” Yu throws up his hands in exasperation. “Seven, I wish it was that easy.”
“Did you consider your other options?” wonders Chrysos. He lays the facts in a sickeningly rational manner: “You could have told someone. Anyone. Maybe not us students, but I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t at the very least call on one of the teachers or the headmage to safely dispose of it.”
The possibility had crossed Yu’s mind at some point. But Crowley had always been too irresponsible, and as awful as it feels to admit it, Yu doesn’t truly trust any of the adults at Night Raven College. He doesn’t trust a lot of people, come to think of it.
“It’s because I thought about it that I came to the conclusion I should just handle it myself. Are you going to stop being a hypocrite now? I mean, having other options never kept you from going off on your own—like with the anemones.”
That seems to be the spark that makes Chrysos bristle, shaking his scathingly polite Octavinelle exterior. “If you must know—”
“I’m dying to hear your excuses,” Yu drawls, “because the last I remember, you would go off and pursue debt-evading or rebellious students on your own—you would go off and ‘handle’ them yourself.”
His mouth is running faster than his mind now, but he can’t be bothered to stop it.
“Don’t you remember that, too? I’m sure it must have been so satisfying in the moment when you were beating Ace up—him, magicless and defenseless, and you with all the power, feeling like you were in the right because no one else was there to govern your actions—”
“Yu.” Something has snapped. Chrysos’ voice is low and deadly, now brimming with palpable anger. “Are you willing to shut your mouth, or should I shut it for you?”
Yu lets himself laugh cynically. “Funny, because I’ve been wanting to ask you the same thing. Can’t take what you dish out either, huh—”
——?!
He almost falls backwards from the force of being struck. Pain erupts on his left cheek and under the hand he instinctively brings up to feel at it.
It hurts, but one look at the almost feral anger in Chrysos’ eyes and a sick part of Yu feels satisfied, like he’s in control again.
Still, Yu knows he’s going to regret this later. They probably both will.
Not that it makes a difference.
When Chrysos aggressively grabs him by the front of his shirt, Yu can’t help but smirk, even when disoriented from being punched in the face. He reaches a hand up to dig his nails into the flesh of Chrysos’ arm. “Resorting to violence because you have no other arguments?”
“Resorting to deflection because you’re obviously in the wrong?” Chrysos retorts, bearing the expression of one who knows he’s being provoked but still wants to give in to it. As a matter of fact, he probably has the strength to kill Yu right here and now. His unwavering death grip is proof enough of that.
But Yu pays it little mind, refusing to give in to his fear, swallowing it down—he’s been at other people’s mercy in this world since the start, it’s nothing new. “Like that’s your place to decide?”
A derisive scoff escapes him.
“Why don’t you keep doing what you do for everyone else, and mind your own damn business?”
He shifts his weight and kicks Chrysos’ shin as hard as he can, not above targeting a merman’s weakness.
Chrysos grimaces, stumbling, and his grip lessens. Yu takes advantage of it to try and thrash out of his hold, but Chrysos’ reaction time is far faster: he reaches to grab fistfuls of Yu’s shirt again, making sure the TA can’t run away like he planned.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Chrysos hisses, everything about him in disarray: strands of hair falling out of their perfect arrangement, polite diction discarded. “You can get what I’m saying through your head, but you keep choosing not to.”
“And?—”
There’s another cruel, quick response right on the tip of Yu’s tongue, but it never leaves his mouth. He stays defiantly silent, watching Chrysos’ shoulders shakily rise and fall with simmering anger. Watching Chrysos inhale sharply and draw back his fist—
The next thing Yu knows, he’s on his side, an inelegant heap on the floor. The same part of his face aches, a burst of pain that makes it hard to see.
As he sits up, Chrysos approaches him.
“You—... I—...”
For a few seconds, Chrysos starts and stops, trying to find something to say amid the obviously enraged haze of his mind.
“...Sometimes, I can’t believe you,” he finally says, letting a resigned venom seep into his words. “Preaching all these things and never putting them into practice with yourself.”
Yu waits—for him to say something else, to do something else—but nothing comes.
Chrysos just walks away, and then there’s no one else left in the hallway. It’s an anticlimactic ending, if he could even call it that. A fight that fizzled into nothing but dead silence.
…Only then, once left to his own devices again, does the bitter adrenaline wear off; and Yu shamefully concedes to no one but himself—
Maybe, just maybe, there was more validity to Chrysos’ words than he was willing to admit.
now that i have this blog i can finally talk about my writing/thought process without yapping in the tags of the original post!! yipee!!!
first: timeline-wise, we should remember that this is right after the end of book 5, and before the styx incident occurs. i specifically mentioned that this is the day after vil’s overblot/the day after the canon scene where grim goes to get a little snack out of the blot crystal. when i refer to yu “blacking out”, this drabble is what i mean
second: in tgtwst that. also happens to be the day after santiago enters his brief coma and yu sort of bribes the nurse (fic here). it’s not mentioned but those circumstances are a factor in chrysos’ behavior—he’s stressed, his best friend is currently out of commission bc of deadly magic, his other halfway decent friend is also constantly doing things that are extremely inadvisable for both his physical and mental health, and on top of that, this halfway decent friend has a compulsive tendency to lie straight to his face under pressure.
third: yes, this is just a few mere weeks after this fic where chrysos and yu are bonding. birds of a feather flock together, but they also know exactly where to strike each other. and yes the way that chrysos gradually uses more informal forms of yu’s name? intentional. plus, the fic was actually going to end in further violence—chrysos would have had to be dragged away by someone—but i made it end the way it did because the worst thing to yu is watching his friendships/connections fall apart in real time (even though he did it to himself lol). there’s also another reason but that’s for later
fourth: if you are genuinely wondering how chrysos figured out all of (gestures) this, because even i’ve barely mentioned yu collecting the blot stones; although it was implied to have happened in If The Shoe Doesn’t Fit:
Yu holds his breath a little longer, and then starts coughing, surrounded entirely by gaseous blot. God, fucking… Why had he decided to do this again? Why did he think hoarding seven blot stones was a noble, reasonable idea? Why was he suffering for the sake of students who would be better off if he’d never showed up?
—well, bear in mind that chrysos is by far and away my most observant oc, he will absolutely take note of the smallest things—and even in the aftermath of something as devastating as an overblot, it’s not hard for someone like him to notice when yu takes advantage of peoples’ backs being turned to do something (especially given that, you know, chrysos was there for two overblots)
fifth: another full disclaimer that i absolutely do not support these two’s coping mechanisms/anger outlets as healthy ones. they are fucked up teenagers. better argument resolution methods exist but these two are not acknowledging them at all by the end
sixth: they’ll. resolve their tensions only after book 6’s big events lol. in this fic it’s just: Chrysos “I care more about my close friends and loved ones than the collective good, but I can’t communicate it to save my life” Pendentif versus Yuhua “I am selfish but I feel obligated towards the greater good to my own detriment” Wei and erm they will probably have to acknowledge that AFTER yu gets involved in even more dangerous affairs
finally: yu doesn’t learn his lesson 💀 in case you couldn’t tell from the fact that he overblots like 2 books later
Yu blinks and stops, emerging from his thoughts. Thanks to the fair, the hallway is empty except for him—him and a certain Octavinelle student.
“Chrysos,” Yu says pleasantly, waving to him. Speaking as if nothing out of the usual had happened at all, as if he isn’t high-strung with nerves. “Headed somewhere?”
“I meant to visit the infirmary to find you,” admits Chrysos, “but… it looks like you’ve already been discharged.”
oh my god i thought i talked about it here but i didn't. okay. well.
do you guys want to see a chrysos vs yu argument or yu vs someone else. no comfort for either. pick your poison, pick the lesser of two evils, because it has been "yu self-sabotaging" hours
thinking abt the au where yu returns to his home world after 2 years in twst and he starts believing that it was just a crazy dream he had while in a coma... haha... lmao
thinking abt pre-ob yu having a weak personality, but only in the sense that around others, his personality would be drowned out by influences from other personalities
not gonna post the full fic, but there were some interesting concepts explored in today’s post-ob yu fic, so
(CONTENT WARNING: sui attempt or something close to it, mentions of sui)
he isn’t usually the type to be so all-or-nothing, but under certain circumstances he would rather do something dangerous and get peoples’ attention than ask for help. he has a very roundabout way of doing it.
