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         “ i don’t doubt it. you seem like you know plenty, “ he replied, from where he was hunched over the table. ever tinkering, ever making adjustments, percy’s eyes never strayed from the gun before him, even as he replied to the child hovering next to him. “ did someone say otherwise, or is that a simple statement of fact? “ maybe she wanted to help? she’d expressed interest in his weapons before, though he assumed they simply scared her and she was uncertain of what they did, rather than a true wish to learn. 

     “ i’m well aware, keyleth, you’re not a stupid person. “ her insistence, the defensive tone, it was almost worrying, though he can’t help but crack a small smile, at the very image of her. “ have i ever implied otherwise? “ there are times, particularly, with people, where keyleth, while not stupid, is a bit oblivious, but to imply that she knows nothing is -- just wrong.                      “ wait, did something happen? “

      “ terrified. “ how could he not be? he -- when he made that deal, when he’d thought he’d dreamt the entire thing, he’d had no idea what he was eventually getting himself into, and the knowledge that ripley was still out there, still gathering resources, using his inventions for something terrible, it turned his stomach. how much horror must he repent for? how could he possibly fix this, make it better, all that striving to be a better person, for this. he’s losing sleep again, it shows in his eyes, in the shadows of his face and the slightest tremble in his hands, only appearing when they aren’t working, working, working on something -- but working on something is exactly what got them into this mess, wasn’t it? he’s tired, exhausted, too tired for hatred, or to want revenge. he just wants to live, and as he runs a shaky hand through shaggy white hair, there’s a realization that he might now be able to. can he make peace with that? the knowledge that he might not survive this fight?

      “ my younger sister. “ he means to tease, to make her laugh, but he’s never been good at being carefree, and it comes out soft, awed, as if he’s still not sure he believes she’s real. it’s been so long, after all, and though he willingly handed over whitestone into her much more capable hands, seeing her is still a shock -- a good one, but a shock just the same. there’s hesitation in him, as he reaches for her, squeezes her shoulder, ducks his head to make searching eye contact. “ what am i supposed to see, cassandra? what’s wrong? “

i want to get back on track, but between work and adult shit and the headaches, and depression, i just am really struggling to stay motivated and write? i might put some threads on hold for all my blogs and try to find motivation or some way to reboot or something but im honestly not sure how successful. just know i’m trying, alright? i miss y’all, and miss having a hobby