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thesilliestrovingalive · 5 months ago

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Updated: December 24, 2024

Reworked Character #1: Marco Rossi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to neglect, self-harm, alcoholism, SA, death, and torture.

Real name: Marchrius Dennis Rossi

Alias: Intelligent Soldier

Occupation: Major of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Become a mechatronics engineer, foster a bunch of kittens, and start a company that designs and develops functional computer models, artificial intelligence, and cybersecurity programs for both military and civilian usage

Special skills: Proficiency in lightweight firearms and handling military technology, mechatronics engineering, computer science, intimidation tactics, and drunken-style boxing

Hobbies: Creating artificial intelligence and technological viruses from scratch, calculating complex mathematical equations and running times of computer programs in his head, taking naps at his desk, completing crossword puzzles, and stargazing

Likes: His quick mental calculation, those he considers to be friends, going on smoke breaks with Tarma, Eri, and Tequila, visiting cat cafes to play and snuggle with the kitties, and subway rides where there are little to no people around him

Dislikes: Unnecessary distractions, large lines in front of restaurants, being put in a vulnerable position, computer crashes paired with slow internet connectivity, and witnessing the torture and brutal executions of comrades

Favourite food: Chinese noodles (preferably its mildly spicy) and barbecued burgers and hotdogs with onions and honey-flavoured carrots

Sexuality: Sex-repulsed, aromantic asexual

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Blood type: A-

Weight: 162 lbs. (73.48 cm)

Design: He's a 5' 7" (170.18 cm) Italian-American ectomorph with an average musculature, broad shoulders, ivory skin, a cleft chin, and dull turquoise eyes. Marco sports wavy strawberry blonde hair, characterised by a large forelock that falls to the tip of his nose on the right side. On the left, two short, thick strands with subtle waves curve gracefully above his eyebrow. His features are further accentuated by well-groomed sideburns and a neatly trimmed chinstrap beard.

He bears occasional dark circles under his eyes and a distinctive glass left eye in a lighter turquoise hue. He has accumulated several battle scars: a few stab wounds on his right shoulder; vertical cuts on his chest; a deep slice mark extending from the left side of his nose bridge to the back of his trapezius muscle; multiple lacerations and severe burns on his back; a large patch of scar tissue on his right lumbar region; and bullet wounds on both calves and one on his left thigh. To cope with his emotional pain, he has a history of self-harm, which has resulted in the horizontal scars visible on his right forearm, hips, and inner thighs.

He's well-known for his cutting-edge, cybernetic left arm crafted from sleek, high-strength metallic alloys and advanced, artificially intelligent flexi-circuits, allowing for enhanced strength, agility, dexterity, and precision. It also has micro-sensors and neural interfaces seamlessly integrating with Marco’s nervous system for intuitive control. It possesses a high-strength, serrated blade made of tungsten, capable of extending up to 12 inches (30.48 cm) from the forearm. It can temporarily deploy an energy shield that surrounds him, providing protection from incoming attacks. This shield is powered by advanced capacitors and optimised for maximum efficiency using AI technology.

Marco's military gear consists of a white headband, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, and a platinum grey sleeveless shirt. He wears a crimson vest with four pockets and an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back, alongside khaki-green army cargo pants tucked into his olive green paratrooper boots. He also wears a leather belt with a snap-on silver buckle, mahogany gloves, a sheath for his combat knife, and a gun holster for his trusty handgun. The pockets of Marco's army cargo pants carry two boxes of cigars, while his vest contains a gilded lighter he found in Gerhardt City, a black case for his garnet-hued reading glasses, and an old photograph of pre-teen him, his father, and his childhood cat on a leash at a park during autumn.

Over his shirt, he wears a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His right forearm is wrapped in worn gauze, and he wears two black bandoliers that form an X-shape, holding bullets for his handgun. Marco carries a khaki-green load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a Gatling shot, and a thunder shot. He's always carrying around a red-orange laptop adorned with a bronze circle on the lid, housing a black six-pointed star at its centre. This custom laptop serves as his mobile command centre, where he develops malware to breach enemy cybersecurity, tackles various classified technological assignments for the military, and works on personal software projects.

He wears his father's circular, gilded watch on his right wrist, using it to check the time as a reminder of his father's enduring presence and an opportunity to seek guidance from the past. The timepiece features an ivory dial with burgundy hands and black Roman numerals from I to XII, interspersed with four thin etchings. Additional details include a secondary display bar showing the time and AM/PM indicator, while a leather strap is secured with a matching gold buckle.

Character summary: He's a charismatic and cautious leader who takes immense pride in his high intellect, computer expertise, and masculinity. He's a self-reliant introvert who prefers to accept help and emotional support from others when absolutely necessary. His stoic demeanour is a constant, making it challenging for him to show humour or vulnerability. Due to being a workaholic, he has developed a harmful habit of neglecting his own basic needs, including eating when necessary. He mainly struggles with loneliness because he finds it difficult to form meaningful connections due to his exceptionally high intellect, which can make it challenging for others who may not be able to keep up with his level of understanding. He also struggles with major depressive disorder, trust issues, a fear of abandonment, and unresolved trauma stemming from past experiences. While Marco tends to internalise his emotions, he has learned to open up to trusted individuals when his burdens become too overwhelming to bear alone.

Despite his gentle and taciturn nature, he's capable of being ruthless and will fly into a deep rage when General Morden's name is mentioned near him. When interrogating others, he employs a menacing tone, his aloof demeanour making those on the receiving end feel uneasy and intimidated. He doesn't hesitate to wield threats of violence or exploit vulnerabilities, and with Trevor by his side, his intimidation factor is amplified. He's a socially awkward loner who doesn't tolerate distractions and has a strong fear of losing his current friends.

When experiencing great distress in relation to past trauma, he's prone to having a full-blown mental breakdown and indulging in suicidal ideation. Marco tends to get stressed easily, which has led to him developing a chain-smoking habit. He privately grapples with self-harm and binge drinking, often consuming multiple beers at once, while concealing his struggles with alcoholism and suicidal thoughts from those around him. He attempts to conceal his struggles with alcoholism by either excessively partying or withdrawing socially, and privately harms himself due to his reluctance to burden others or cause unnecessary concern. Additionally, he struggles with denial, finding it difficult to accept the loss of his father and former war comrades, and resisting the idea that he needs professional mental health support.

He has a dry sense of humour that he rarely showcases, and when he does, his witty remarks often blend English and Italian. Having learned some Japanese from Tarma and Eri, he occasionally sprinkles Japanese phrases into his jokes. He deeply cares about his friends and will stop at nothing to protect them, even if it means putting his own life at risk. He finds great comfort in the presence of his best friend, Tarma, thanks to his breezy and optimistic attitude. Although he doesn't always show it, he genuinely enjoys Tarma's jokes and appreciates listening to them, even if they occasionally test his patience. He often mistakes Sophia Greenville for his mother due to their similar appearance, and he's always embarrassed when he accidentally calls her "mommy”. Nevertheless, he's deeply grateful for the maternal affection she shows him, treating him like a son and unknowingly becoming the kind of mother he wishes he had.

He cherishes his flamboyant and extremely cuddly Domestic Shorthair, Perifa. Perifa boasts copper eyes and a blue-black, reddish-orange, and white calico coat, which he diligently brushes. She was a heartwarming birthday gift from Tarma, received prior to the Survival Island Occupation. He finds comfort in spending quality time with his cat, affectionately referred to as his "dramatic little princess”. He enjoys engaging in playtime, giving gentle pets, and even using soothing baby talk to calm his feline companion. He's easily offended by people who rudely insult cats, going as far as to comfort the insulted feline and silently glaring at the person who uttered such words.

He’s in a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Fio and Tarma, a bond that satisfies his deep-seated longing for emotional intimacy. He’s close friends with Trevor, regularly mentoring him in computer skills like reading binary code and enjoying social time together, but their occasional marijuana use has raised concerns due to Marco's pre-existing unhealthy smoking habits. He holds Tequila in high esteem, recognizing his pivotal contributions to the success of the Regular Army and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. He deeply values his wisdom, open-mindedness, fatherly demeanour, and exceptional covert agent skills. He dislikes accompanying Nadia on shopping trips because her constant meddling and overly inquisitive nature frustrate him.

He once had a vision of creating an artificial intelligence, dubbed Alice, that could mimic human development, emotion, and personality. However, he abandoned the project due to concerns that it could become rogue if provoked incorrectly, and he felt uneasy about the notion of being a "father" to such a being. He views his computer programs solely as practical tools, designed to fulfill specific purposes, rather than as "children" with distinct identities. As a result, he developed a skeptical view of artificial intelligence being fully human. This stems from his understanding that the emotions and unique personalities exhibited by AI are the result of intense programming. In his opinion, genuine emotion and personality require the physical and mental growth that comes with human ageing and development, something AI systems lack.

Having never experienced raising children, he had always doubted his ability to provide love and be a good parental figure because he was consumed by his own interests and mental health issues. But everything changed when he adopted an abandoned baby girl and felt an obligation to provide parental care for the child. With the guidance and support of his friends, he discovered valuable parenting skills and named his new daughter Midori. He transformed into a loving, supportive, and overprotective father, dedicated to ensuring her happiness and safety. He made it a point to offer wise advice, hoping to spare her from his own past mistakes.

He found immense joy in watching Midori form close bonds with his friends, affectionately regarding them as uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Her friendship with Pocke, Walter's adoptive son and a Martian infant, brought him equal delight. He was particularly grateful for the ways his friends nurtured Midori's passions: Tarma and Alisa encouraged her interest in engineering, while Walter and Trevor fostered her love of music. He can't imagine a world without his adoptive daughter, who has brought him a new sense of purpose and motivated him to overcome his personal hardships.

Whenever he's had too much to drink, he starts to act rowdy, easy-going, overly affectionate, and clingy. When sexual activity is mentioned, he reacts with extreme discomfort as he finds it to be disgusting. He’ll either become nauseous or start gagging, displaying expressions of strong distaste towards the person discussing the topic. If he unexpectedly encounters someone engaging in sexual activity, he often experiences a panic attack, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. In such situations, he usually tries to seek comfort and support from a trusted individual to talk to and receive a reassuring hug. This experience may also trigger unpleasant thoughts related to sexual matters, leading him to fear that he's somehow perverted and disgusting. He'll only lose his temper with others if they say something extremely rude to him or his friends, intend to hurt his loved ones or tell him blatant lies. Although he tends to have a pessimistic outlook on life, he sometimes manages to see the brighter side of things.

He has a sleepwalking habit, often accompanied by vivid dreams of fighting or killing someone, which greatly annoys and frightens Tarma, who’s frequently the target of these nocturnal episodes. He resents being hailed as a war hero due to his intense aversion to fame and his conviction that conflict should prompt sombre reflection, not glorification. He dislikes flirtatious advances and has low tolerance for complaining, bullying, and excessive talking, which can trigger irritability and extreme defensiveness. He feels uneasy with romantic inquiries and is secretly intimidated by Gimlet, whose relentless verbal aggression and frequent heated confrontations leave him on edge. He has a commanding presence that demands respect, and his consistently serious demeanour can make him seem intimidating and unapproachable to others.

He's incredibly introspective and prone to questioning the intentions of his friends and his own worthiness of having meaningful friendships. He defines his masculinity by embodying traits like physical strength, courage, independence, leadership, and assertiveness. However, he makes a conscious effort to avoid toxic masculinity by ensuring his behaviour doesn't harm others' feelings or self-worth. Despite this balanced approach, he admits to having some vanity regarding specific issues he considers unbefitting of his ideal masculinity, such as sagging pants and carrying toys, as he sees these as detrimental to personal dignity. Whenever he encounters a pair of glowing red eyes, he's either deeply unsettled or irresistibly drawn to them, captivated by their aura of curiosity and command. This hesitant fascination occasionally leads him to wander aimlessly until it directs him to a destination of its choosing.

He’s a consequentialist who believes people's actions are judged by their consequences. He thinks it's more logical for individuals to prioritise not causing harm to others and maximising the welfare of both themselves and others over personal gain. In his view, everyone should act in ways that benefit themselves and others, taking into account fully informed and rational preferences. He believes that all conflicts are gradually moving towards equitable unification and collective strength for humanity, paving the way for a new era free from violence, hate, and political corruption. From his perspective, all life forms have the capacity for destruction, and if their creative drive is surpassed, it can lead to severe consequences, ultimately undermining the act of creation.

Backstory: Marchrius Dennis Rossi was born on April 13, 2005 in Twin Falls, Idaho, United States. Marco's mother, Katalina, was a researcher for a secret government project, and his father, Salvatore Rossi, was stuck in a dead-end office job. His parents had a distant relationship and had Marco, hoping that a child would bring them closer together and fix their broken marriage, but they often ignored each other and argued. Katalina had never wanted Marco, viewing him as an unplanned consequence and a responsibility that hindered her career. His father provided unwavering support and care, while his mother was neglectful and emotionally absent, hiding her true behaviour behind closed doors. But despite this, Marco shocked his parents by exhibiting a fast-growing intelligence at a very young age.

From the moment he opened his eyes, he muttered his first word, "daddy". He learned how to walk at 3 months old and showed advanced motor skills by 5 and a half months. He skipped object permanence altogether and completed his first crossword puzzle at just 1 year old, astonishingly understanding political terms. By the age of 2, he had memorised all 50 U.S. states and read two books in their entirety, demonstrating a profound understanding of their documented subjects: moral philosophy and psychoanalysis. By 4, he was answering calculus-level questions and describing his feelings about endangered animals in zoos with sophisticated vocabulary.

From the age of 2, he would occasionally see a pair of glowing red eyes in darkened corners or places drenched in darkness. He described them as always watching him and swore that they belonged to a living, breathing creature that seamlessly blended into the darkness. When he turned 5, he created an imaginary friend as an excuse to enjoy his alone time and avoid befriending the children who frequented the local park. This imaginary friend was named "Jubby", and Marco often drew him, depicting him as an anthropomorphic snow leopard with golden eagle wings, Komodo dragon legs, and a face covered in a ball of black scribbles.

Before he turned 6, his neglectful mother, Katalina, grew fed up with how "weird" he was. She was also annoyed by his persistent fear of a glowing pair of red eyes that watched him occasionally and his uninterested attitude towards forming connections. While Salvatore was away from home, Katalina took matters into her own hands and packed her belongings. Before leaving, she noticed Marco standing before the basement door, which was wide open. She investigated and saw the same glowing pair of red eyes, which terrified her.

Believing that Marco was attracting an evil spirit, she pushed him down the basement stairs and locked the door, hoping to contain the perceived threat. Abandoning Marco, she left the house, leaving him absolutely terrified. Marco attempted to cope with the trauma by conjuring up Jubby, but he claimed that his imaginary friend never came to his aid. This painful realisation marked the day he began to harbour resentment towards his mother, feeling unappreciated, unloved, and viewed as a burdensome presence in her life. When Salvatore returned home and discovered that Marco was trapped in the basement by Katalina, he was infuriated. His father attempted to track down Katalina, but it was too late. This traumatic event instilled in him a lasting fear of heading down into dark basements alone.

During his time in grade 1, Marco struggled to make friends and often looked sad when he saw other children with their mothers, a concern his father noticed. To cheer him up, his father brought home a Turkish Angora with a black, orange, and white fur coat, which sparked Marco's love for felines. As a result of his childhood cat's fondness for eating bugs, he affectionately named her Grubley. At the age of five, his father introduced him to the world of computing, igniting a passion for computer science that would last a lifetime. Salvatore was always supportive of Marco and his passions, encouraging him to excel in school, chase his dreams, and make the most of the opportunities life has to offer.

Marco knew he had an uncle, but his father forbade him from seeing him. Salvatore had warned him that his uncle was untrustworthy due to his con artist lifestyle and struggled with alcoholism. However, he was permitted to visit his aunt and grandparents, who were incredibly kind. They encouraged him to appreciate nature and the simple things in life, rather than spending all his time on the computer. He has fond memories of his grandfather teaching him how to barbecue. His grandmother, an immigrant from Italy, taught him some Italian and often shared photographs she had taken in her home country before moving to the United States.

His father unknowingly sparked his interest in the Tuatha Dé Danann, an ancient race of demigods that existed before all life, and two antediluvian places, Atlantis and Ultima Thule. He would silently observe his father spend a short amount of time researching these fascinating topics when not working. Marco would eventually discover that he has a slight hint of Tuatha Dé Danann DNA, leading him to wonder if others might also have ancestral ties tracing back to the Hadean Eon.

He was bullied by many students for being perceived as "friendless" and for having an abnormally high intelligence, leaving him feeling isolated. A few students attempted to befriend him, but he rebuffed their efforts, fearing they would eventually abandon him. He also struggled to connect with them on an intellectual level, feeling like an outsider. During high school, he was involved in a few physical altercations, but he typically managed to defuse the situations with his words or, if necessary, defend himself relentlessly. In his spare time, he mastered the unconventional art of drunken-style boxing, giving him an edge in self-defence. Despite his school troubles, he excelled in all his classes and achieved outstanding grades in mathematics and computer science courses.

Before graduating from a state technical high school, Salvatore died due to health complications caused by Huntington's disease. Shortly after, Marco's beloved cat, Grubley, peacefully passed away in her sleep. Marco was devastated by these losses, compounded by the shocking revelation that his father had been secretly battling Huntington's disease without ever sharing his struggle with him. The last gift his father gave him was a red-orange laptop, which was intended to be a graduation present. Rather than letting the tragedy consume him, he transformed his grief into a driving force, cultivating resilience and independence. To move forward, he made the difficult decision to distance himself from his remaining family, seeking to leave the past behind and forge a new path.

He began developing artificial intelligence to engage in online debates and sophisticated computer software, including anti-viruses and error-checking tools, as a means to earn a living and hone his programming skills. He went so far as to meticulously rebuild and upgrade the desktop computer in his father's old office at home, enhancing both its design and performance. Marco decided to attend officer's school at the Academy of Special Technologies and subsequently joined the prestigious Peregrine Falcons Squad shortly after graduation.

Once he joined, he was trained under Colonel Hart of the Peregrine Falcons Squad, a well-respected technique instructor in the Regular Army, and Chun Yutetsu, a combat school instructor. Marco feels immense regret for destroying the Iron Nokana because Chun Yutetsu was inside, suffering a horrific death of being burned and crushed alive. To make matters worse, Colonel Hart revealed to him that Chun Yutetsu had joined the Rebel Army after General Morden held his daughter hostage and threatened to kill her unless he piloted the Iron Nokana and provided them with crucial data on the SV-001. Marco describes Colonel Hart as a golf enthusiast and a good friend of President Marx who will never forgive General Morden as a human being and only wishes to take his last breath.

Unlike many of his peers, he quickly distinguished himself through his exceptional leadership skills and computer expertise, earning him a spot as 1st Lieutenant of the P.F. Squad. This was also when he met Tarma, forming a fast friendship after discussing their interests, reminiscing on their childhoods, and having a couple of beers. Tarma was his first real friend, whom he holds dear, despite viewing him as a “maniacal gearhead”. Through his friendship with Tarma, he discovered the value of having friends and stepped out of his comfort zone to befriend the other members of the P.F. Squad and Regular Army. He would also gradually develop a queerplatonic relationship with Tarma as he deeply cherished their friendship and came to realise that it filled a void of emotional intimacy left by his father's passing.

When the Amadeus Syndicate served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army, Marco met Doctor Amadeus, the organisation's founder and Nadia's clone mother. They had a cordial relationship, and Doctor Amadeus was particularly impressed by Marco's exceptional computer skills. She wanted to utilise his talents for a bioengineering experiment, aiming to create super soldiers using abandoned Martian and Invader technology.

During a battle against a terrorist attack, Marco suffered severe injuries and was taken to one of the original Amadeus Syndicate's medical facilities to recover. Doctor Amadeus seized this opportunity to force herself upon him to collect semen and DNA samples, leaving him deeply traumatised. The experience was so distressing that Marco tried to suppress the memory, inadvertently forgetting much of the history and purpose of the Amadeus Syndicate in the process. He also swore his revenge to kill Doctor Amadeus one day for what she did to him. As a result of this event, he began to act strangely anxious and slightly aggressive when in a hospital or near Nadia for prolonged periods of time.

During the first coup led by General Morden, he scraped together the remnants of the Regular Army government forces to reassemble the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. He became the leader of the governmental resistance against General Morden but at a great cost. As he, his comrades, and his friends were approaching the last known base of the Rebel Army, disaster struck. General Morden and his soldiers ambushed them, seizing the opportunity to decimate the remnants of the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S, leaving Marco with mental and physical scars that would haunt him forever.

Marco endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, and the Rebel soldiers, who brutally tortured him, gouged out his left eye, and severed his left arm. After experiencing a strange tingling sensation of familiarity, General Morden realised that Marco possessed Tuatha Dé Danann heritage. Intrigued, he discreetly collected DNA samples from Marco, which would later be utilised by the Amadeus Syndicate for experimentation in bioengineering and advanced military technology. The cruelty continued as Morden forced Marco to witness the slaughter and torture of his comrades and friends. Devastated by the losses and horrors he experienced, Marco teetered on the brink of giving up. He was even convinced that his best friend, Tarma, had perished, plunging him into a deep depression.

However, Tarma managed to escape the Rebel Army's clutches and staged a daring rescue, reuniting with Marco. With Tarma's emotional support and his own newfound rage, Marco found the strength to keep fighting. Before confronting General Morden, Tarma constructed his prosthetic left arm using technological debris and cutting-edge medical technology available to the Regular Army. However, it took him a couple of weeks to adapt to his new limb. Together, they became legendary heroes, ultimately defeating Morden and restoring world peace. Marco's bravery earned him the rank of Major, but he soon grew to resent his war hero status as he realised that the media often glorifies conflict.

Shortly after the Great Morden War, Marco created a computer virus for fun, which inadvertently spread to the Regular Army's mainframe server. The virus destroyed several security systems, compromised the lowest echelons of the Regular Army, and nearly triggered the launch of a nuclear missile. Fortunately, a military scout named Trevor, whom Marco would meet years later during his recruitment into the P.F. Squad, managed to stop it. Marco refuses to discuss this potentially disastrous incident, even after a few too many beers.

Marco continued to lead the P.F. Squad together with Tarma, who is the true linchpin of the elite task force of the Regular Army. Marco joined forces with Tarma, Fio, and Eri for a second mission to thwart General Morden's second coup. Although the mission technically failed, as they captured a Martian troop from the Pipovulaj Army disguised as General Morden, the Regular Army's higher-ups deemed it a success nonetheless. This moment got on Marco's nerves as he deeply desired to see General Morden brought to justice and face the full consequences of his actions.

Following this success, Marco attempted to resign, but his higher-ups quickly denied his request. They insisted on his participation in a mission to eliminate the remaining remnants of the Rebel Army and other operations addressing threats to global peace such as the Pipovulaj Army.

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artbean · 1 year ago

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@eddiemonth day 2: friendship

Outcasts stick together. (tw for loss of a parent under the cut)

Maybe your mom dies, your dad gets arrested and you wind up on your Uncle's doorstep with your hair buzzed off and shoes that pinch your toes. But when you turn up to the first day of school a week later, your friend's got new tapes for his walkman and quietly lets you use it in the library at lunch. After school, before his mom's gotten off work, you stop at 7/11 for a pop to share while you read The Hobbit to him and count the yellow cars that drive by while you sit at the curb.

And maybe everything’s different and will never be how it once was, but maybe this is the one thing that will stay the same. You can sit with your friend after school drinking coke and reading Tolkien and talking about your shitty dads, and it might not make the load any lighter but at least you’re not the only one carrying it for a while.

When his mom invites you to sleep over that night, she makes you a grilled cheese sandwich, and it’s less brown than your mama made you, but it tastes like home anyway. She crafts you a nest of quilts in his room, worn soft and smelling like fresh linen. You’ll take turns listening to his walkman until one of you finally falls asleep, because neither of you have gotten used to a quiet home at night.

As the music slows with the dying battery, distorting but with the core of the song remaining unchanged, you drift off alongside it.

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meowreblog · 2 months ago

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minkie pie after living in a rat infested cellar with no exercise and being severely malnourished, and yet still being incredibly strong physically and having a sleek, flat mane with zero matting, lice or knots

#muffins saga #neglect tw #abuse tw

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bizlybebo · 7 months ago

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incredibly specific and honestly i know im reading too far into it because it's just because of his powers but knowing of dakota's past and the situation he grew up in after the resurgence. i feel like there's something to say about how much/how fast he eats. like food hoarding and overeating when food is accessible/freely available can be a huge thing for kids who have been neglected and it just fucks me up to think about through that lens

#vixen rambles #dakota cole #jrwi pd #neglect tw #cw neglect #< just in case

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 25 days ago

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when you nonverbal severely communication disabled and caregiver reliant, your caregiver can just. lie and make shit up when speak for you to doctors to cover up their abuse and neglect, cover up fact that they don’t know your symptoms (not even basic ones like. pain), not tried to, never listened to you, never noticed, never tried to help, even tried to delay help (n succeeded) when you desperately ask for it.

doctor then give a shitty misdiagnosis (diagnosis that stigmatizing even when it real, any new symptom going be blamed on it now, even if it acute life threatening) because of those lie. doctor then get out their own lane own speciality to nullify your existing diagnoses that you know seriously affect you like it does affect sometimes seriously affect many people.

n your incompetent, ignorant, ableist, abusive neglectful caregivers so full of hope n trust in medical professionals—because with all that they never had to go through, all these years surviving without them, why wouldn’t they—believe them. believe that in future should work toward fading away the only aids that still stubbornly preserving an ounce of my dignity n hope, to get me walking, speaking, because there no reason can’t. get more reason (now affirmed by someone with impressive degree!) to never challenge idea they hold since very beginning, that this just like their temporary illnesses, n “bright future” lie ahead of me where am perfectly able bodied (and neurotypical, but in their view am not autistic etc to begin with, so all null & void) & walking & living independently n happy with better life because am able bodied n walking n not tragically depressingly wheelchair bound.

n am the one have to live with their incompetency and ignorance.

n it’s going to kill me.

everyone write your story for you. everyone write your story for you based on their own life their own assumption their own bigotry, then treat as if they quoted directly from you. n not even have reason doubt any of this power dynamic wrong n messed up.

your own writing of your own story. either silenced, thrown away, never listened to, it never happened, it never got written in first place. here, this the story you wrote, as they hand you story authored by every single person on earth except you.

doctor have power over patients, parents have power over child. n when you add fact that you’re completely totally utterly vulnerable n dependent n reliant on them, have to 100% receive what you receive from them because you not have power of protest—somewhat because ability, but mostly because you not given the dignity n grace to be given that power

everyone have power over me. because am dependent on everyone’s good grace, help, support, saving.

n everyone around you abandon you for it. because you’re alone n suffering n too disabled to self help n thus insufferable n needy n too complicating to their life

but

“beggars can’t be choosers”

n you need them. you need all these people. you will never escape. you will die here.

#loaf screm #severely disabled #nonverbal #actually nonverbal #abuse tw #neglect tw

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avpd-polls · 24 days ago

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#avpd #actually avpd #avoidant personality disorder #cluster c #avpd safe #tw neglect #neglect tw

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compassionatereminders · 3 months ago

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It's like they think if you're too disabled to care for yourself it's because you're not motivated and not trying, and that by refusing to do things for you they can motivate you to do more for yourself. Because they generally don't believe in people being genuinely incapable, they think it's always a character flaw that they can force you to work on by refusing to accommodate it. But that's not how disability works, and that's why I starved and lived in filth an entire year I was just too sick to take care of myself while they kept insisting that it was all my own fault for "not working to improve"

#kat gets personal #ableism tw #institutionalization tw #starvation tw #unsanitary tw #neglect tw

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dark-type-appreciator · 29 days ago

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#Liam chatters #Foresight #child neglect tw #neglect tw #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #// he sawww itttt

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constantvariations · 1 year ago

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Volume 9 in a nutshell

#rwde #suicide tw #neglect tw #refreshing my video editing muscles w a shitpost #its 'this rainbow six siege video is hilarious' on yt if yall wanna check og audio #anyway shoutout to thesillyvivi for directing me to that video and love your shit. makes me laugh every time

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thesilliestrovingalive · 4 months ago

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Updated: December 15, 2024

Reworked Character #6: Nadia Cassel

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, neglect, sterilisation, human experimentation, abuse, kidnapping, stalking, cannibalism, and SA.

Real name: Nadège Véronique Comtois

Alias: Perky Foodie

Occupation: Private First Class of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., fighter pilot for the Regular Army, a freelance painter, a tactical scientist for the Amadeus Syndicate (formerly), and an e-celeb supermodel (formerly)

Retirement plans: Become a professional forensic scientist, acquire a private jet, and establish an art studio and an ethical science lab

Special skills: Marksmanship, aviation skills, forensic science, knowledge of biological hazards, anatomy, and genetics, and proficiency in fashion modelling, sketching, and painting

Imperfect clone abilities: At her own will, she can rapidly regenerate missing limbs and organs, minimising blood loss and restoring her body to its original form without the need for medical aid. Her blood possesses extraordinary healing properties, capable of instantly curing non-lethal ailments, skin punctures, and all manner of burns. When Nadia opens her mouth wide and flexibly shifts her upper and lower front teeth, she reveals four syringe-like fangs, which are neatly concealed within the hard palate. These fangs enable her to consume the blood of other living beings and replenish her own lost vital fluid.

Her body is shielded from toxins and pathogens by a translucent, grease-like coating that kills threats on contact, leaving her skin with a subtle, luminous sheen. Notably, her pancreas, shielded by a thick layer of blubber, has the unique ability to produce a bile-infused silk. She utilises this silk to puke up robust, ensnaring nets that capture her victims and slowly burn them with its corrosive properties. On the palms of Nadia's hands are eyes with reseda chartreuse irises, feline pupils, and serpentine eyelids, which enable night vision and supplemental sight whenever she closes her facial eyes. Her fingernails are entirely fleshy, concealing retractable claws made of an adamantine greenish-yellow material.

Hobbies: Painting landscapes, going on shopping sprees (she often buys gifts for her comrades and friends), reading books on human and animal anatomy, genetic engineering, and forensics, messing around with flight simulation software, and eating large quantities of food after each mission

Likes: Trevor, food challenges, the Walking Machines, maintaining her figure, and sunbathing and enjoying a three-scoop ice cream cone at the beach

Dislikes: Starvation, getting unnecessarily dirty, not getting the chance to pilot the Slug Flyer or Slug Copter, people doubting her fashion advice and telling her to keep her mouth shut, and individuals that she views as scary and incapable of having fun (such as Tequila and Eri)

Favourite food: Coq au vin, phaal curry, and anything sweet and sugary

Favourite drink: Cotton candy soda

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Female

Age: 12 (in 2022), 18 (in 2028), 20 (in 2030), 22 (in 2032), 24 (in 2034), 31 (in 2041), 33 (in 2043), 34 (in 2044), and 37 (in 2047)

Blood type: B+

Weight: 120 lbs. (54 kg)

Design: She’s a 5’ 4” (162.56 cm) French ectomorph with a gracefully thin body, small breasts, curvaceous hips, sloping shoulders, and a serpentine tongue covered in microscopic spikes. She has limestone skin and possesses feline-like pupils that transform into vertical slits only when she opens her mouth wide enough to reveal her concealed fangs. Her eyes are heterochromatic with her right eye being a warm amber, while her left eye is grey-green with brown flecks. Nadia has a few moles: one on the right side of her chin; one near the corner of her left eye; two above her left breast; one on the back of her right hand; and one slightly below her right knee.

She has raspberry red hair with voluminous curls that reach the middle of her upper back, but she often ties it into two pigtails with stretchy reseda green hair bands. She has a silvery-pink birthmark on her left shoulder, almost shaped like a crescent moon with three protruding spikes. A large circular patch on her upper back is stripped of skin, exposing crimson muscles and purplish veins, and her greenish-yellow spine is partially protruding.

Her military gear consists of a metal dog tag necklace with her name, an avocado green tank top, and the same knee pads and socks as Nadia Cassel from Metal Slug 4. She wears Argentine blue neoprene gloves, reseda green leather belt with a snap-on silver buckle, and a champagne-hued vest with the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. insignia on the back. She wears navy blue army cargo pants tucked into twilight lavender combat boots with spiked soles. She also wears a dirty white lab coat, a case for her stun gun, and a gun holster for a handgun. Underneath her uniform, she wears an identical bikini to Everlasting Summer Nadia's.

The pockets of Nadia’s vest carry around a pocket knife, a notepad, two pens (one red and one blue), a black cellphone with a metallic green case, and a bag of pecans. In the pockets of her lab coat, she carries a caramel-filled chocolate candy bar in silver wrapping and a small pine-wood box of strawberry frosted sugar cookies. She wears a forest green waist pack containing a bottle of laxatives and two blood packs for snacking. Attached to the left side of her belt is a square-shaped pouch with a clear plastic window, showcasing balls of bubblegum and lollipops in different colours inside. The pouch features an amaranth pink outline, feline ears with bluish-white fur, a pistachio-hued strap with a black button clasp, and a metallic silver zipper.

Over her tank top, she dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around her walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. She wears two dark brown bandoliers that cross over her body in an X-shape, each holding grenades. Nadia carries around a navy blue load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a 7.62mm AR-10 Autorifle, a medical kit, a DOLL bodysuit, and liquid and pill bottles of cures and deadly chemicals. She carries Melekhai, an orange-and-white cat plushie with blue eyes and an emerald green business tie, along with greenish-black gas masks reminiscent of those worn by the Ptolemaic Army special forces, to distribute to her teammates in need of one. She also carries around a painting kit, her mint green sketchbook with bubblegum pink polka dots, and a set of drawing pencils with two erasers and a sharpener.

She also wields a specialised rifle that fires needles containing transformative liquids, capable of altering humans into simian or mantis creatures. Additionally, she carries purplish rolling bombs that contain mummifying breath and throwable canisters filled with a zombie-inducing orangish phlegm that explodes upon impact. She wears safety goggles, star-shaped lavender spinel earrings that dangle from her ears, and a non-dangling peridot belly ring piercing.

Character summary: She boasts swift wit and inventive verbal humour, often outsmarting her foes with clever sabotage tactics. Despite being a childish, happy-go-lucky, and sassy goofball, she has a surprisingly intelligent and cynical side, but she loves to indulge her silly and jubilant nature. Due to her fondness for her exceptional intellect, she sometimes perceives other people as “intellectually inferior” to herself. She conceals her bitterness and wariness of strangers behind a facade of playful teasing, mischievous pranks, sarcastic remarks, and a charming smile. She cherishes her friendship with Trevor, who is her first true best friend. She appreciates his laid-back nature and ability to understand her effortlessly. Over time, she has developed subtle romantic feelings for him, largely due to his hacking expertise and the enjoyable quality time they share. However, she has become adept at concealing these emotions.

She enjoys taking her friends on shopping sprees, blending social time with style consultations. She demonstrates her loyalty to her friends by nurturing their relationships and showing platonic affection, often showering them with hugs and kisses. She's a fearless advocate for herself and others, refusing to tolerate bullying or any form of mistreatment, and will boldly speak out against it. She has a fondness for assigning nicknames to those around her, including friends and foes alike. She uses Melekhai for stress relief and often talks to the plushie about her frustrations and disappointments, and is willing to share him with others who need some comfort.

She's a friendly, humorous, and talkative busybody with a passion for creative expression and thrill-seeking adventures, which give her a taste of what it truly means to live. Despite efforts to maintain her supermodel figure, she has developed mild bulimia nervosa; while trying to resist the urge, she sometimes purges after eating. Additionally, she struggles with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), manifesting as a fear of contamination, anxiety about misplacing valuable items, and a need for order and balance. She also experiences distressing thoughts, including fears of losing control, harming loved ones, and intrusive thoughts about sexual subjects. Whenever she hears about child abuse or unethical experiments, she becomes visibly shaken, her mind goes numb, and she withdraws socially for a few hours, succumbing to a melancholic state.

She takes a disturbing pleasure in obliterating her enemies, often letting out a maniacal laugh as she does so. Her humour is a unique blend of lighthearted and dark, peppered with French phrases, occasional broken English (a reminder that it's not her first language), and sprinkled with Korean expressions that Trevor has taught her. Outside of military work, she often dodges unwanted tasks by concocting elaborate schemes (frequently with Trevor's help) to avoid them. However, her plans often backfire, resulting in trouble for neglecting her duties. Moreover, she has a tendency to slack off during missions, especially when she becomes bored and her attention wanders to more exciting things. When she gets into trouble, especially when it involves people she has convinced to join her antics, she often tries to deflect responsibility by feigning innocence and shifting the blame onto others.

She possesses a fairly compassionate, laid-back disposition, which she only reveals to those closest to her. She's overconfident about her looks and seems unfazed by how people react to her inhuman features, yet she draws the line at absurd and unattainable beauty standards. She's deadly serious when needed and isn't afraid to intimidate people or berate individuals for doing something irrational or dangerous. She has a strong disdain for individuals who exhibit predatory behaviour, such as perverts and stalkers, and is unafraid to call them out and mock their actions mercilessly. She despises unnecessary secrecy and eugenics, opposing the lack of transparency and the racist underpinnings of genetic manipulation aimed at "improving" human populations.

She's quite gluttonous and becomes quickly hangry when she's extremely hungry and there's nothing to eat at the moment. She's an eavesdropper with a curious habit of inspecting, poking, probing, and even biting anything that piques her interest. She grapples with touch starvation, feeling emotionally isolated from others, and deeply dislikes being overlooked or ignored by those around her. She harbours intense resentment towards her mother due to her neglectful behaviour and excessive focus on satisfying scientific curiosity, which comes at the expense of considering others' needs and forming meaningful connections with them. She’s appalled by her mother's callous disregard for the pain she inflicts on others as well as the secrecy surrounding their family's lineage and her status as an imperfect clone.

Backstory: Nadège Véronique Comtois was born on August 6, 2010 in Quimper, France. She was created in a test tube through advanced Martian cloning technology and the DNA of Ghyslaine Laëtitia Comtois, her clone mother and founder of the Amadeus Syndicate, in an underground laboratory. Initially, Ghyslaine's interest in Nadège was rooted in scientific curiosity. She conducted psychological and sociological experiments to explore the similarities and differences between them. Ghyslaine would overfeed Nadège, only to discover that her daughter had an abnormal metabolism, making it challenging for her to gain weight. Unintentionally, Ghyslaine fueled Nadège's affection for junk food.

At age 7, Ghyslaine subjected Nadège to a disturbing and unethical experiment, forcibly inducing puberty and sterilising her daughter as part of a eugenics test. During this period, Nadège longed to experience the outside world and connect with her clone mother. Unfortunately, Ghyslaine's focus on research led her to neglect Nadège’s emotional needs. She treated her more like a guinea pig than a human being, providing minimal motherly comfort and attention.

At the age of 9, Ghyslaine decided it was time for Nadège to explore the outside world, which filled her clone daughter with excitement. Together, Nadège experienced her first-ever outing to a shopping district and explored several notable attractions in Quimper, including the Breton County Museum, the Fine Arts Museum, and the Faience Museum. She received Melekhai as a reward for being well-behaved, and she still holds onto the plushie very dearly since it was the first heartfelt gift her clone mother gave her. Her experience with the outside world sparked Nadège’s curiosity in modelling and the creative arts.

However, her mother had other plans. Ghyslaine envisioned Nadège following in her footsteps as a renowned scientist and eventual heir to the Amadeus Syndicate. To nurture this ambition, Ghyslaine frequently presented Nadège with books on biology and chemistry, encouraging her to delve into the sciences. She encouraged Nadège to cover the unusual features on her palms and upper back by wearing neoprene gloves and modest clothing in order to avoid drawing unnecessary attention or judgement from others.

By the age of 11, Nadège had become proficient in biology and chemistry, thanks to her mother's guidance. She began attending school after being previously homeschooled by Ghyslaine and other Amadeus Syndicate scientists. Although her school years were uneventful, Nadia occasionally faced bullying due to her intense interests in science, modelling, and the creative arts, as well as her unusual habit of wearing neoprene gloves to conceal her hand-eyes.

However, the bullying ceased after rumours circulated that she had intimidated and bitten a school bully by revealing her hidden snake fangs—a claim that was surprisingly true. Nadège’s clone mother was indifferent to her academic pursuits but drew a firm line at harming others and divulging confidential information about the Amadeus Syndicate. When Ghyslaine learned about this incident, she smacked her in the face, then confined her to a padded room with two blood bags and a fresh corpse for three hours. As dinnertime approached, Nadège's hunger grew, leading her to make the desperate decision to consume the contents of the blood bags and feed on the fresh corpse.

During her high school years, Nadège frequently skipped classes to go shopping, feeling that she already possessed a strong grasp of the material being taught in her courses. To avoid arousing suspicion about her exceptional intelligence, she intentionally performed poorly on a few tests. During this time, she experienced significant weight gain, which unfortunately led to bullying and negative comments about her appearance. However, she handled the situation with confidence and resilience, effectively standing up for herself and dismissing the hurtful remarks. After completing high school, she promptly enrolled in a two-year college art program, specialising in landscape drawing for animation studios, before pursuing forensic science at the university level.

While pursuing her forensic studies at university, Nadège unexpectedly catapulted to fame as an e-celebrity supermodel, adopting the pseudonym Nadia Cassel. Driven by a passion for fashion and curiosity about the modelling world, she embarked on this venture independently, without management, and solely for her own enjoyment. Although her rise to fame was modest at best, she didn't mind because she revelled in the opportunity to be herself and try something new. As her university studies grew increasingly demanding and stressful, she found it challenging to balance her modelling career. Seeking support, she hired a model manager, who turned out to be unexpectedly kind and helpful. He broadened her knowledge of the fashion and modelling industries.

However, as her fame as an e-celeb supermodel grew, she started to attract unwanted attention from predatory individuals, which caused her significant distress. Her situation intensified when she inadvertently revealed her hand-eyes and exposed spine during a livestream, leading to an escalation of online harassment. After a deranged fan attempted to kidnap and sexually assault her, she empowered herself by obtaining a gun licence and rigorously training to use a firearm, becoming a skilled markswoman.

The stress of her forensic studies and the pressures of being a supermodel took a toll on Nadia's mental health, leading to the development of OCD and bulimia nervosa. Her struggles with maintaining a strict diet, keeping her model-worthy figure, and need for control became overwhelming. Her modelling manager grew concerned about her unusually voracious appetite, fixation on her body weight, and increasing frustration when things didn't go as planned. He advised her to consider taking a step back from modelling or quitting altogether to focus on her well-being.

After a two-day break, Nadège made the decision to quit modelling as her mental health issues began to impact her studies. However, she kept the name of her e-celeb persona because she liked it. Although she has left the world of modeling, she remains in touch with her former modeling manager, and they have become good friends. In a disturbing incident, she recalls defending herself against a stalker who attempted to assault and cannibalise her in her own home. The attack led to her involuntarily consuming the stalker's blood, unleashing a sadistic streak she never knew she had.

Once her forensic studies have been completed, Nadia prioritised fitness to maintain her physical well-being. After learning about the Regular Army’s vigorous exercise programs and their pressing need for pilots, Nadia decided to enlist in their tactical operations. Following her licensure and military training, Ghyslaine granted Nadia permission to join the Amadeus Syndicate as a tactical scientist. She proved to be highly successful, making a name for herself as she pushed the boundaries of scientific understanding in biology and chemistry. Nadia supplied the Regular Army with stable bioweapons, gas masks, and advocated for training recruits on the dangers of biological hazards.

While searching Ghyslaine's office for documents for a chemical experiment, she stumbled upon classified test results revealing her true nature: an imperfect clone. The discovery shook her to her core. Further investigation led her to her clone mother's journal, exposing a dark family legacy of illicit collaborations with government agencies, inhumane wildlife experimentation, and development of devastating bioweapons and malicious computer viruses. Most alarming, however, was Ghyslaine's megalomaniacal plan for global domination and self-deification. Horrified, she contemplated abandoning the Syndicate, yet for mysterious reasons, she chose to stay.

During her work on a disease cure in South Africa, Nadia uncovered disturbing information: Ghyslaine sexually assaulted Marco, who was injured at the time. This traumatic event had far-reaching consequences, severely straining relations between the Regular Army and the Amadeus Syndicate. Horrified by Ghyslaine's actions, she quietly ditched the Amadeus Syndicate, dedicating herself to defending Earth against global threats. She vaguely recalls attempting to poison Ghyslaine by lacing her bitter coffee with powdered cyanide, but the plan backfired when another scientist accidentally drank from the cup instead.

She eventually joined the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. after befriending Fio and earning a sliver of respect from Eri. This was due to her impressive performance as a prospective agent, where she swiftly identified the chemical composition of a new illicit drug that had been baffling the Intelligence Agency. She achieved this by obtaining crucial documents and conducting rigorous, ethical experiments. Following the Survival Island Occupation, she provided crucial assistance to the hostages and kidnapped cadets who had been transformed into grotesque simian and mantis creatures, administering cures that successfully restored them to their human form.

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byrdstrolls · 3 months ago

Text

(Dia belongs to @chowtrolls!!! go give leo some love <3)

It’s difficult to tell how hard a sudoku puzzle is going to be by glance alone. The tiny booklet had no organization regarding each one’s ease. It doesn’t help that he’s not quite sure what he’s looking for, or how long he’ll be here. The Cellists fingers pass from page to page with deft and careful consideration. The night is young, the AC of the car is just a little too cold, just enough Mondes shudders. Alador always liked things just cold enough to be uncomfortable. There's too much fire in that man, Dietes had often teased him, complaining about the thermostat.

“The palace isn’t exactly pupa-proof.” Faeria Longse says, leaning over the rolled down front window, where the adults are talking. The words don’t matter much to Mondes, who is preoccupied.

“He’s five sweeps old” Alador retorts to The Intoxicant. “He’s old enough to know how to mind his own business.

“Wildly unprofessional of you.” She says. “Every hear of a pupasitter?”

“His cello tutor usually watches him, but he’s got knee surgery.” The taller oliveblood sighs, tapping the wheel.

“Why not call The Matchmaker to look after him.” Faeria jokes, in the sense of humor typical of her. Where every joke is less an expression of absurdity and joy, and more just the easiest way to poke a hot rod at a sleeping tiger.

“I will ask The Matchmaker for parenting help.” Alador replies slowly, tiredly. “When hell freezes over. Work with me, Faeria. How many rooms in that ridiculous hive?” He says with a pointed gesture at her gargantuan estate. “I’ll hide him someplace and he can color all day. You won’t even know he’s there. Mondes, tell her how quiet you’ll be.”

Hearing his name, the child perks up, glancing over to Faeria as if seeing her for the first time. Slowly, he mimes zipping up his gas mask and throwing away the key.

“Cute,” Faeria says disdainfully. “I don’t want him going through my things.”

“He’s not a thief, Faeria, he’s a child” Alador snaps, jumping to the young man's defense. But then he deflates slightly, seeming to remember he’s supposed to be behaving professionally.

“Pupasitters are ridiculously expensive these days, Faeria. Just give me one night. You won’t see head or tail of him.” He sighs.

“You know what’s ridiculously expensive as of late? Alador’s asking fees.” She retorts. “He’s not allowed in my hive.”

“What am I supposed to do, drive him two hours home? Come on, how often are you on planet? We're wasting time.”

“I would never have called you” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “If I knew it was bring-your-grub-to-work-night.”

“He can stay in the car,” Alador says. “Final offer. I’ll crack a window.”

“Deal” She says, her eyes glittering.

Alador turns hopelessly back to his descendant. “Is that okay with you?”

“(Can I have a water)” Mondes asks, muffledly. Not quite answering the question.

“I’ll bring you one back out when I leave” His ancestor promises, cracking the windows, climbing out of the car to follow Faeria inside.

The child watches them disappear into the palace’s gates, waiting a prolonged moment, before climbing up into the front seat and turning down the AC, with a quiet sigh of relief. He finally lands on a sudoku puzzle, chipping away at it for what feels like an age, before becoming frustrated and giving up. He glances at the clock on the dash. Only fifteen minutes have passed. He sighs and begins leafing through the book of sudoku puzzles again. It only takes him an hour or so to really begin longing for the promised water. So much that he considers climbing out of the car, and knocking on the palace doors to demand it. He sits up and stares at the gate every so often, daring himself to make this move. Before looking back to the fleet logo emblazoned on the palace’s walls, and thinking better of it. It’s too cramped in here to truly practice, and his cello is in the trunk. He taps out Nietne’s waltz on the dash to count time in measurements of the seven minute song. He attempts, and again abandons the sudoku. As the moons crawl across the sky.

About seven hours into his stay in the car, the young Mondes slowly climbs into the back seat, and lays down across it, closing his eyes. Not out of a genuine want or need for rest, but an all consuming, soul crushing boredom bearing down on him like a weight. Duke Leto Atreides would never leave Paul in a locked car for this long, the five sweep old thinks vengefully. Maybe that seadweller just killed him, he thinks, of Alador and Faeria. Equal amounts of guilt and pleasure overtaking his mind at the thought, before he remembers that if that was the case, he would likely be next. Somberly, he closes his eyes, so sick of sitting here making company of his own thoughts.

CRACK

The palace door slams open, and so do Mondes’s eyes as he dives under the seat instinctively, covering his head. Alador is yelling something up at the palace, garbled and angry and strange, he only catches, or understands, the tail end of it.

“-BLACKLISTED!” The older olive calls at the balcony. “YOU HEAR ME? I’M NEVER COMING BACK HERE!!!”

Faeria leans over the railing like a misplaced Juliet, her hair cascading down the side as her form shakes up and down with laughter.

“You know everytime you say that Alador, I believe you a little less!” She calls at his retreating back as he storms back over to the vehicle. Alador slams into the car, muttering under his breath as he revs the engine.

“Mondes! Put on your seatbelt.” He snaps. The kid scrambles to do just that as his ancestor swerves violently out of the parking lot. They drive at high speeds back towards the freeway for a bit, before Alador starts poking buttons on the dashboard.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Mondes elects not to answer, as he does often, and Alador stares helplessly into the rearview mirror, before looking back at the dash, and huffing.

“Okay. I told you to stop touching my AC settings” He complains, turning up the AC. Staring up at his ancestor, Mondes realizes disappointedly that Alador had not brought back any water, but judging by his mood, he knew better than to comment, or ask.

“Rostve,” Says Dietes, his face at a slight off-tilt, as he watches the kettle boil.

“No,” Mondes replies.

“Come on, what did he do?” The jadeblood huffs. “A complete sweetheart, from what I remember of him.” the older man flips through his notebook, presumingly containing information on orchestra related nonsense.

Your name is Dia Monark, and you feel a bit out of loop as of late. Your boyfriend has, in what seems to you like an incredibly random and bizarre event, decided to join an incredibly prestigious orchestra contest, something you didn't even know existed until a few weeks ago. This change in career prospects has gone against everything you know of him as a person. Mondes, for all you had seen of him, through a suddenly busy and rigorous practice schedule, has approached the whole thing with the grim resignation of a troll filing his taxes. You have seen him in fits of passion, falling asleep in his studio with the master mix of a composition still playing faintly on his laptop. You know these moments of inspiration well enough to know this is not one of them. When Mondes Rosado falls into an obsession with art, he does so as quietly and effortlessly as a drawer sliding into a cabinet.

Right now, you are sitting on the floor of the Cheong’s living room with Ness, who is attempting to give you a tarot card reading that you are struggling to pay attention to, eavesdropping on your boyfriend and his teacher’s argument.

“How about Kydney Ideine. Excellent bassist.” The old man says, pausing on a page.

“No” Mondes says, pulling the kettle off the stove as it whistles.

“Shit, Mondes” The old man complains, walking over to the freezer. “Were these kids kicking your ass every single time me or Alador left the room or something? You can’t do this without kissing a little ass to the established orchestra scene. It’s just not going to happen.” He says, looking through the freezer. “Where are your ice trays?” The jadeblood asks.

“The icemaker is in the door.” Mondes says, pointing as he grabs some mugs, pouring them both tea.

“Right, your majesty” Dietes says, as if he considers an ice maker in a fridge some kind of luxury item. He gets two ice cubes out of it, walking over and dropping one into his and Mondes’s cup respectively.

Putting a single ice cube in a cup of hot tea was just one of a million strange rituals Mondes had, like knocking on wood, and not leaving flip flops turned over, and always leaving a house through the same door he came in, and not whistling in the dark. Stuff to keep away spirits and sheyd that Mondes claimed not to believe in but still got mad if you interrupted or suggested he not follow these tenets. Quote unquote Folksy things, that you had teased him about. You had many times called him an old man in a young troll's body.

When Dietes suddenly came back into his life, it was jarring and at the same time comforting to meet the old man from which he seemed to have borrowed a great majority of these mannerisms. They were similar in many ways you noticed but would not dare name. The time Mondes had spent with his ancestor, and by association Dietes, has always seemed a touchy subject.

“Hey Dia,” Nesseo says. “Alternia to Dia” They say, snapping their fingers in front of your head, pointing to the first card in your spread they’ve just flipped over.

“The loversssss” Ness says, dragging out the syllable in the affected way in which they often spoke.

You finally draw your eyes away from Mondes and Dietes in the kitchen, to glance down at the tarot card, picturing two trolls, who, seem to have had their breasts extenuated by a hot pink paint marker.

“Okay” You say. “Why did you draw boobs on them?” You say, staring.

“You’re supposed to really connect with your deck, Dia. I drew boobs on all of them. They’re all lesbians. But regardless” They say, flipping through the little reference book for the tarot deck. “That’s gotta have something to do with your quads, right?”

“You’re asking me? Aren’t you the psychic?” You retort.

“Rostve, Ideine, Darque, any one of these would make an excellent duettist.” Dietes huffs, his attention still on his protege. “Are you just not gonna play with anyone who knew you when Alador was alive? That disqualifies half the competitive orchestra world. This is the big leagues. Swallow your pride.”

“You’ve shown me what, one landweller?” Mondes snaps back.

“It was hard enough to get YOU into this contest. Why won’t you play with Darque. He’s a landweller.”

“I don’t like him,” Mondes says, pressing his teabag to the side of his cup with the spoon, dancing it in a perfect little circle around the rim to get the juices out. Why are you staring at his hands? Too many things happening in this room.

“You know what,” Nesseo says, tracing your gaze. “Yeah, I am the psychic. I know everything. This is about you and marshmallows.” They declare.

“What? Why not Pae or Fester” You say, looking back at the deck.

“That's the vibes. That’s the vibes.” They repeat, flipping over the next card in the spread.

“The six of cups” They narrate.

“Is that bad?” You joke.

“No. I mean yes. I mean hold on a second.” They say, leafing through the deck's instructional booklet. Across the room, Dietes draws his cane close to his body.

“You’re killing me, Rosado.” He says, a turn of phrase that seems incredibly comfortable in his mouth. Mondes is not the first Rosado he’s said it to.

Mondes gives the tea one last long press to the side of the mug.

“I’ll hold auditions,” He says.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll hold auditions for a duettist. I’m a millionaire.”

“Right, sorry.” The old man says sarcastically. “Those same five players I already listed will apply.”

“To be my duettist? you're kidding.”

“You’re good press, Mondes. You were in all the news, highbloods taking on charity cases makes them look good.”

Finally, you decide to interrupt.

“Why does he need a duettist?” You ask.

“The second round of the competition is done in pairs.” Mondes answers. “But we have time. Let me hold auditions. I’ll find a lowblood.”

“I feel more gray hair growing in as we speak, but sure!” Dietes says, tugging at the pages of his little notebook as he flips through it. “Let’s push our luck that far. Let's do this with two lowbloods.” The jade says, standing up to pace. “You want me to drop dead from stress. You hate your old man music teacher who is doing all this for you from a flat in sunnyside. You want to give him migraines. But it’s okay you’re a millionaire and we’ll just hold auditions” He says, tossing his hands in the air.

“Laying on the guilt trip a little thick, aren’t you?” Your boyfriend replies.

“I’m just trying to be realistic with you.” He sighs.

“I’m not willing to compromise on this” Mondes says, staring at his reflection in his mug.

“Okay.” Dietes caves.

“The SIX OF CUPS” Nesseo interrupts, reading aloud from their booklet. “Means childhood memories… innocence. That's.. Gonna be relevant to you and Mondes somehow.”

“I’m sorry” Mondes says, walking over to the two of you. “What's gonna be relevant to me?”

“Cups” You reply, pointing at the card.

“What is this, wizard couples therapy?” He asks, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“I’m a psychic, Marshmallows. I could never be a therapist. I love drama too much. But anyways.” Nesseo flips over the last card in the deck.

“Seven of Swords” You read aloud.

“Seven of Swords reversed.” Nesseo corrects. “That means secrets.” They say, staring at Mondes.

“You didn’t even look that one up.” Your boyfriend replies.

“I just know.” they say, staring at him, Mondes glances at you, and back at Ness.

“I was gonna tell him anyway,” he says to Ness. “You didn’t have to prompt me. I was just looking for the right time.”

“I didn’t plan this” they reply. “Shuffled at random.”

“Tell me what?” You say, pausing, reaching over to take his hand in what you hope is a reassuring gesture. It’s still ever so slightly warm, the ghost of his mug's heat imprinted upon it. He runs a thumb across your palm.

“Why I’m doing this whole orchestra thing.” He sighs.

“Oh. I was wondering that.” You admit.

Mondes glances back as if to ensure that Dietes has indeed exited, and he has, probably still muttering under his breath.

“It's a smoke screen” He says, turning back to meet your gaze. “I’m distracting the media so Hanagi and Bee can complete another rescue mission.”

A million different emotions run through you in quick succession. Your brain frantically attempts to sort them into boxes.

“Okay” You say.

“Okay” He replies.

Don’t do that, your mind pleads. You had just started to feel comfortable in a life that existed in a state of after. After the fleet, after prison, after Twitch.

“Remember when we were at the airbnb” You say softly. “And you said that thing about not martyring yourself.”

“We’re being safe” He promises, taking your hand in both of his, clasped in between them like in prayer.

“We have the time,” He says. “The resources, to be careful, Dia. I wouldn’t do this if we didn’t.” He says. You pause.

“Okay” You say. Your mask modulating your robotic sigh. “Can I help?” You ask.

“With the contest? Yes. With the heist? No.” He says.

“Why not?” You ask.

“Dia,” Nesseo says. “Bee’s like, pretty heavily involved with it.”

“And?” You say.

“And what the hell is your like, situation with Bee anymore anyways?” Mondes says, glancing at Nesseo in silent agreement. “Forgive me my bluntness, but you haven’t spoken to her since she was resurrected. We’re not tossing you on a team together if all that’s not sorted. It’s a liability.”

“Oh” You say. “I can talk to Bee.” You say. In a way, this has always been true. In a way, it was not true until this very moment.

“You don’t have to,” He says. “You don’t have to have any part in it.”

“No… I’ve been meaning to.” You sigh.

“Okay” He says. He exhales. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I just want to help.”

“I know” he says, lifting your hand and bonking it gently with his mask. He turns back toward the wall.

“I should probably go find where that old man ran off to,” he breathes.

“Okay” You repeat for the third time, always struggling with words in moments like these.

Mondes leaves. He's forgotten his half full tea mug on the counter.

“I kind of hoped you’d talk him out of it,” Nesseo says, resigned and quietly frustrated as they gather up their vandalized tarot cards.

“Since when am I the guy” You say, watching a trace of steam disappear into the night air from the tea kettle.

“Who talks anyone out of anything” You say.

So much of what you know of each other starts with the eyes. You’ve heard it said isolation breeds innovation, or constraints make creativity, or pain makes you appreciate beauty, or order makes you long for chaos. You had a feeling you and Mondes would have loved each other’s eyes even if they looked completely different, even if they were faded or colorless or dull or scarred, if your lashes were thin or jagged or clumped you would have loved each other eyes, because the way you gravitated towards each other’s had never been aesthetic.

Everything another troll puts on their face, the two of you fit into eyes alone. You find yourself often staring into Mondes eyes not the way a poet looks at a piece of art, but the way a traveler studies a map. Sometime you found Mondes’s eye’s beautiful the way you are sure other people consider them. In evenings and mornings they catch flickers of the sun on its way up the horizon, glittering reflected yellow back through the tin of his gas mask’s lens like the opalescent back of a beetle. If you caught him from the side, gaze turned downward over the pages of his homework with a simple thoughtful expression, those nights you could trace the diagonal of his eyelids down to the lashes that extend from them and think Mondes looks like a doll, and maybe that’s why the occasional weirdo still sends him odd fan letters or unhinged rants that he throws away without reading.

You understand how he is beautiful the way a troll is supposed to be. The way a golden retriever puppy is beautiful, or a rose, or a perfect circle. The same way you are beautiful, mostly by genetics, partly by accident, mainly by some age-old standard that doesn’t matter in the slightest and hurts more people than it helps. If you stopped right there, you could maybe stare at him the way one does at the night sky, thinking him pretty without knowing why, as if he were beautiful without cause, or reason.

But you were driven to understand it.

Some nights you try to catch Mondes when he thinks no one is watching, lost in a group setting, he’ll glance sideways at a wall as if sharing some private joke with the scenery. While the Cheongs argue, or joke, he’ll sit there poised silently as if he were a stranger at a table in a cafe watching a conversation happen on the street.

Some nights, when he's teaching Daseos to play guitar, his gaze would take on a sudden distance as she plays back to him. You had never thought distance could be loving until you had grown accustomed to his eyes. Until you saw Mondes Rosado stare at a person, or listen to a sound, or taste a bite of food and watch his gaze turn distant like a person stepping back to admire a view, like his love was at such a scale it could only be seen as a landscape. You remember feeling so safe the first time he stared that way at you.

Maybe just to be contrarian, you find Mondes’s eyes most beautiful when they don’t reflect anything at all. In the gray haze of a rainy evening, they don’t shine like a puppydog but are as flat as still, deep water. Green so dark out of the light it almost looks black. The flatness takes the hardness from them. No longer the shining back of a beetle, they become the shadow of a cave or the deep of a well and you can fall into them and you can just keep falling.

You could never put this in as many words. Sometimes, you find yourself saying

“Mondes has beautiful eyes”

And people think you’re shallow, because it’s the first thing everyone notices about him, but they don’t understand his face like you do, they don’t get that you’re not saying Mondes has beautiful eyes, you are saying Mondes has beautiful eyes, and they don’t understand the difference.

All of this is to say, you can read him well, you can read him better than anyone. The night of the first orchestra qualifier is long. There are a lot of people playing. You can’t remember the last time you went to an event so fancy. You grew restless in your seat. Later, he has to do interviews, the Cheongs wanted to get ahead of the press circuit before it got ahead of them, Mondes had booked interviews later that very night. You aren’t allowed in the TV studio but you wait outside, despite being told over text it’s late and you don’t have to do that, Hanagi and Nesseo are both waiting too, and you’re not leaving before them. Eventually, your boyfriend exits the building and you lock eyes, and you think, in an immediate assessment,

I have not seen him look this tired since before Bee died.

And you hear Nesseo’s voice in your head saying, why didn’t you talk him out of it, but you don’t say that, you walk up and say,

“Let me help you with your things”

And he says “The car’s not far” but despite his verbal protest lets you pry his heavy instrument from his back, a child's cello no longer. And Hanagi hands him the hot tea she’s been holding and he takes it gratefully in his hands, and Nesseo’s making jokes about the interview, asking when it airs, and he’s giving bare minimum answers. He’s leaning on your shoulder, wiping off the steam of his tea that’s fogged up his mask’s lenses and he says,

“Can I stay the day at your place” As he is sometimes prone too. And you say

“Yes” and he gives Hanagi the keys so she can take the car back to the Cheongs, and he’s taking your hand as you head towards the parking garage, and his cello is way heavier than it looks.

When the two of you get back to your place he stumbles straight to the bathroom, and you’ve wandered over to your bed, picking at the million buckles and buttons associated with dressing up fancy. Mondes returns, his hair is free and cascading down his shoulders in adorable curls made from the constraints of his braid, and he’s working leave in conditioner through it with a comb. Eventually, he sets down his comb and leans his hand on the side of your wall, twisting to stretch his back. It was an exercise you had seen him do after playing the cello a hundred times. But he stops midway suddenly, and instead just lays down on the floor.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Fucking, cello spine” He mumbles into your floorboards.

“You want me to crack your back?” You say.

“Not now” he answers, with a playfulness and demureness to his tone that immediately conveys to you he’s mistaken this for innuendo.

“I mean literally, idiot” You say. “Your medically trained kismesis”

“Oh” he says. “Okay, sure”

You sit down over where he’s lying face down, pressing one hand firmly on his back and then cracking it to the best of your ability. There is a slight sound from his spine, and then from Mondes, several parts pain and relief, he relaxes into your floor.

“Thanks,” He says. He lays there still, for so long you eventually offer,

“You want me to put you on the bed?” you say.

“No” he says, pressing his hands to the floor and pushing himself up. He sits down on the bed next to you, fumbling with his buttons, hands probably tired from playing. And you reach over to help him, unbuttoning the cuffs of his suit jacket as he leans into you.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

“What?” You answer.

“It’s so late” He says as you peel off his jacket. “You didn’t need to stay up and take me home.”

“Least I could do” You say.

“I know,” He says. “But you didn’t have to.”

You aren’t sure what to say to that, continuing to help him out of his outfit.

“I don’t mean to not sound thankful” He says. “I just shouldn’t need a boyfriend to unbutton my shirt.”

“You’re exhausted” You say. He slips out of his button down, standing up to go through your drawers.

“Where’s your Marsie shirt?” He says, not answering you, and you don’t even bother denying you have one of the purpleblood’s shirts, because it'd be silly at this point.

“Bottom left” You say, and he steals the shirt you worked so hard to steal from Marsie. But you forgive him, because if he sleeps in it now in the morning it’ll smell like pomegranates and honey, Mondes’s leave-in conditioner that lingers on your pillowcases and t-shirts after he stays like a ghost. He slips the shirt on, and walks back and collapses onto your bed.

“I should be better at this” He complains into your pillow. “I did this when I was like, four.”

“And you hated it” You say, laying down beside him, wrapping your arms around him.

“Are you really gonna do the… refusing to accept help thing? After how many times you’ve gotten mad at me for exactly that?” You say.

“I know it’s fine,” He says. “To accept help. I’m here, aren’t I? Back cracked? I know it’s fine not doing it all on your own.” He says, voice retreating to the back of his throat.

“I know that. My thinkpan knows that. My therapist knows that. I’m allowed.” He rambles.

“But It’s so… familiar.” He breathes.

“Every other part of me knows it's different.” He says. “But for some reason my eyes still linger on the crowd, like I’ll blink, and he’ll just be sitting where he always did, just left of center row.”

You are sure he must mean his ancestor. You take a second to form your response, passing the moment by pulling him closer to you.

“You want me to sit there?” You offer.

“What?”

“Leftmost center row” You echo. “So it’s like, just me?” You say, genuinely trying to be helpful. He shakes, and for a moment, you worry he’s crying, until you realize he’s laughing.

“What?” You say, defensively.

“Sorry” He says. “What a freudian nightmare.” He jokes, this thought coming uninvited into his mind clearly being what he was giggling about in the first place.

“Pssh” a noise leaves your mouth involuntarily. “Frued can eat my ass. I’m trying to help.”

“I know,” he says. “Thank you Dia.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I just” he pauses.

“Wouldn’t you all feel relieved. If you didn’t have to hold my hand like this.” He says, and you feel Aladors cast shadow darkening every word. Your lover did not usually talk about himself that way. You take his hand, clasping it just as you had done in the living room a couple days ago.

“I think I’d feel relieved” You pause, stumbling. “If you let me help you.” You say, and you're glad your mask disguises the unsteadiness in your voice.

Something in him tenses, sharp and angled, and then just lets go. He melts back into your touch.

“Oh” he says. And you can’t see his face, not with the way you’re wrapped around him, but his eyes have gone that same way. Loving and distant. Like his love had all at once become so big he was suddenly humbled by it.

#emotional abuse tw #neglect tw #HEHEHE #been sitting on this one for a second #I really like it #mondes writing #my writing #fantroll #fantroll rp #drabbles #homestuck #homestuck rp #homestuck oc

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