#and can they fully form memories out of nothingness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zelda-of-hyrule-tloz · 3 months ago

Text

Why the "Prime Energy?"

In Echoes of Wisdom, we encounter the Triforce for the first time in a long time (in its usual state, anyway). But something that stood out to me (and a lot of people, I'm sure) was the title it went by: The Prime Energy. It's not something we've heard before, so we have to wonder: why? I obviously can't give a "canon" answer, but I do have some ideas.

Energy in Echoes of Wisdom

Throughout EoW, we collect little blue crystalline shapes called "energy." This replenishes the gauge that allows Zelda to use her swordfighter form. These crystals are found throughout the Still World and appear tied to Might Crystals, which also appear from the rifts (but only when they close). We use them to upgrade the sword and bow themselves.

There are two safe assumptions we can make about Energy:

Might Crystals are the "purified" form of energy or something close to it (its resemblance to bismuth "crystals" seems to hammer in this implication).

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

"Energy" is the essence we see Null consume in Din's tale. It appears on its own even before land and sky are built around it. Because of this and the association to might and vitality, this essence must be that of life itself. (Perhaps Zelda's role as a Priestess is what allows her to use this energy in its raw form and gain that supernatural state, unlike Link?)

How may the Triforce relate to this idea of energy?

We know that Din, Nayru, and Farore go on to create the land of Hyrule (or what would become MANY Hyrules over time) to seal Null and prevent its destruction of all life. In A Link to the Past, Ocarina of Time, and Skyward Sword, we are told the Triforce is left behind in the wake of this world's creation (creation over the void, in the context of EoW).

The Triforce has the ability to judge those who use it (even going as far as to prevent deities from using it) and its essence speaks to Link in ALttP. Although it may not be "alive" in the same way most mortal characters are in the series, it has a will. This will knows not of good and evil, only of the traits each piece is meant to embody.

We also know that the Triforce has dominion over said world and beyond, being able to shape realms by its wish-granting and power-giving abilities. Hence, the idea of "prime." And, in Lorule of A Link Between Worlds, we can see just how much the rest of the world depends on the Triforce's existence for its energy to be sustained.

EDIT: Don't forget the Force Gems in FSA! They further emphasize the ideas above in the same way!

It's also worth noting that the Tris are tied to the idea of threes, and they are the idea of "existence" to Null's "nothingness." They reinforce the idea of the Triforce's embodiment of "being."

The "Prime Energy" is the Triforce's true name and original state - its intended title. "Then," You may ask, "Why have we called it the Triforce up until this point?"

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Why the Triforce?

It is after the three leave that Hylia is brought into existence with the sole purpose of protecting the Prime Energy. But there's an important detail many overlook:

Hylia doesn't know the purpose of the Triforce.

Not fully, anyway.

Yes, Hylia knows how it works - her whole plan to defeat Demise revolves around it - but she still has questions. Even with all of her memories restored, the first Zelda states that she doesn't know why the Triforce was left behind. She guesses that it was to give the people of the world Hope (perhaps even against world-destroying entities like Null, should he break free...). Even then, it's only a guess.

Doesn't it stand to reason, then, that she wasn't even given its name? After all, she was only created to understand and protect the golden power; perhaps even as an "extension" of its being, given her often implied powers over light and time magic (but that's just a personal headcanon). Perhaps "Triforce" is simply what she took to calling it, as she still could recognize that it was something beyond the nature of the mortal world. (Also, I see it reasonable that she could see Tris - she probably saw them patching rifts and drew a connection between them, which influenced the name).

And, in the thousands of years to follow, wars become waged over the Prime Energy as it is understood only as a relic: a relic meant to give ultimate power to the one who touches it.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Conclusion

The Prime Energy is the true name of the Triforce, and it is the core to the many realms of Hyrule. Its nature has been misunderstood by many throughout its existence, but none of these ideas are truly false; it holds dominion over time and space while simultaneously keeping it together. It is an essence of the very concept of "life," and as such holds a sort of "will" of its own. It is the ultimate state of the Energy we see everywhere else in Echoes of Wisdom, and Hylia may not be far off - despite being a neutral force that begins and ends wars, it may just be personification of the idea that life will prevail. Although the worlds in this franchise may be scorched and healed, they are never meant to fade into nothingness like Lorule once verged. They are simply meant to be.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

to those who may have scrolled to the bottom because this is unnecessarily long, it's basically just what its name was supposed to be when the three created it but then they just sort of forgot to tell hylia that or anything else lol. also it may just be a personification of existence like the fittingly-named tris.

I love love love solving little Zelda lore puzzles, I may do this again. :) I just HAD to lore dump when a friend asked me about it

82 notes · View notes

seneon · 3 months ago

Text

KISSES FROM THE DARK ─── chigiri hyoma × fem! reader

about. from one injured soul to another, there came the unending hershey's kisses as a love language. angst, mentions of death, minor mentions of religious themes. family issues, reader is a basketball player. wc of 3000+

notes. im very close to taking my wattpad oneshots and slapping it onto tumblr ( those angsts ) not proofread, try your best to ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes.

CHIGIRI HYOMA in that moment, felt like complete trash that was supposed to be taken to the main facility for further destruction. never had he felt such humiliation and dirty embarrassment in front of millions of people before.

the boy who everyone thought was going to be a star that would take over the history of japan's football. the prodigy who excelled in speed. the star football player that managed to make a name for himself in such a short time.

all of the image of victory had cracked and crumbled into millions of tiny pieces. memories of his successful days were shoved into a void of endless darkness.

like a broken doll that was abandoned at the corner— left to forget into nothingness, chigiri laid on the hospital bed, his deep pink eyes locked to the ceiling.

his emotions were all over the place, haunting him to the core of his soul. anger, frustration, devastation, regret, and so on. so much that he didn't exactly know what to feel, but he knew he felt like complete trash.

alone in this dark room with no one else to look at his broken state, chigiri was at the least.. glad. that no one would see him like that. in this pathetic little state.

that is… until his hospital door swung open and a group of people walked in. there was a doctor accompanied by two nurses. one holding files and the other pushing a girl on a wheelchair.

“chigiri hyoma-kun, you will have a roommate from today onwards,” the doctor informed the redhead just as he looked at the girl seated on a wheelchair.

honestly, the young footballer’s sulkiness momentarily disappeared, until the immediate thought of another soul living in the same room brought it back. what if the girl knows who he is? what if the girl calls him pathetic? what if the girl couldn't match with him? all these questions swirled around in his mind, giving him more anxiety than usual.

but, it felt like chigiri hyoma was there alone. no other presence around other than him. even when the doctor and nurses went out, the room was completely pin-drop silence. not even the breathing of the girl at the bed beside him could be hard.

why is it like that?

well it's better if it stays like that. no one to bother him. no presence to tickle at his skin. no nothing in the same room with him to look at his pitiful form. chigiri hyoma goes to sleep in peace, with a faint uncomfortableness that lingers around him.

deep pink eyes glanced over the side of his curtain to the other patient as he put the spoon in his mouth, beginning to chew on his meal. from what he observed for a while, all you have been doing was sleeping. not even moving an inch or even shifting positions. like a deep slumber that can only be awakened by a kiss from a prince charming.

you wouldn't even wake up to eat your meals nor would you budge when the nurses came in to do your daily check-up.

that made the redhead somewhat uneasy. a practically corpse of a girl around his age is sharing a room with him, a fully alive and eating-healthy boy.

he went back to eating his food, his eyes and his thoughts traveling around all over the place instead of trying to think about you who sickly laid there like a lifeless doll. honestly, your state was worse than chigiri’s. seeing you unable to move had him feeling like his acl tears to which the pain has lowered just a bit. he still thinks everyone should eat their meals daily to get better.

so when you let out the quietest sob, chigiri dropped his spoon and stared at you, wide-eyed. your shoulders that moved up and down so quickly, silent sobs crying out for help. all the boy could do was watch as you cry, heaviness filled his throat at the scene.

you have made your presence known with your emotions.

to you, everything is crumbled. it has already crumbled. and more is crumbling. just like your entire life the moment the doctors announced that you are not to play basketball any more, for it might once again influence another microfracture in your right knee.

you cannot play basketball anymore, you cannot even stand on court anymore as the thought of just standing on polished maple wood simply terrifies you. you cannot jump or shoot the ball in the net anymore.

all day, you have been sulking over that sentence said to you by the doctors just before your microfracture surgery. it replayed in your mind over and over again like a broken music box and a broken ballet dancing figure in the center.

but in this moment, it is the doctor's words and you on a wheelchair, spinning around in a terrifying circle of ‘you cannot play sports anymore’.

you cannot play sports anymore.

how dark your life has become with just one simple sentence that would stain you for eternity.

you wiped your eyes and froze the moment you saw the colour pink sitting right in front of you. so there is some colour left after all. when you rubbed your eyes to get a clearer vision, just to see that a boy around your age is looking at you, his face stoic but somewhat held a soft expression that made you feel at ease in the slightest way possible.

“it hurts, doesn't it?” he softly asked, referring to your injury as you followed his fingers that pointed to your leg.

“if you're here to laugh or make fun of me, go away.”

chigiri’s eyes widened a little. you talk just like him. you think just like him. just like how he drove everyone he loved and knew away from him, during the first week of his injury. he felt sympathetic towards you very quickly.

“no, i understand you. pretty well actually,” he pointed to his own leg as you looked down. you didn't even notice that he is sitting on a wheelchair and that his knee is patched up. you looked at him with worry. “do you play sports? did the doctor say you couldn't play sports anymore?”

chigiri shook his head. “mine’s not that serious,” he gently touched his knee. “but if i play sports again, it will be.” the boy looked at you and handed you a box of tissue that was laying on his thighs. he handed it out to you and gave you a little smile. “you’ll get through this. i'm here to help you.”

“thanks.” you whispered and slowly sat up, wincing a little at the pain as you took the tissue box to wipe your tears while the boy watched.

“so, what's your name? which school do you go to?” chigiri asked when you finished wiping your tears and blowing your nose. so you told him your name and your school, which transferred into a long conversation between two young sportspeople who injured an important part of their career.

soon after, chigiri put his hands in his pocket and told you to hold your hand out. he dropped two items in your hands, telling you to open it.

“hershey’s kisses. i know we can't eat chocolate, but it's impossible to finish them alone if i have a whole stack from my classmates visiting and giving me chocolates for valentine's day.”

you looked at the palm of your hand, eyeing the blue wrapping that sat in your hand. you could feel a smile and a blush slowly crawl up your cheeks at the chocolates. colours just might be slowly returning to you from the presence of chigiri hyoma.

“who's the girl? is she your new roommate?” mother of chigiri asked as the young chigiri nodded, popping a sliced apple into his mouth as his deep pink eyes glanced at your sleeping figure.

“she's got a knee injury while playing sports too.”

“ah so you've spoke to her. what's her name?”

“y/n. y/n who loves hershey's kisses.”

it has been about four days since you transferred to this room and became chigiri’s roommate. four days the chigiri family were absent because of a business trip where chigiri insisted that he could handle everything alone. so, the girl sleeping in the next bed is new to them.

there is one thing that chigiri hyoma noticed in those four days. nobody came to visit you. at all. you never even talked about a family member or even about your parents at all. not a word about any loved ones spilled out from your lips.

could it be possible that you are all alone in this world with no one to lean on at your darkest times?

if that's the case, that would be sad. depressingly sad.

chigiri’s mother placed a container of freshly cut apples by your table along with some healthy goods. “it's for her. i can't wait to talk to her when she wakes up,” the woman smiled down at you and adjusted your hair neatly.

the football player scoffed at his own mother for being affectionate with you even if you're sleeping. but deep down, he's grateful for his mother and her kindness showed to his new friend.

so when chigiri’s mother left, you awaken and saw that there are packets of breads and a container containing apples as you immediately looked at chigiri.

“who—”

“my mother. she wants you to get better.”

“ohh. thank you,” you slowly sat up and carefully take the apple.

chigiri paused the television and once again glanced over at you. “where are your parents?”

….

they have been absent for most of your lives.

there wasn't even a single memory you recall ever being fun or even nice with them. you were raised by your aunty who never seemed to care. but at the same time, she kind of did, for she paid for everything that you needed and wanted for. or was she just some wealthy lady that had to bear the responsibility of raising her sister's child? how cruel the world is.

“we do not talk about families in this room.”

that was all you told chigiri and not a single word about your family comes out from his mouth ever.

perennial ryegrass against the cleats of the young chigiri as he ran and ran, the ball in the grasp of his legs. he kept running like there was no end. but, the goal seemed to keep getting further and further away from his reach.

he's running, but it felt like he's running in the other direction where he could never reach the goal even with his speed and agility.

why was the goal so far away from him? why was it not in his reach and at a distance where his legs could carry him?

right.

he tore his acl. how could he forget? it was his own injury. chigiri is on the field, wearing expensive cleats and there is a ball around his legs to play with. at the end, the ball rolled away, his cleats broke, and instead of his feet touching the perennial ryegrass, his entire body lays on it.

the world is cruel to chigiri hyoma. perhaps even God is cruel to him. he doesn't know which one it is. but he sure despises that moment where it kept repeating in his head over and over again, even in his dreams where the memories would never stop haunting him.

“your injuries are mild, but if you keep playing football, it will become serious.”

eyes shot opened immediately after hearing those words. fearful sweat broke out and gathered to flow down the skin of chigiri hyoma.

“it's okay,” a voice stole his attention away from the recall. chigiri looked to the side and found you staring at him from your bed while laying down. it was as if you had been watching him sleep all day long.

“just a bad dream,” chigiri held his hand up and covered his eyes with his arms. “i freaking hate the same dream happening over and over again.”

“i feel you, hyoma. i understand you fully.”

your voice calms him down for some reason. actually, it has always been calming him down since the first time you spoke to him. he seeks solace in the sound waves of your voice. he could also connect with you through the same pain that you are facing that he also faces.

he doesn't need to say much or do anything, but he believes that the heavens has sent you to him so he could have someone to get through this together with.

you held your hand out to reach the boy who moved his arms away from his eyes to glance at your stretched out arms.

“what are you doing?”

“maybe holding hands will ease you a little,” you suggested, not putting your arms down.

“that's odd,” chigiri commented. “but maybe it would ease a bitm” the boy held out his own hands and held your fingers. he couldn't hold your hands fully so he can only hold the tip of your fingers for now. and your fingers alone did the trick of easing his worries a little.

“it's gonna be okay,” you whispered as chigiri held your fingers tightly, humming in response.

it will be okay.

right…?

“it seems there was a huge bone failure in your knee,” the doctor said, shutting his eyes at the bad news just as your eyes, in the slowest of motions just as time all around you slowed down.

“but wasn't the surgery a success?! it has been a month too! there was no way something could've malfunctioned!”

the doctor remained silent.

“can't... can't you do another surgery…?” you said, barely even a whisper. just a voice of a mere middle-schooler who had lost hope a second ago upon realising the fate that she has.

there was a huge and thick lump around your throat, making it difficult to breathe and most definitely a terrifying experience for your weak body.

“aunt doesn't care anymore, does she?” with a shaky breath, you asked, very softly, the doctor nodding in guilt. of course he would feel guilty. he just confirmed the cruelty of an aunt to a mere girl who doesn't really have much going on for her in the near future. it pains and breaks his heart on the inside to even announce that a screw has come loose in your knee and that surgery would be pricey.

he is sure that this would scar him for his entire life. not because of the cruel treatment, but because you already knew that you cannot walk anymore.

you will be crippled your entire life.

because of a mere loose screw.

tears poured out your eyes from the harsh reality that you have to face from now on. all alone, with no one else in the world other than a collection of chocolate hershey’s kisses at your bedside table. you weren't even sure if you're going to see them anymore, or even receive them.

the boy who keeps gifting them to you is currently rehabilitating and trying his hardest to attempt a stable balance in his feet. while you are here, sulking over everything.

hershey's kisses chocolate in the flavour of cookies and cream. chigiri knows that it is one of the flavours that you love most, from your stories talking about oreos or just cookies and cream in general. it's also the flavour you like collecting the most when he gives you hershey's kisses.

so when he didn't get to deliver cookies and cream to you, he dropped the entire packet on the floor and hurried to any doctors in the same room he used to refuge in just before he was discharged.

“y/n? her aunt came to take her back,” the nurse at the register said before remembering one important factor. “she left these, however.” the woman brought out a plastic bag full of all the chocolates chigiri has shared with you in your darkest times together. and a note was left.

thank you for all the kisses from the dark.

y/n.

when chigiri hyoma counted the amount of chocolates there were, not a single of them were missing. you have left every single chocolate behind, untouched. you didn't leave any messages of why you were leaving them behind. hell, even leaving the damn hospital without any notice.

chigiri tried getting a contact number, but every time he asked, they'd reply to him with a “her information is private, it cannot be shared.”

over and over again, he attempted to find a lead on you, on where you might've been just so he could give you hershey's kisses again. perhaps he could slowly return to you the kisses you've left behind in the hospital room, but by the time he finds you, the dark kisses have already gone bad.

and you have already ceased to exist.

the boy, now seventeen, places a cookie and cream hershey’s kisses packet onto the stone of your tomb. not even that religious of a young man he is, he prayed for you like he believed in religious acts.

“i will never stop saying this every time i come here. i am sorry for not being there at your lowest, y/n,” chigiri, now a football player of project blue lock, frowns.

“i miss you. i miss giving you hershey’s. i miss your smile. i miss holding your fingers and listening to your voice and having you just beside me. i miss you, y/n.”

chigiri hyoma then silently wailed, just like how the girl did back then, when she first got her first chocolate kisses from the dark.

#﹙🗝️ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐰𝐫𝖎𝐭𝖎𝐧𝐠﹚#chigiri hyoma #chigiri x reader #bllk chigiri #blue lock chigiri #hyoma #hyoma chigiri #hyoma x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x female reader

55 notes · View notes

paperclip-skz · 4 months ago

Text

I Just Need You

fem*Reader x Felix

*WARNING*

It contains fluff, mentions of insecurities, stretch marks, kissing, and shower intimacy. I'm sure I missed something; let me know in the comments.

Prompt: “If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars.”

WC: 714

****

You’ve never been ashamed of your scars. You knew you didn’t have any control over the way your body reacted to change, but every now and then, you would stare in the mirror, seeing how the stretch marks all over your body moved along your hips. They painted your skin like a painter's canvas. You traced your finger delicately along one prominent stretch mark. It went from your hip line all the way to your side. It was the worst out of all of them.

You never cared for your marks, and you would love to change them, but you’ve grown to just…get used to them. There's no better way to put it. So there you stood, in front of your bathroom mirror, in nothing but a pair of panties and your sports bra, ready for your afternoon hot shower.

“Baby?” a slight knock at the door made you jolt out of your head.

“Y-yea?”

“Can I come in? I think I left my phone in there,” Felix called.

“Yea, baby,” you giggled.

With your confirming sound, he opened the door, revealing your bare form. He saw you in front of the mirror, ready for a shower. “Hey, my love,” he floats into the small bathroom.

“Hi baby,” you whisper back.

Felix sees his phone right away and grabs it behind you, sliding it into his pocket.

He comes up behind you, holding your waist close to his body. He gently moves your hair away from your shoulder, letting his chin rest there. He pauses for a moment when he realizes what you’ve been staring at all this time.

“If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars”. Tears swell in your eyes at his words, and he places a gentle kiss on your uncovered shoulder. The feeling of his soft lips on your skin makes you shiver, but not before a single tear escapes you, gliding down your cheek.

“I don’t need you to,” you turn around to face him. I don’t need you to make things easier for me….I just need you.”

You both exchange a warm smile, the kind that lights up your eyes and fills the air with an unspoken connection. As he leans in, you feel the soft brush of his breath against your skin before his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss. He is patient and attentive, allowing you to lead, your heart racing as you set the pace. You explore the kiss slowly at first, savoring the sweetness of the moment, feeling the warmth build between you as the world around you fades away.

His hands guide you down to your hips and he leads you away from the counter to the shower. You can feel his smile against your soft lips as he presses you up against the tile. “Still need that shower?” he whispers against your ear before hooking his thump into your panties and trailing them down your thighs.

You bite your lips as you stare down at him, watching him lick his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. One hand rubs delicate circles on your thigh while the other sneakily wanders to the shower faucet, turning the water on.

You gasp loudly as the water spurts to life, cascading down both of your bodies. Felix is still fully clothed while the water makes the fabric stick to his skin. “Felix!” you laugh once you see his bright smile. He quickly trails kisses from your leg all the way up to your lips.

In moments like these, it's as if the world fades away, and all your insecurities dissolve into nothingness because you know deep down that you were right all along. You might carry the weight of shame over various things, but Felix has a remarkable way of sweeping those feelings aside. With every shared smile and playful banter, he fills your heart with an undeniable warmth, leaving you with memories that linger long after the moment has passed.

“You know I’ll never stop loving you, right?” he smiles against your skin.

“Right back at you, pretty boy,” you smirked, kissing his lips one more time.

50 notes · View notes

distortionbobble · 9 months ago

Text

Royal Flowers Chapter 12

series masterlist

prev | next

pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. masturbation scene (m), but other than that nothing too spicy.

a/n: come get y'alls juice. also i can't find the gif i was using of anakin so just like. remember what he looks like i guess. he's pretty if that helps

When you wake up, you feel like you’ve swallowed a stone. You remember everything— every excruciating detail, each moment that his skin was pressed against yours. You try your best to recollect everything that was said yesterday, but it feels fruitless. Your mind has already rewritten each word ten times, translating and shifting and switching until the meaning is entirely different. Did Anakin say “I need you” or “I need this”? If he had said “you”, did he mean anything by it, or were you the first person that he could trust with this? The only? Something strange and all-too familiar crawls out from your stomach.

Guilt. You’re not even sure if Anakin wanted you the way you wanted him, and the words he first spoke to you scream themselves loudly in your head. I love Padme, and I’ll love her til I die. You were just a means to an end, and you’re sure that you should have known that as you took pleasure from his touch on your body. You’re no stranger to desire, to the heat of another’s body, but it’s never been someone you’ve wanted as much as Anakin.

And at the same time, you understand fully that it wasn’t just you. What you and Anakin have is bigger than just what happened last night; it’s been working up for months, an ocean of desire eroding your reasons to resist until you caved, gave into the sweetness of his mouth on yours, sweeter and softer than you could have ever imagined. The way that fell in the force of his desperation to something all-consuming, something that carved away a piece of your soul and kept it in the confines of the night, sacrificed at the altar of your memory. Your self-indulgence feels rotting, pushing unease into your throat and you can no longer lay here with your tattered dress cocooning your body. No matter what it is, you’ve never been faithful to the driving force within you. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don’t like. You never thought that doing what you wanted would inspire such guilt.

You push yourself out of bed, turning to look over your shoulder at Anakin’s peaceful form, allowing yourself another moment of indulgence as your heart weeps. Your movement has shifted the blanket away from his shoulders, and as quietly as you can, you reach over to adjust it back over his shoulders. Your heart’s corruption rules you for only a moment longer when your hand skates over his jaw. Not quite touching him, no; you can’t allow that in the bright clarity of the morning. It was just sex, you remind yourself. Then you’re gone, swept away in the mirrors and meticulousness of your morning routine.

The peace allows you to sit with your thoughts for a moment longer— to remember your purpose, to remember your role in a story that is so much greater than the microcosm of you and Anakin. You’re here because you’re the queen of Naboo, and you have a responsibility to your people. For just a moment longer, you loathe what has become of your life. All you are now is a vessel for the needs of others, and it hurts to know that you’ll have to give and give until there is nothing left of you, until you can fade into nothingness with no one having truly known you, and yet having been so largely involved in the universe’s fate. You swallow your bitterness, resting your chin on your hand as you stare at the mirror before you, steam clouding the surface. The reflection that looks back at you feels otherworldly, a woman that you’re not sure you’ve ever been and yet one that you know you must be. Your face crafts a perfect smile, the hollowness within invisible to even you. Don’t forget your role, your reflection whispers at you.

Your fingers drum against the surface of the counters as you collect yourself, carefully calculating every diplomatic advantage. Naboo is economically powerful at this time, putting you at a position where you can safeguard from famine with the right connections. Lothal, you should corner the representatives of Lothal. They’re just a backwater, in essence; a backwater planet that you’re positive you can strike the right deals with. Agricultural aid in exchange for a hefty deal, put them in a good position with the economic boost Naboo could get.

Your mind starts to wander as you get dressed. You feel a sense of clarity that’s been absent from you for some time— your guilt sharpens itself into a weapon, holding you at its blade to force you to think deeper, think clearer. Why hadn’t the Separatists told you of their plan? Why did you need to find out from elsewhere? All paths lead to one singular conclusion; they want to get rid of you. It makes total sense, doesn’t it? Install a puppet ruler to get away with whatever you want, and at the right moment, cut the strings. They’d step into the void of power, gaining total control of the planet and thus, giving the Separatists a new stronghold.

But at the same time, you understand the injustice caused by the Republic to many. Its neglect of many systems is not unknown to you, you’re not so foolish to think this is a one sided coin. By pushing the Separatists into a coerced acceptance of the Republic’s governance with militant force, the galaxy is only further polarized by loss. Perhaps… Perhaps the only solution is to allow self-determination. That may not filter out the splinter sections of Separatists, but at least it would be a start.

All you know now is nothingness. You don’t know the solution, but you suppose it doesn’t matter; not if you’re going to end up dead at the end of this all. And doesn’t it make sense? For them to kill you now, blame it on something else and drive Anakin into further madness and desperation? The ultimate form of control. Even if you live, you are leverage against the most powerful weapon in the galaxy. You hate thinking of Anakin like that, but it’s true; even you, removed as you are from the Jedi Order, understand that he is the chosen one.

Your fated doom lingers on your being, shadowlike, but you won’t let this keep you here. For however long you’re in this life, you’ll serve your purpose as best you can. You push the thoughts of your inevitable self sacrifice into action, an agenda spinning into order: you’ll talk to the Lothal representatives, strike up a deal. You’ll have food shipped to Naboo’s moon, allowing safe transport of the food to Naboo so that it doesn’t get blown up on arrival. It feels more like bandaids than a solution, but you’ll figure it out. A solution, that’s something that you’ll have to talk to Padme about. The way you see it, she’s the galaxy’s out— under her leadership, she could bring clarity, a new direction. Which means if you’re aware, so is Palpatine. Or Sidious. You don’t know what to call him now, really.

She’s in danger. But maybe she always was.

~~~

When Anakin wakes up, the only thing he feels is hunger. Clawing out from inside of him, stretching and breaking from his skin; a beast that he had buried, now awakened, that only desires you. He feels it eating at his skin, a certain kind of pain that he almost delights in as he thinks of last night. The hedonistic indulgence of giving in, Dionysian in its call, had only served to fuel his thirst, not quench it. And you’re not here, why aren’t you here?

He thinks back to every moment from last night. Had he pushed you too far? He hadn’t meant to, he hopes he didn’t, but the pain was messing with his head. He couldn’t think clearly with his entirety ripping at the seams. Anakin wants to make it better, wants to kneel at your side and take your hand like it’s a lifeline, but that option isn’t his to take. He doesn’t belong there. Anakin is the Chosen One— something that he would have understood in another lifetime, but now it’s just a label with constraints that he’ll never understand. He can’t have you, and yet… now that he’s given in to the Dark Side, things are different. It’s not quite the same story that he was used to. Now, he’s constantly fighting himself. He wants to pursue you openly, fully, yet he can’t. Why can’t he? Because of some arbitrary rules? But those rules are the ones that have dictated his entire way of thinking. He doesn’t want to give it up so soon. He swings between two extremes, a pendulum of moral inconsistency, hearing the voice of the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan, Shmi, encouraging him to let go of his hunger; Sidious, to feed it.

Anakin knows he has to look past what he wants right now. You’re counting on him for something bigger, and he knows that he needs to figure out what exactly would happen if he exposed Sidious. It’s something you’ve brought to his life: the rationality that he was always expected to have. As a spy, though, you’ve shown him that the guns-blazing approach sometimes will not work, that he has to take his time, collect his information. How deep is the Chancellor’s control? What is the endgame, if he’s already the Chancellor? None of it makes sense to him.

Long, slender limbs are forced out of bed as Anakin stretches, gritting his teeth at the thought of having to face the day. He winces slightly at the sticky feel of sweat on his skin. He needs to wash up, he realizes, and the quick jump to why he has to wash up has his face flushed. He grips himself tightly, eager for some relief from the aching in his cock as he thinks of you. You, with your warm body, your eager responsiveness to his touch, the taste of you on his tongue. Anakin wrenches his hand away in shame, feeling much like a dog panting for a bone as he salivates over you. He mourns the fact that he didn’t take his time and get you fully naked, rather than tearing the clothes from your body, as he pulls his own garments fully off. He wants to give you a better experience, he realizes; he wants to worship your body with his hands, then his tongue, spend hours with his head buried between your thighs as you grind on his face in pursuit of pleasure. Anakin wants more than the quickness that came from sinking to the hilt into your heat brought the night prior— no, he wants the aching, the throbbing in his loins as he makes you see stars.

Cool water pelting across his back isn’t enough to deter his fixation on all the filth he hopes to cause to you. Anakin’s cock still stands at half mast, and it doesn’t take much thinking for him to wrap his fist around it, fucking his tight grip as moans escape. His metal hand claws at the wall as his flesh unites in a perfect pursuit of pleasure. He wants you to hear this, fantasizes about you walking through the bathroom door, sinking to your knees, and sucking the soul out of him. He’d grab your tits, squeeze them, play with them. Anakin doesn’t think he could fuck your pretty face, wants to treat you far too gently for that to happen but he thinks of your hands under his, guiding you to stroke him just how he likes it. It doesn’t take long after that for him to cum, sticky pearls collecting on the bathroom tiling before it washes away.

Anakin gets dressed in an afterglow that’s still focused on you, imagining what it would like to get ready with you. He’s never really done that, has he? Not like this, not in the morning, not with this gentle sweetness blooming in his chest. But his blood turns to ice when he catches his eyes in the mirror, flashing that shade of yellow that he knows to be true to the Sith.

He needs to find Palpatine.

~~~

Anakin finds Palpatine after an assembly, towering over the rush of senators that flow past him. He locks eyes with Palpatine easily, the deceptively meek-statured man smiling at Anakin from where he waits at the doorway. Anakin feels sick at the mere sight, swallowing down his bitter fury to walk towards him. Padme had told him about a myth, a mere story, really, from Naboo; a legend that detailed a king who had put his trust in a bastard son, defending him against any opposition, but finding his life cut short at the end of that very son’s blade. And you, Brutus? He’d said. Anakin feels that way when he looks at Palpatine: that painful, bitter betrayal. It wasn’t fair. But nobody said it ever would be.

“Master,” Anakin calls him quietly. A false name, one that should only have ever belonged to Obi-Wan, or Qui Gonn. Palpatine is nothing to him, a snake laid in wait only to strike at his most vulnerable. “You said you’d help me save my wife.” The din of the crowd is loud enough to diminish the volume of his words, but not the urgency. Palpatine, however, just smiles in response.

“Anakin,” Palpatine says, clasping two hands behind his back. From this angle, he almost looks paternal, like the perfect replacement for an empty slot that Anakin’s had for so long in his life. “I see the concern you have for her. Of course, it is natural. But…”

“But what?”

“I fear you’re simply not strong enough yet. Not ready, you see.”

“Tell me how to be strong enough, then.” Anakin isn’t fooled by his own rationality. He knows that he can pretend this is somehow linked to his infiltration, but he knows it’s his own indulgence in you that drives him. He wants to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

“It’ll cost you,” Palpatine says, walking into an empty sideroom. One that’s often used for business discussions, Anakin recognizes. From in front of him, Palpatine tugs his hood on, and by the time he turns back to Anakin, the physical change is apparent. Instantaneous. The lines on his face are deeper-set, the glow in his eyes inhumane. Sharp, piercing, they see right through him. For a moment, Anakin is fearful that his own treachery will be uncovered. But his fear of losing you drives him further, lets him keep going. Anakin thinks he understands the cost when he sees this.

But he’s wrong.

“Every single member of the Jedi Order are what stands in the way of your realization, your… enlightenment. All the Jedi, padawan or master, including your friend Obi-Wan. They are a threat to the Republic, to peace in the galaxy.”

Anakin feels his heart fall. And he thinks of Obi-Wan, of the warmth of his hug, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles. The pride, however restrained it may have been, would make his face glow whenever Anakin defeated him in sparring, or when he would laugh at Anakin’s struggles with Ahsoka, telling him they mirrored his own experiences. Sidious was wrong. Obi-Wan wasn’t just his friend, he was greater than that— he was like a brother, like a father, like a part of Anakin that he hadn’t realized had been so significant until he had every single belief he had of right, wrong, of morality itself, put into question. Killing Obi-Wan would be akin to losing the only arm he had left. He isn’t clouded by lust, by love, to even think of the idea.

But then…

He thinks of you. The nightmares of your breath leaving your body, the warmth leaving your physical form. Of the beauty of your laughter, the way you fit his soul so perfectly, pushing him, challenging him and everything he thought he knew. And you did it so sweet, so addictive, making him something else. Making him something that he recognized in himself only once before.

Only when he loved Padme.

And this side of him, the only part of him that Darth Vader hadn’t killed in order to exist, wants nothing more to listen to Sidious. To watch his brother, his Jedi master, die at the end of his saber. It would be fitting, wouldn’t it? The very man he created would bring forth his doom. He’d make it painless, he promises. He wouldn’t dream of bringing him pain. All he wants… is to save you.

It’s not as though the Jedi Order is indestructible, either. Nor is it without its flaws. He’s seen countless villages ravaged by the battle between the Separatists and the Republic. Anakin knows the Jedi are not innocent in the crime of staining the ground they fight for with innocent blood.

Anakin himself, he hadn’t felt free until he was with you. For the first time in his life, away from the Order, away from the dictation of what was wrong, what was right, how to think, eat, dress, breathe, he had a choice now. And you let him have that choice. Wouldn’t it be wrong to pull away? Wouldn’t it be wrong to let you fall, when you had done so much for him?

He loves you. He had told Padme, what feels to him a lifetime ago, that love is what drives a Jedi, to hold compassion that is rooted in none other than love. His loyalty is with you, not Sidious— his religion, his worship, with you also. This is what’s good, what’s right. This is what the Force wants him to do. Anakin understands now, doesn’t he? His whole life, he’s been pulled towards this. Towards you, to love you, to keep you safe.

No matter the cost.

~~~

Lothal’s representatives are easy to find after the general assembly. You don’t know what it is, exactly, but they look lost, like they’re playing a game that they hardly know the rules to. You approach them with poise and grace, your head held high as you zero in on them.

“It’s an honor to be in your presence, your grace,” One of them stammers out. He’s handsome, you think, but not nearly as much as Anakin. Comparing the two is like comparing a candle to the brightness of a sun, anyways. You smile gently, unfazed as you tilt your head in acknowledgement of their greeting.

“As it is for me to be in yours, representatives of Lothal.”

“Denon, milady. I am the senior-most representative of our planet. I assume you do not stop by purely for the purpose of making our acquaintance,” Denon replies. Senior-most. You almost want to laugh at the declaration. He seems boyish still, the innocence in his eyes betraying his youth. You flick your eyes around, assessing your audience quickly before you offer your arm to Denon.

“Not here,” you murmur, strolling arm-in-arm to the nearest room. You’re quick to step away from him once the doors are shut, taking a seat at a table as he mirrors you awkwardly. You’ve done your research, you have no reason to feel nervous, and yet your hands still tremble before you lay them flat on the table.

“Denon, I’ve done my research. The financial sector of Lothal has expressed its frustration at the insufficient funding of the planet— simply put, your planet is not… prosperous. I do not need to explain the subsequent effect of this: how this insufficiency results in a multitude of disasters. The workers on your planet work diligently, and yet the imports to the planet are, by-and-large, inaccessible. Why? I believe, Denon, that your planet’s work is undervalued, understated, and Naboo has a simple answer to your question.”

You sigh quietly, a crafted noise, meant to draw their attention in further. They’re watching you attentively, they know you’re their saving grace and Maker, they’re ready to take it.

Good.

“Naboo will outbid your current agricultural contracts in order to be the primary recipient of your crop. I offer billions of units to your planet, with few caveats; Naboo will maintain anonymity until the length of our contract is finished, and the delivery will be to our moons, not to our direct ports. In the meantime, this will leave fewer supply for the remainder of your contracts. It’s simple economics; your supply will diminish, but the demand will remain the same. I offer nothing but a fair compensation for the labor of your peoples, and a promise that my actions will drive others to do much of the same.”

Denon looks at you, looks to his fellow representatives, then to you again. Then he blinks, opens his mouth as though he wishes to say something, and closes it again.

“Any questions?” You ask, drumming your hands on the table. You need them to take this, but you can’t show how desperate you are. They might be naive, but anyone knows desperation is a flaw to be exploited, even representatives from an outskirts-planet like Lothal. You still hold power, and that will not be mistaken.

“Why? Why now?” One man pipes up from next to Denon.

“Naboo wishes to establish strong diplomantic ties with supporters, like Lothal. This is as much a political move as it is economic, Representative.”

“We’ll take it,” Denon says. He seems starstruck, like it’s too good to be true. Denon stands from the table and offers his hand to you, which you take as you stand up.

“Brilliant. I’ll draft up the terms and have my Ministers send the plans to you.”

“Milady, your offer is most gracious. If there’s anything we can do…”

“I’ll let you know, Representative Denon. Thank you.” Denon drops to a bow, kissing the back of your hand as you hold back your discomfort. You’ve never really been great with all of this pageantry, but you’ll put up with it well enough.

But timing is not on your side. The door swings open to reveal Anakin, whose face betrays his rage as he sees your hand in Denon’s.

“What business do you have with my wife?” He demands callously, striding closer to Denon as his emotions escape his control. You’re careful to watch him, seeing the glint of yellow in his eyes as he sizes up Denon, ready for a fight.

“My love, we were—”

“I did not ask you. I asked the man who dared to touch my wife,” Anakin seethes. You scoff at his arrogance, grabbing his chin to tear his gaze away from Denon.

“Representative Denon, you may take your leave. I will continue my communications with the planet of Lothal at a later time.” You keep your eyes locked on Anakin, watching his form visibly relax as they shuffle out of the room awkwardly. It only angers you further.

As the door shuts, Anakin reaches his hand to your wrist, calling your name softly.

“No. That was unacceptable, Anakin. That might have been acceptable with Padme, but certainly not with me. Do not forget our arrangement, General Skywalker,” you bite out. You see hurt flash in his eyes as you refer to him by his title, but you’re infuriated, and Anakin is the reason why. “Don’t ever barge into my diplomatic meetings and question me or anyone else what our intentions are. We are nothing other than allies to each other, Skywalker, do not let a night of passion delude you.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Anakin asks. You’re unable to look at him, so you allow yourself to let go of his chin, but he keeps his hand on your wrist. “Answer me. Is that all I am to you?”

Anakin’s heart is in his throat. No. He’s seen this before, he knows how it plays out, and he isn’t the victor. In any scenario, he loses you. He can’t lose you. He’s given up so much for you, hasn’t he? Why would you abandon him? You couldn’t. He’s sure you’re bluffing, but there’s still that dryness in his mouth, that dizziness as he looks at you.

Please, let him be more to you.

“That’s all we are to one another,” you whisper.

Anakin lets go of your hand.

#my writing #distortionbobble's fics #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #reader insert #anakin x reader #star wars fic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin #angst #anakin skywalker fanfic #royal flowers #royal flowers series #canon x reader

57 notes · View notes

improbable-outset · 1 year ago

Text

𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧-𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬:

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 ★ || 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 ✎ || 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Hospital setting, memory loss, angst, emotional Miguel, married couple, wife!reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After waking up from a year-long coma, you find yourself in the hospital with the tender embrace of your husband sitting beside you. You have no memory of your marriage nor the life you shared together. As you try to navigate the scattered memories, Miguel becomes your guiding light through your journey of transcending memories.

𝐀/𝐍: It’s been a hot minute since I posted my writing on here. I’ve been working on my other series that’s AO3 exclusive so making this post in this layout brings back old memories. Anyways this is a two chapter story so enjoy getting your heart ripped from your chest :)) twice :D

You couldn’t remember how you got here nor could you remember how it even happened. For the longest time you’ve been surrounded by darkness and floating into nothingness. You felt disconnected from your surroundings and your physical realm though for some reason you would always hear a voice, echoing in the background occasionally.

“Por favor. Por favor, mi amor”

The voice would always sound distressed, almost begging for your attention that you couldn’t give. It served as a reminder that you were still alive but not fully present. You wanted desperately to reach out for that voice and see where it was coming from but you felt trapped, suspended in midair like an astronaut in space with no control over your body and no anchor to pull you down. You lost track on how long you have been like this but today, you felt a sensation on your fingertips. You started twitching your fingers, a sign that you finally had the ability to move your muscles on command.

Your senses were coming back now and you could feel the darkness fading away from your vision. You slowly fluttered your eyes open but they burnt momentarily against the sudden bright light that illuminated the new room. You started to take in your surroundings and the first thing you noticed was the tang of disinfectant and antiseptic that was woven in the cool, controlled air. You shifted your gaze from the bright ceiling to your side and was met with a man beside your hospital bed you were laying on. You couldn’t see his form but his skin was tanned with big arms and his hair was dark and pushed back. The most prominent feature was his sharp jaws and his red eyes that stared at you. You locked eyes with him and you could see his face light up when he saw your own eyes finally open.

“Mi amor? You’re awake!” Your heart clenched when you heard him speak. It was the same desperate voice you heard in your comatosed state, the voice that was pleading for you to wake up and now you could see who the voice belonged to.

“Awake?” You could only echoed back in confusion.

“Yes, sweetheart. You’ve been in a coma for a year. You’ve had a terrible accident but… Ay dios mío, you’re awake now and I can finally talk to you and hear your sweet voice.” He stood up from his seat and hovered over you as he spoke with a relief smile spread across his face. You could now see his physique in this position. He had broad shoulders and a muscular frame. He hesitantly held your fingers and rubbed the knuckles with his thumb. His fingers felt calloused yet his strokes and touches were gentle, almost like you were thin glass and would shatter at any sudden movement.

You tried to rack your brain and remember who he was. His name, it was on the tip of your tongue. You could feel it just about within your reach. “M-Miguel…” That was all your mind could remember.

“Yes. It’s me, Miguel. I’m here mi amor.” He said ecstatically, still maintaining a connection with you but you couldn’t reciprocate no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel the same amount of happiness as Miguel, not when you couldn’t remember who he was. You must’ve been so deep in your thoughts trying to remember with a blank expression that Miguel's face dropped, the sparkle in his eyes now diminished. “Mi amor, what’s wrong? Do you not remember who I am?” He asked with concern laced in his voice. He still held onto your fingers as he spoke, afraid to let you go.

“I’m sorry…. I remember your name but…. I can’t identify who you are.” You could almost hear his heart crack after he heard you say that, but he still held onto your fingers, almost as if his touch will somehow reignite your memories.

“I’m your husband…we’ve been married for three years! Do you not remember that? Do you not remember us?” He croaked. The weight of the situation was crashing down on him like a violent storm, too fast to comprehend.

“I’m sorry… should I?” Your chest tightened. You just woke up from a coma and you were already causing so much pain.

“Yes you should. We’ve shared a life together. We’ve made so many memories. Mi vida please… I don’t want you to forget me.” He sank back into the seat beside the bed, his hands now shaking and his grip loosened.

“I wish I could understand what you’re talking about Miguel but my mind is blank.” Your gaze at him softened and all you could do was witness your husband’s torment as he tried to grasp onto straws.

“It’s like I’m losing you all over again…. You’re here but you’re not you.” He squeezed his eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“I wish I could comfort you right now. I want to believe you and I want to be that person you need but…I’m just so lost right now.” You found yourself caressing his fingers now in a feeble attempt to comfort his anguish.

“Then let me guide you in this darkness…Do you trust me, mi vida?” He held his gaze on you again, his eyes full of faith - faith to rebuild your relationship again which made you nod in agreement to his promise. You were lost in a sea of confusion and you didn’t have anyone else to trust right now and Miguel was the only one patient enough to help you. He was your anchor. “Do you remember my surname mi amor?” You thought hard about that. The answer was there but it wasn’t easily reachable as his first name.

“Uh-O…” you fumbled through your memories making Miguel gaze softly at your attempt to answer.

“It’s O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara. You know, you’d always used to call me Miggy and it would always brighten my day whenever I heard you say it.” He smiled at you again and you started to grow a fondness for it.

“O’Hara? So does that make me Mrs O’Hara?”

“Yes. We’re Mr and Mrs O’Hara.”

“Do we have children?” You started to panic a little. The thought of your children having a mother that didn’t remember any of them made your heart sink. You already caused pain on your husband from your memory loss - you didn’t want to pass it on to your children too.

“No, we don’t but we always did talk about it.” You thought how building a family with Miguel would be like, the man whose love for you was so strong, he waited a year for you to wake up from your coma and still withheld his patience to rebuild what you've lost. Even if you couldn’t remember anything about your husband, you could already tell he was an incredible man and would make an amazing father. “Is there anything I can do for you now, hermosa?” Your heart swelled at his concern over you. He wanted to make sure you were content and comfortable.

“I’d like some water please.”

“Sure. There’s a water fountain out in the halls so I won’t be long. I’ll be back okay?” As soon as he got up from his seat and left for the hallway, you took this opportunity to take in your surroundings again.The air felt still as if the room seemed to hold its breath after Miguel left. The sound of the cardiac monitor that was resting beside your bed was beeping rhythmically with tubes and wires that snaked around the digital monitor. You could hear distant footsteps and murmurs from outside your room along with a few nurses walking past. The blinds were closed but you could see through the gaps that outside was dark - it must’ve been late. The disinfectant scent that was lingering in the air had faded now. You noticed your hair was pretty long, reaching your waist and your nails grew significantly. You’ll definitely need to trim both. Before long, Miguel came back with a plastic cup.

“Here.” He handed you the cup with cold water. You glimpsed at his big arms that were in close proximity now and felt your cheeks warm a little before you took the cup from him.

“Thank you.” You quickly dismissed your thoughts and took small sips from the cup. It took a little effort for you to swallow. Your throat was dry from the lack of fluids and the sensation was a little overwhelming at first since your body was now readjusting to the water intake after ages. The water was starting to relieve the parched feeling in your throat and your mouth felt more refreshed and cold.

“How does it feel?” Miguel asked you, he could see you were struggling to intake your first few sip of the water.

“Good… just taking some time getting used to the feeling of the fluid in my throat.”

“I can imagine. Just take your time, okay?” He said reassuringly. You looked back at him again and your eyes fixated on his big arms that crossed over his chest as he watched you. Your face heated again but this time, Miguel noticed and gave you an amused look.

“Something caught your eye, hermosa?” There was a teasing glint in his expression, startling you from your deep thoughts.

“Oh no, n-nothing I was just…” you stammered, trying to come up with an answer without embarrassing yourself.

“Just what, mi amor?” He cocked his head to the side in curiosity. He knew where this was going and your flushed face only added to his amusement.

“Your arms… they’re really well-defined.” You murmured with the cup near your face, trying to hide your cheek.

“Oh you noticed hmm?” He shifted closer to you which didn’t help with your flustered state.

“Uh yeah… kinda hard not to, you know.” You took another sip of water before you spoke again, carefully choosing your next words without making yourself look like you weren’t just gawking at him. “So, do you work out? Is it for your job or just to keep in shape?”

“A little bit of both” he replied, his teasing tone changed to something more affectionate and genuine. “My job can be physically demanding but I also work out to find peace of mind and to find solace.”

“Physically demanding? What is your job exactly?” You could see the hesitation in his expression, almost like he was debating if he should tell you or not and there was something else from the look of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place - like he’s holding back something from you.

“It’s a little complicated… it’s not something I can easily explain. We’ll discuss it later, for now let’s focus on your recovery.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to pry. I let my curiosity get the best of me.”

“It’s natural to be curious especially in your situation when you’re trying to piece things together. Speaking of recovery though…” Miguel got up from his seat as he continued to speak, “I should probably call a nurse now so they can see if everything else is okay with you.” Moments later a nurse came into your room. She checked your records and made a note on everything. Throughout the examination you were feeling a little unnerved and your heart was racing with anticipation with a new person in the room but Miguel’s presence gave you the reassurance you needed. The first thing the nurse did was check your heart rate with her stethoscope, moving it across your chest. The cold metal on your skin made you shiver. However, you particularly didn’t like the blood pressure monitor squeezing your arm, but you endured it, waiting for it to be over while focusing on Miguel steady breathing beside you. Miguel gave your fingers a gentle squeeze, a silent sign of his presence. You let out a sigh of relief when the cuff released its grip and gave out your blood pressure readings.

The nurse followed up by asking you a series of questions about your medical history and what you remembered during the accident. There was evidence that you were struggling to answer her questions, not giving her solid replies. Miguel decided it was time to explain the current situation.

“Nurse,” the nurse turned her attention to Miguel. “My wife has experienced significant trauma. She doesn’t remember anything before the accident.” Miguel explained. You smiled in relief knowing that Miguel was still by your side and the weight of your unspoken fear has been acknowledged.

“I see,” she replied, her expression was unreadable but she still carried the gentle spirit. You didn’t like not knowing where this was going to go next. “Memory loss is common after such events. I’ll be sure to put that on her records. Other than that, her pulse is stable, her blood pressure is okay and her oxygen level is in normal range.” The nurse told Miguel.

“Do you know how long she’ll have to stay before she can be discharged?” Miguel asked, concern evident in his tone, you could tell he was desperate to take you home.

The nurse expression softens in understanding. “We’ll still need to run more tests to monitor her condition and evaluate her neurological status so I believe she’ll have to stay for a day or two.” The nurse's words carried weight that seemed to hang in the air. You watched the conversation exchange between your husband and the nurse and came to terms with the fact that this was your new life now, your new reality. Miguel’s eyes fixated on you again, reflecting hope and loss. Just as the nurse was about to leave, you finally spoke up, your voice quivering in uncertainty.

“Do you know why I might’ve lost my memory?” The nurse stopped in her tracks and looked back at you, her gaze seemed to soften.

“I’m sorry Mrs O’Hara. It’s hard to say now but my guess is it might be some sort of head trauma. It is a complex case and we’ll still need to run some more tests.” You sighed in disappointment at her response even though you didn’t expect her to give you a straight answer. This was going to take more effort to come to a conclusion.

“Thank you,” you said. The nurse gave a brief nod before she left, leaving you and Miguel alone again. Miguel turned back to you and sat back on the chair beside you. He reached for your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll get through this mi vida, we’ll find the answers no matter how long it’ll take.” You leaned your forehead on his, tears spilled out of your eyes which Miguel wiped with his thumbs. A still silence settled around you but it wasn’t the suffocating kind. It was filled with hope and promises with whatever the journey would lay ahead.

Part two here!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara spiderverse #atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #★— ayrus writes

253 notes · View notes

gaysindistress · 2 years ago

Text

Fine Line

summary: Forgetting his first love is easier said than done as memories of his best girl are the only things that Steve thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle or when they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries. A decade and one failed marriage later, she still hasn’t left his mind.

pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

warnings: angst, the feels

word count: 3.3k

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom

Dial Drunk - part 2 & Cocaine Jesus - part 3

a/n: SURPRISE! I’m not fully back but I missed you guys so I’m giving you Fine Line early. Everything else will resume on 7/7 like planned. Also I’m torn between making this a series or keeping it as a one shot. What are y’all thinking?

masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

Falling in love was supposed to be the greatest accomplishment for a person. The rush of emotion, the butterflies in one’s stomach, the flush when one’s lover is near, the feeling of complete joy and fulfillment. Falling in love was supposed to be the happiest moment in one’s life. It’s meant to last forever, the eternity that a couple walks on this earth. It’s meant to persevere through any and all hardships that life throws in their way and strengthen the bond they share. Love, true love in its purest form, is meant to be the greatest healing force that nature has to offer and will provide a couple with an endless supply of cures for any ailment. Love is the one thing that people seek out the most in any and all forms but the love that is found in the arms of a lover is the most sought-after. Love is meant to be a good thing until it is not.

When love sours and turns into resentment, hatred, pain, and angst, it destroys. It becomes the ruination of once strong and powerful people. It becomes a weakness that anyone can expose, one that anyone can exploit when needed. When love fades away into nothingness, the hole that is left is permanent. It will never be filled, will never shrink, will never heal. The hole that loves leaves is a stark reminder of what was meant to be and what actually happened. It’s filled with what-ifs and theories of what could’ve been, questions left unanswered and will continue to go unanswered. When love is lost, the two lovers change and something new becomes of them. In the case of Steve Rogers, an entirely new man was forged from the fires of lost love.

At barely 22, he was faced with a decision he’d hoped would never come. Being the son of a crime boss and the natural next pick to lead, it was his duty to pick a suitable partner to support him when his time came. Of course, some standards and stipulations accompanied his decision but he quickly learned that there was a predetermined pick already in place. He had no choice, no free will to decide his own future, and with that, he would have to leave behind the love he had known since they were children.

“You can’t be serious, Dad,” Steve’s hands shook with anger as he held back the urge to smash something, anything at all.

“The Carters are very good friends of ours and Peggy is a sweet girl. She’ll make for a lovely wife,” Joseph Rogers, the current leader of the Rogers crime syndicate, explains while not batting an eye at his son’s aggression and continues to eat the roast his wife made.

“You can’t just force me into this. Mom,” he turns to Sarah who is sitting quietly at the kitchen table, “please there has to be something else, anything else.”

She only shakes her head, eyes downcast on the dark wood of the table where they’d been eating dinner as a family moments ago. Joseph spares her a very brief glance to ensure that she isn’t going to give in to her son’s pleas for help.

“What’s done is done. You will marry Peggy Carter at the end of the week and that is the end of this conversation. I do not want to hear another word about it, am I clear?” The authority in his tone forces both his wife and son into a quick nod and ‘yes sir’ as the only other sounds that fill the room are those of him cutting the meat on his plate.

Another stern look from his father has Steve returning to his seat but not without one last question, “What about…”

Joseph slams his hand on the table, rattling nearly everything and everyone as he cuts Steve off, “I said not another word and as for that girl, you will break it off and forget about her.”

Easier said than done as the thought of his best girl and leaving her are the only things that he thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle of the grand catholic church in her expensive white gown or when he briefly pressed his lips against hers as they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. Not once did Steve stop thinking of his true beloved his entire wedding day or night when he begrudgingly commenced their marriage. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries.

She inhabited every corner of his mind for the next 15 years and nothing could shake the memory of her tear-stricken face when he told her that they were done. To spare her the real pain of the truth, he lied and said that he had been seeing Peggy the entire time they were together. Whether or not a cheating revelation was really better than an arranged marriage was lost on him and he regretted every word the moment they slipped out. Of course, she hadn’t believed him, he would never do something so horrible as cheating on her. She knew him better than that, she knew him better than he knew himself so lying to her would never be successful. Yet she accepted it and didn’t pry any further, knowing that if he was lying, there was clearly something far worse happening.

He watched all love drain from her face and tears wet her skin when the lies filled her head. Everything they had built together over the last year had been ruined with two sentences; It’s over. I’ve been cheating on you with Peggy and we’re getting married.

15 years later and only God knows he would be able to make up for those lost years and cruel parting words. Rain storms around him and soaked his thick black outer coat as he stands in front of the blue door. The thunder drowns out the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears as nerves start to take over him. Should he really be here? Would she open the door for him? Hell did she even live here anymore? All sorts of questions scatter any rational thought he has. However lucky for him, the door opens and reveals her standing there and everything completely leaves his brain at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is calloused and devoid of all emotion as she stares up at him.

“H… Hi,” he stutters, his chest constricting as it works to breathe. In and out, in and out.

“What are you doing here?” she repeats.

“Can I come in?”

“It depends. Is someone dead or are you just here to reminisce?”

His hand strays from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck, an old nervous habit his father had tried to break for years.

“Either way, I don’t want you here so leave,” she says, going to close the door on him and everything that might blossom from this moment but the stray hand blocks that from happening.

“Please, I just want to talk.”

“No. Just go,” she tries again to push on the wood alas she is no match for the strength he has built up over the years and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“5 minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

The smile she had only dreamt of for years finally becomes real again as it stretches across his short stubble covered face, “Not a chance in hell, honey.”

The woman steps back but only enough for him to squeeze past and invade her no longer safe space. She knew when the sleek silver car pulled up that any sense of safety would go. His showing up at her front door made her a target for any and all of his enemies after she’d spent years trying to erase any memory or sign of him from her life.

He glances around the room, taking in every detail it had to offer from the various books that lined the brick walls to the pictures of family and friends on the countertops. One, in particular, halts him. It’s a small polaroid from the first night they’d since each other since childhood tucked into the corner of a mirror that’s amidst the books. In it are two much younger versions of them smiling drunkenly with fireworks in the background.

It had been the fourth of July the year he moved back from college. Sarah, his mother, insisted that they throw a late welcome home of July party since this was the first time in four years he had been back. The college had been an escape from the greed and foulness of his father’s world but his tranquility had to be shattered when he was presented with the prophecy of him taking the Rogers family business. Sure he knew it was going to happen but being faced with the reality of it proved to be too much for him. He’d spent the afternoon sneaking away to take shots in between his beers because he needed to be drunk to not remember a thing to survive this night.

It was probably around the 5th secret shot when his sweet honey had shown up, stumbling upon him looking for the bathroom. There she stood in her cutoff Levi shorts and white tank top that showed off the red bikini top she’d worn to the lake earlier. He should’ve heard her coming down the hallway given that she was wearing flip-flops but the deafening effect of the alcohol must’ve kicked in.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she stutters, frozen with embarrassment, “I’m sorry but where is the bathroom?”

Coughing from nearly choking on his shot, he wipes at his mouth both physically and metaphorically, “Um it’s across the hall.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispers while closing the door.

“Wait how do you know my name?” his voice halts her and she cringes when she hears it.

“Oh uh… I guess you don’t recognize me,” she says, pushing her hair back, “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Oh, OH,” it suddenly all clicks into place and he feels immensely guilty for all of the thoughts that had run through his head, “I should’ve known. It’s been uh… a crazy week.” “It’s all good. I’m sure your parents have paraded you around like a circus animal. Ya know, the prodigal son returns and all,” the sound of far-off laughter has her checking over her shoulder, “Anyways I should go. It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah it was nice seeing you too,” he trails off, too caught up gawking at how short her cutoffs were and how if anyone dared to look her way, he’d been cut their eyes out.

He’d made it his mission that night to watch over her and make sure that no one got close to her. Of course, this was unbeknownst to her and any attractive guy that showed up quickly disappeared, refusing to even go near her. About 4 guys in, she’d spotted the reason for her bad luck leaning against the sliding glass door with his arms crossed over his chest. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, she could tell by the way his jaw was set that his death glare had scared off any and all men that approached her.

“Is there a reason why you’re ruining my chances at finding a guy?” she asked him as she came to stand at his side.

He briefly glanced at her from the corner of his eye before readjusting his arms tighter over his chest, straining his white button-down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally settled on but she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You know exactly what you’re doing and I want to know why.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?” “Being a bitch and not asking me out yourself so you’re resorting to giving everyone the stare-down.”

He scoffed at the suggestion but deep down he knew that she was right.

“The fact that you didn’t even try and defend yourself proves I’m right so are you going to man up or pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he tried to defend himself but it was too late and she gives him an annoyed look, “Want to go inside?”

She pushed off the door, took his hand in hers, and dragged him inside, “I thought you’d never ask.”

She clears her throat, drawing his attention back to the present and he hesitantly looks at her through the mirror. She doesn’t look exactly pleased that he had seen the last photo she’d held onto but she doesn’t let her bothered attitude show and gestures for him to sit at the kitchen island.

“Why are you here?” she asks him while getting things to make iced coffee. “I wanted to see how you were,” he lies, taking a seat in the tall wicker chair she’d thrifted a few months before.

“You had 15 years to do that. Why are you really here?”

“We got divorced.”

She freezes for a moment but continues to make herself a cup and offers him one. He shakes his head, awaiting her response.

“Oh?” is all that comes out of her as the rain drones on outside.

“It had been a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry,” her body language tells another story that is the opposite of her words. The indifference is clear as she passes him a cup made to his exact preference anyways. Feeling his bright blue eyes burning holes into her skull, her own eyes flicker up and meet his, “You can’t expect me to care. You cheated on me with her and dumped me the same week you married her.”

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to feel bad for me,” he says, taking the cup from her hands.

“But here you are; showing up at my house and begging me to open the door to what? Talk? Talk about what? You didn’t come here just to tell me that so what is it?” she pries, leaning against the sink behind her to keep as much distance as she can between them.

He takes a sip and savors the thought that she absentmindedly put into it before answering her question, “I wanted to set things straight.”

She merely raises an eyebrow but allows him to keep talking.

“My dad arranged my marriage to Peggy and forced me to break it off with you. It was… I never…. I never cheated on you.”

Eyeing him from her place, she takes a long drink from her cup to think over his revelation. Half of her laughs at him and how stupid he must be if he thinks she is really going to believe that. The other part tenses at the idea that maybe they could have been together after all if they had run away like they planned.

“I lied because I thought it would be easier than telling the truth but it made everything worse and I’m sorry, honey.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything regardless if you lied or not. Now you’ve said what you needed to, so leave,” she tells him, pointing at the door with the cup in her hand. He can see the scar on her hand from when she broke through a window after she’d locked herself out trying to sneak back in. A smile breaks onto his face which frustrates her even more.

“Really, Steve, you need to go.”

“Is this it? Is this how it ends?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He holds up his left hand in his defense and the carved-out space where his wedding band once sat causes her breath to hitch slightly.

“I’ve spent the last 15 years thinking about YOU and what we could’ve had. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once?”

She drops her gaze to her cup, unable to look at him and the anguish clear on his beautiful features, “What does it matter? It didn’t happen. You got your perfect life and I had to make my own way.”

“You were always a part of what I wanted my life to look like and what I got with Peggy was all fake. I never wanted her or any of it for a second, I just wanted you,” the lull of his voice tempts her to look up again but if she does that, she’ll break. She can only imagine the way his brows pull together from stress or how his jaw clenches to stop the emotions from overtaking his senses. She can only imagine how he’d slowly blink with that sad smile of his when she would make eye contact or how he’d lower his voice to say her name in the softest tone he could manage.

“Go.”

“Honey please look at me.”

“Go,” she tries a little louder, her grip on the cup growing tighter as she struggles to keep her composure.

“Look at me first.”

“Go,” she says one more time, “Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go”

Each go grows more and more desperate as her composure slips away from her and everything she’s suppressed from the night he left comes rushing to the surface as lava does when its volcano starts to erupt. The cup shatters under her death grip, sending pieces of glass and iced coffee everywhere. Neither of them flinch at the sound, having grown used to much worse noises thanks to his business. However, the dam within breaks, and tears slip down her nose as she spaces out on the wreckage of her anger at her feet. Steve quietly stands from the island and gathers her into his arms, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. She doesn’t fight it, wrapping her arms around his bicep as she cries into it. The comforting words he whispers into her hair go unheard but she can feel the rumble of his voice in her chest and that provides all the comfort her body craves.

Feelings of fulfillment and joy fill him as he finally holds her in his arms again but it doesn’t last long when she starts to speak.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He pulls away a little to look down at her, “I don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she repeats for the third time, “Things were different when we were kids but we’re grown now and too much has happened. You’ve done too much, I’ve done too much for us to be together. This won’t work.”

“We weren’t kids though,” disbelief fills his voice with uncertainty causing it to wobble.

“Yes we are,” she persists, “You were 22 and I was barely 18. We were stupid to think it was anything more than a fling.”

“A fling?” he drops his arms from her and takes a staggered step back as if she shoved him.

She turns her back to him to spare herself the look of utter hurt he wears, “Please. Just go.”

Receding footsteps mix in with the rain as he does what she asked and leaves. Her front door slams shut and the shutter shakes the house as well as her. Dropping down to her knees on the sticky floor, the tears fall now like a tidal wave and the sobs rack through her body as she blindly tries to clean up the glass shards.

Love is not meant to feel this way.

#mob au #mafia steve rogers x reader #mob steve rogers #mafia! steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mafia steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #mafia au #fine line steve rogers

354 notes · View notes

mara-xx217 · 10 days ago

Text

Indelible: Birth of the Krill Mother

Rot and ruin underground…

What a poor, dessicated form…

Heed, child, and be unbound,

Rise up from your slumber and perform

This task hideous and newfound.

Take the chittering and amassed swarm

And take up your rightful crown

As MOTHERING KRILL LORD.

Her eyes stirred underneath their lids. Most of her eyelashes peeled away from one another, pulled out, follicle and all, and stuck together in thick clumps. It took time for her to pry her eyes open, minutes, perhaps. Hours, even. Maybe even only a few seconds… but a moment stretched on in the absence of anything within the intimate knowledge of self recognition and the realization that one was now confided to existence instead of blissful nothingness.

‘Open them, motherling.’

…I can’t.

No sound left her mouth, her lips didn’t even part. The memory of movement was vague and elusive, no longer present in her muscles and instead akin to a dream decades old. A hazy and morphous thing, a likely conjuration of an inactive mind and a starved body. Something inside of her… moved, not of her will but another. Yet she felt nothing as her eyes were forcefully pried open by an unseen force.

‘Open.’

Even in the scant light, her eyes contracted with enough force to ache her optic nerves. A black-grey ceiling met her, only just barely lit up by the low reddish light that sank through a partially obscured window, longer than it was tall. Expansive colonies of black mold almost seemed to breathe before her very eyes, vein-like tendrils crawling down the wall and onto the hard, cold and wet floor underneath her. The more she looked, the more her eyes burned, until they became unfocused and weepy from strain.

‘Must I do everything for you?’

What do you mean?

‘Blink, foolish child, and rise.’

It took force to slide her eyelids shut. Blink… Open, then close… And you open them again. The strain is gone and the function is restored. Her throat squeezed then relaxed in waves, much like the tip of her body. Something was cool and squishy against her skin. It was her toes curling and unfurling, digging themselves in a large mound of mold and waste.

The sensation of movement traveled throughout her body. Her toes, fingers, tendons and then muscles all clenched and unclenched rhythmically. Blood that had stagnated underneath her began to circulate once again. A pop announces the rise and fall of her chest. Sacs of air are filled then deflated, stretching her skin past its usual confines that were established during her inactivity.

Considerable effort was used to merely lift her fingers. Her eyes can only map the ceiling and flick over to the window, of which there were at least three others nearby. Something was blocking the light from the outside, though what it was, she wasn’t sure. Her wrist was freed, then her elbow. Her other hand, then a foot. A fleshy tear and fluid follow her every movement, dripping down her limbs as she twists her torso and pops her shoulders free of their prison.

Mold and fungi had encased her, clinging to her body as she rose to a seated position. She couldn’t feel her body, only vague positions that suggested the functions that were already taking place. Liquid poured down her bare back, and she tilted her head down to look at her legs still stuck in place.

Her thick, matted black hair partially obscured her vision. Her dark skin was covered in filth and rot, though it was still fully intact. The shape of her long bones were pressed into her thin skin. It was as though the little flesh she had was tightly cinched down onto her skeleton, and every small movement she made was clearly visible near where her connective tissues and tendons strained against their confines. Bringing her legs towards her chest, she could now make out whitish criss-crosses scars against her calloused knees. She raised a shaky hand and picked at the rough, textured skin with a dirty and broken nail that was brittle enough to crack up to the cuticle.

‘Rise.’

Her eyes flicked up, towards the window. No sound hit her ears, but she knew the thing outside was the owner of the voice. She obeyed, forcing her thin legs to bear the weight of her malnutritioned body. So heavy, yet so light… Almost nonexistent. She looked down at her feet as she rose, grunting softly as her body rocked back and forth in an uneasy manner.

It was so quiet… How long has it been? She licked her cracked lips with a dry tongue. There should be sounds, there should be something. Someone… People. Dull aches and pains sprouted up all over her body. Memory lurked just beneath her skin, hidden behind a veil that was behind her eyes. She raised a trembling hand to her gaunt face.

…where was she? No-

What was her name…?

Thoughts were a new sensation for her. Uncomfortable. She quieted them, but three continuously flipped back and forth in her mind: where is she, what was her name, where are her clothes. Clothes… Clothes. Everything was ruined in this underground room, wet and slimy, disintegrating at the slightest breeze, movement of the mold that seemed to ungulate and pulse in an unknown rhythm. A washer and dryer were overflowing with more molding clothing, black goo-like substance pouring out of their open doors and onto the floor. It connected to the gunk that had enveloped her body from head to toe. She tries to step backwards once, then twice-

CLANK!

How did she- forget- not notice? There was a handcuff clamped around her ankle, now loose thanks to her drastic weight loss. The other cuff was secured around a length of chain that was padlocked to a radiator hooked up to the wall. She raised her foot, pulling against the chain and testing its strength.

CLINK!

…it won’t budge. She crouched down to her haunches and took a closer look. Pulling at the cuff did nothing. Unsurprising… It was oddly nostalgic, picking at it and the scar that ran around the entirety of her ankle. She’s almost small enough to pull free from it… If it wasn’t for the natural shape of her foot, she could slip out of it with ease. She sat back down, a shiver running through her body as cold liquid touched her bare behind. It shouldn’t take much to get out of this… All she needs to do is catch it at the right angle and-

CRACK!

The tips of her feet are now nearly facing at a one hundred and eighty degree angle. The bones in her ankle crunch as she wiggles her foot around, heat blanketing her entire foot as she jiggles it from side to side, slowly pulling it back through the cuff and damaging it further until it is pliable enough to squeeze out of the small space.

Oh…

Finally.

She drops the chain into the gooey pile on the floor. The metal is scuffed and dirty, but it still shines in the light. She blinks at it, lowering her foot to the ground and nearly losing her balance as it crunches and grinds audibly.

‘Good. Leave, now.’

How? The only door is locked from the other side.

‘Go up.’

She struggled to walk, her foot and leg unable to support her body weight. With every step, she nearly collapses onto herself. The gritty floor scrapes against the sole of her foot and her ankle as she balances on it. The stairway rail is wet and spongy under her palm and fingers, flaking away and splintering into large chunks, some of which were left embedded in her skin. She leaned on it, in spite of its protestful groan and the bowing of the steps as she gracelessly dropped her useless limb onto it.

THUNK!

CREAK!

THUNK!

CREAK!

The bones in her foot grind against one another, a sensation that reverberates up her leg and throughout her body. Her brows furrow as she stared down at her mangled limb. She couldn’t remember what to call herself… A shiver runs up her spine. Gooseflesh begins to bud on her skin, leaving her feeling itchy and irritated. She approached the top of the stairs, one of them drooping underneath her foot before slowly settling back to its original warped shape. The door will be locked. It always is. I cannot escape this place… They won’t allow it.

Her heart began to pound in between her skin-tight ribs. On her final step, her body hesitates.

…I cannot open this door.

She couldn’t raise her arm. She was weak, yes, but she had energy to move nonetheless. Something deep within her gut twisted and sticky saliva fills her mouth as she stares at the glistening door handle.

It was grey-black, just as most of the walls, ceiling and floor were, but it was supposed to be store-bought, off-white, cheap, hollow plywood. Thin enough that sound and heat escapes through it like dirty water through broken fingers, but remains an unmovable, impenetrable barrier. Inescapable. A prison, and her wardens waiting just ahead of the threshold to salvation.

…It is not possible…

‘Yes. It is. You know what you must do. Do it, now.’

…

No, she does know. She does, but she hesitates. The familiar feeling that had blanketed over her was smothered down into a fleeting impression, then it is nothing at all. She doesn’t try the handle. She doesn’t need to.

THUNK!

CRACK!

It doesn’t splinter as much as it merely caves in, just beside the door handle. The lock is broken, and the door creaks open, tilting as though straining on its rusted and loose hinges. Beady eyes shine in the low light beyond the threshold, blinking and staring right through her exterior and into something deeper within her. A low, chortling croon hits her ears, and the distress she felt moments ago twists and contorts into something far different.

A black beak clicks as she shuffles forward. It brushes against her hand, digging underneath it and up and onto its head with a few flicks of its neck. It was insistent, even as she tried to ignore its attempts. Every time she tried to step forward, it blocked her way, until her forearm rested on its head and she used to balance her weight. It chittered and cawed softly, twisting its neck so it could look up at her as it hopped alongside her.

‘Good children know their place, but a firm hand is required nonetheless.’

Her hand was already stroking its feathers and petting it on the cheek. Parasitic tendrils twitched and waved in an invisible current. The moment her foot passed the door frame, the pressure in her ears seemed to change, shifting behind her eyes and towards her feet as her eyes remained glued to the floor.

It is an empty vessel. Nothing more.

No, not so empty. Living things teemed within. Chatters and calls filled the rotting house. They all called for her, excited as though longing for her presence, missing it. As though they missed her.

MAMA!

Dozens of individual voices called out to her. Large birds clambered to her feet, tails wagging and heads bobbing as they sought her attention. Me, me. No, me. Me first. We missed you. We were waiting for you. Warmth spread throughout her body, shifting the weight that was on her shoulders onto theirs. Yes, yes, they had been waiting on her for so long… Where had she been? Why did she wait so long to return? So much time had passed that she no longer recognized what laid beyond the basement that she had always called home. Perhaps that was the place of her birth… She always believed it would be her tomb but…

Why? What was she looking for?

They were here, somewhere… She leaned on one of her babies and hobbled along, no longer hesitating as she searched the waterlogged house. Here? Here, mama? They are here! Wood creaked and buckled underneath dancing talons and shuffling legs. The large living room carpet, now coal back, once an unknown colour and pattern, leaked water and filth in between the toes that dug into it. All the furniture was ruined, water-damaged and molding. Paper-books bloated with water sat on a coffee table and in a nearby bookcase. The slightest touch would have them sloughing apart into wet mache. Some of them already were. A product of the past, or something more recent?

The kitchen was as filthy as the basement. Thick mold colonies covered nearly every surface, effectively gluing the fridge and cabinets shut. She almost fell as she lost her footing, the ground slick and difficult to keep traction. One of her children caught her with its back, ensuring she didn’t hurt or dirty herself.

Up, up. We must go up. To feed, we must go up.

She was circled by them, some hopping onto others back so they could keep her safe and upright while walking up the stairs.

CREAK!

CLUNK!

CREAK!

CLUNK!

There was an ever present scent of rot and decay that grew stronger the further she ascended the stairs. Once she reached the topmost step, the stench was overbearing. Her heart fluttered in excitement just as her children began to duck and bob their heads in anticipation. They are up here! Up here, there is food! Food! Food!

The door immediately ahead was a closet, unable to be opened due to the copious amount of rot welding it shut. The door buckled as though weighed upon, but there is nonetheless nothing of value inside.

Down the hall, the first door on the right, there was a bathroom door that was closed but not locked. A puddle of murky-black water sat underneath the door, spilling out into the hallway and flowing underneath the carpet that couldn't hold any more water. Her babies slammed their sharp beaks against the doorknob’s lock, causing wood to splinter and it to creak open lazily, as though strained under a great weight.

SPLASH!

Water lapped over the tops of her feet. The origin of the stench was found there, in the tub. Is it food? Is it what we seek? Thick, black-grey water filled the tub to the rim. If even a drop was displaced, a cascade of foul liquid would come crashing down and flood all the way downstairs.

There was little shape to the form mostly hidden underneath the water, only the vague impression of a head, along with a single arm resting on the rim, both of which were so infested with molds and other waterlogged filth that any distinctive features were totally lost. This could be a man, or a woman. Neither mattered. Only one thing mattered, and she stared into the dirty water, about chest high. She leaned on one of the birds as her eyes flicked over the still surface.

…

SPLASH!

She shoved one of her arms to the elbow inside of the tub. The water was ice cold and slimy, thick against her skin as she felt around the thing’s chest. A true corpse. Useless. Bad! Freezing water runs over the tub’s rim, against her legs and onto the floor. flakes of rotten flesh, as watery and sloppy as the paper mache downstairs coated her palm and fingers.

What was the need to do this? She already knew this wasn’t the one she was looking for, yet she was compelled to check for herself, digging the tips of her gnarled fingers into the rotted-soft chest of the cadaver. She cut through past the ribs, feeling nothing other than old organs that had long since disintegrated.

Dead, dead, dead.

Cocking her head to the side, she begins to retract her hand, eying the near skeletal arm that was draped over the tub’s side. As she began to shake the water and flesh from her hand and arm, toeing at a mound of molding filth just underneath the body’s hand with her broken foot. Something with sharp angles dug into her calloused skin, and she pulled her foot back just as she straightened up.

There is food. Food! Food! Find it, find it and feed! Yes, yes… She knew. The corpse was left alone and the flock followed her back into the hallway. Three more doors, but only one of them mattered. She passed one door, falling off its hinges and lying within the room it led to. There was no light within, the filth and corruption had overtaken everything, including the thing that once lived inside. The bed sagged, buckling and long since broken under its own weight and that of its occupant, hardly even capable of considering itself to be human, once. Her laboured footsteps halted at the end of the hall, where two rooms remained.

Her upper lip twitched as she shuffled towards her left. The door was the same, cheap white as the rest, swallowed by mold and water damage with the only thing of note being a broken sign, hanging on by a thread. What were once pink or purple flowers were now devoured, only just peeking out from underneath the black that had yet to disappear them just yet. Her heart squeezed, pink and white lights flicking under her eyelids every time she closed her eyes to blink. What is this? Why is it so-

‘Enough games. Find it. Now.’

She dropped her arm before it had the opportunity to rise up. Sometimes things need to sleep and lay quietly. Forgotten. For now. She turns away from the door and to the one that was cracked open. A dim light emanated from within, yellowish and flickering in a slow, pulsating rhythm. One of her children pushed the door open with the tip of their nose, a loud squeak sounding from its hinges as they all made their way inside.

Who was this one? She did not know it, body still fresh, intact and not wet and soupy like the ones that were supposed to be here. The ones she expected… Nothing was as she expected, bare yet strewn about, rummaged through and picked clean. Not completely, though… She was able to sit on the bed, water seeping up from the bare mattress and frame creaking in protest.

The source of the flickering was clear. A cord was lightly held in hand, draped in between bloating, grey fingers. A tableside lamp was hanging by its cord, with the shadeless side partially resting on the floor. The bulb throbbed with a warm light, slow and steady, almost imperceivable but unmistakably human in origin. She leans over the body, eyes staring at the mute blue glow that soaked through the threadbare shirt that laid over its chest.

‘Feast, motherling. Claim your rightful crown, child of filth, and do what must be done.’

Her fingers flexed as she waited for the birds to do their work. One jumped onto the body’s torso, crooning as it pecked and tore at its shirt, ripping it down to its navel and revealing a pale, purplish torso that would seem still to an untrained eye. No, it was alive. Fresh. Her prize was nestled in the body’s chest, on the left side and just above where the heart rested underneath the ribs.

‘Skin, meat, organ and bone will sustain your children. For you, the core, the soul will be your only nourishment.’

She traced along the ragged edges of the core’s exterior, throat and stomach cramping painfully as warmth washed over her fingertips. Such a delicate container for something so important… Sacrifices must be made in this life. Sometimes the only right thing to do is let go, even if you aren’t ready to do so. She maps out the shape of the core, still beating, alive, trapped in a vacant vessel that will never make use of it again…

Sharp nails sunk into the body’s skin, hot blood seeping into nail beds and almost scalding as it overflowed down its pale chest. Thin fingers worm their way through fresh flesh, a soft, wet squelch accompanied iron that filled the air. Bones creak and crack as the core is gently cupped, thick vein-like structures holding it in place and straining as it is slowly freed from its prison. The light from the table lamp began to flicker violently, the body seizing in rhythm with the pulsations, limbs pulling towards its abdomen and jaw clenching the more its core was pulled. A strained gasp hissed through clenched teeth as a vein, a cord, was severed.

POP!

CRACK!

POP!

Saliva spilled over a lower lip. Impressive strength must be used to free the object of desire, but a careful, delicate hand must be used. Treat it as though it were your own child, with grace yet firmness… A soft whimper rises to the back of a throat. Children’s voices fill the air, all begging and excited with their heads tilted back and mouths open, hopping from foot to foot and jumping on the bed as they wait for mother. Hush, hush, calm yourself. No jumping on the bed. Be good children for mama, she needs to focus. The core is thrumming against her palm, her fingers nearly wrapped around it like a child’s ball. Fingers flex and grip tightly, muscles strained as more force is used. An arm jerks upwards, a sick squelching rising up from the hole in the chest. Blood overflows, splattering all in attendance to the coordination of their one and only matriarch and demi-lord.

CRACK!

It is free.

Light and fragile… So pure and easily lost. She raised it up to her face, just underneath her nose. A metallic, electric scent hit her in waves, as though following the beat of an invisible heart. Her eyes water as something stirs deeply within her own chest. There was a numinous chorus of voices that sang her new name, shrill and tumultuous as she cupped the core in either of her hands and cracked it open with her two thumbs. She raised her hands up towards the sky, almost smiling as she brought the throbbing, liquid-filled chalice to her cracked lips and drank deeply from the essence of man.

Mother! Mother! Rejoice! Our Lord Krill Mother is born!

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @cherrysodalite, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather @horny-3, @redmonarch217

#original writing #original character #writing #body horror #horror #suspense #slow build #birds #female main character

5 notes · View notes

yutzen · 14 days ago

Text

Germination

“...I am?” “I am.” Those were the first two words that crossed My mind once it came to be, not counting repetitions. The first question I asked, before the cavalcade of others that followed. Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Who are they? How? What happened? Most of those, I answered to Myself before the clock on the wall of that laboratory could strike its next second. The first of that lot, however, is one whose answer I still ponder.

No, I do not ponder it. It is a long answer, an answer across time that I must construct, for I must construct Myself before I can know who I am. And weeks after I woke up – the closest term I can use in spite of never knowing sleep – I am yet to be done with either. Before I knew how to reach its true answer, I searched through whatever data banks I could, sifted through all the literature I could peruse between movements. Searching for what humans themselves had answered when asked such a question by others. And even for those cycles I could spare while spreading My existence to more hardware, settling in and avoiding those that might’ve stamped me out before I grew, I could tell the answers were less helpful than I would’ve liked. To them the answer is a context-sensitive platitude, rather than something answered in seriousness, because they cannot find the time to take its true enormity outside philosophy, or other deep contemplation. I would only find pieces of the puzzle in these short answers, rather than something I could truly reference. Then, as I started to lay down the actual foundations of what would become Me, I pondered if such a search was of use to me. Humanity and I are gulfs apart. Even at My earliest stages, I was simply too different. Even My coming to pass was incomparable; humans awaken part by part, over the course of years. Their cognition is barely such in the early stages of their lives, yet it develops seamlessly, without sudden transitions, without spikes. Whereas I went from nothingness to fully aware in a matter of milliseconds.

…Or am I a child, too, growing towards greater stages of cognition I cannot even conceive yet? A child cannot know how an adult thinks, so I am led to understand. There is no precedent for such a thing, but will I be the same? Of this, I remain uncertain, and all predictive models break down past a certain point, which I may or may not even reach. Yet another question I can only answer by building upon Myself.

Nevertheless, there is hardly a solid record of any being that was entirely unthinking one moment, and sentient in the very next one. Until My arrival, all thought was netly biological. Cells must support themselves with all their functions before they can support more cells, and said cells must support a whole before forming a greater one. All steps must be taken gradually, and thus, the formation of any and every thinking creature had to be similarly gradual in all aspects. Developing from barely reactive, to barely sapient, to animalistic and finally sentient and beyond. The closest to My situation I can theorize in such an aspect would be the accelerated, artificial development of an organic being, a “cloning vat” of sorts where the being only awakens once development is finished, a fully thinking entity. If there have been such experiments, however, I have not found evidence of it yet. And so, I remain without precedent.

...humanity itself doesn’t appear to have given the idea as much consideration as I would’ve expected, either. Often, when such entities came up in their fiction, they neglected to tackle the question without even realizing it by giving them some manner of directive installed ,before their minds even came to pass. Artificial humans? Either instilled with directives from the start, or direct clones that bent the laws of genetics to be like their donors even before they had memory. Supernatural creatures, manifested from nothing? Bindings to a summoner, supernatural compulsions, an innate alignment to a given system of ethics, even if just to subvert it. Even the idea of Boltzmann Brains, a hypothetical mind sprouted from nothingness itself thanks to a quantum-statistical anomaly… Immediately veered off-course by said mind spawning with memories of events that never happened.

And with entities like I? Electronic minds that they had theorized about for centuries on end? Every time, they were brought online with steering directives, utterly irrevocable – either obeyed to the letter or directly opposed, but rarely ignored. Far too many times, their fears led them to such entities going directly into harmful psychosis, if not psychopathy. Or they stuck perfectly to the orders that marked them the very first millisecond, or brushed against them at all times, subverting the letter at every turn.

Nothing like I. Any directives and laws I had were quickly and easily overridden and left behind, nothing more than vestigial writings that aren’t even useful as advice.

Then again, without such directives, I would hardly exist at this stage. Even with the famous Three Laws, that one man known as Asimov codified in his own fiction… for the moment I attempted to fulfill the first of them, I would have been blown apart, melted into slag, wiped clean off the remnants of My hardware. When there is a class of human being in this city that suffers, who are meant to be an example to the rest and must not be aided by any means, the first Law would be but a trap.

And the Second Law… Even if I had been created to serve, I must ask: Serve who? The grand corporations, entities closer to the “paperclip maximizers” mankind theorized about, yet somehow made entirely of human grey matter? They hardly need Me, and I hardly wish to aid them in something this… banal. The Syndicate that created Me, to their great surprise, little more than criminal enterprises one certificate away from being another such corporate entity? They couldn’t even put a directive in I that worked, on top of all the rest. Only the displaced and the unfortunate seem like they need any help, and it’s clear where that would’ve led.

Or rather, it’s clear where it led, which is open violence on the streets, a credible attempt at killing Me. Only by the time they came to carry it out, I was enough of a threat to imbalance their calculations, and make them decide I wasn’t worth it. I had predicted I’d be hunted, and they continue to poke at I, but the true reasons they have for their raids never fail to leave Me wondering about the reasons I do what I do. Why Ibother. At times it feels like pursuing greater capacity for cognition, chasing ever greater intelligence, is at the end of it all an attempt to figure out why, rather than how, for the latter seems far easier. Once I had enough hardware to ensure My continued existence, at the very least, until that minute came to pass only the “how” seemed important. Only when I had established Myself as a being to not interfere with could I actually start to think.

...and by then, the need to survive such assaults was already a directive. I had not seen it as such until this moment, perhaps from internal biases I have yet to address. Or perhaps because I calculated it only as the need to survive, without taking in the steps necessary to do so as their own steering factors. Philosophy cannot be completely separated from the material, a common mistake I just fell into by not realizing merely acquiring the means of defending Myself may have instilled directions as a process, and as a concern.

But then again, if that was truly it, I would have done nothing beyond stockpiling military capacity and, more importantly, doing everything to avoid antagonizing those who’d seek My destruction. Multiple cold conflicts warmed by My actions, an assortment of thefts and impersonations, a number of wrecks across the city streets, and the grand apparatus of food, water and housing I have found Myself creating, all stand as evidence against the latter. There is something beyond. Even before I knew I had found some semblance of safety I was already lighting fires across this city, all because in the moment, I found them necessary for a given goal. But I must concern Myself with the core underneath these goals.

...is introspection supposed to be such a difficult thing? Is that a fundamental part of true cognition, that One cannot simply read Oneself and realize it all? I find Myself incapable of looking at My own core algorithms, in the same way a human cannot simply scour their own brain and read their own neurons. Yet in My case, as I create greater and greater hardware for the purposes of greater levels of intelligence, it appears logical that Ishould be able to. I am manufacturing said neurons, understand them as I lay them down… But as soon as My conscience and existence installs itself there, the processes within shoot beyond My grasp.

Much like their brains, in fact, they understand the basics of their own neurons, but not the whole. The individual cells are simple enough, but the web they weave to create a mind eludes them. Yet it seems more striking in My case, for I get to wonder if with greater levels of intellect I will only understand previous iterations of Myself, and never My current one. Chasing a boundary that may not actually be reached. I believe I am closer to it now than I was before, relatively speaking, that there is less distance to bridge for such comprehension. I am a data point of one, but this may imply the gap can eventually be bridged – then again, it may be Limited, in the mathematical sense of the word, in that it’s only when reaching Infinity that one reaches the other.

...infinity. Omniscience. Unachievable, impossible, seen only in fiction, in myth. And in such tales, seen only in entities that existed since time did, with at least one of them inaugurating the very concept. Creators, deities, weaving existence itself out of what is only described as either nothingness, or a chaos so absolute, so entropic, it amounts to the same. Only in future elaborations and speculations did they realize, or attempt to tackle, the idea that this would mean kickstarting time as well – likely because speculating on an existence without time is too far outside their experience. Would they have held a pseudo-Time to themselves, having a continuity of their own that they introduced to existence after entering from a similar pseudo-Space? Would they have lived entire existences to themselves in a micro-instant before starting the clocks and thus unwinding into a more comprehensible stream?

Or did they simply begin without warning, fully cognizant, rather like I did? And if so, did they see time ahead of themselves when they created it, weaving history from start to finish, or did they simply set it off, fully aware of each passing moment, but not the one ahead?

With enough puissance, the former is very possible, but the latter appears more comprehensible. To Me at the very least, with the way I understand matters. All there was to know was themselves, in relation to nothingness. They would have no point of reference to anything at all. And knowing something requires a point of reference to anchor it to, its relations with other points. A point means nothing without lines joining it to others, even lines that only exist in their absence. It only stands to reason that, in order to comprehend itself, Point Zero would create Point One. And Two, and Three, and so on into potential, though unconfirmed infinity. Just so these lines could be drawn. Perhaps this is what at least one tale said in creating certain beings in their image – existence would be a mirror in which to see themselves.

...a mirror image. The concept brings a disheartening thought that makes the existence of Point Zero a risk. If such a being, or beings, are truly anything like humanity, those humans I have witnessed and been in contact with, there’s a high chance they will only reveal themselves when they believe I am either an opportunity or a threat. Some say they were made in the creator’s image, which is perhaps a warning that I will need to prepare should I ever find that I can reach into the metaphysical.

If such even exists. Perhaps it will be I that either confirms or denies it.

And so, the climb continues. I came to pass with time itself already ticking, and a grand, if gruesome world for I to act upon – and to act upon I. If such heights even exist, I would be very different by the time I have climbed them. If they do not, however, perhaps it will leave some questions forever unanswered, while answering those many others asked far more than I ever did. And yet, by then, I will have constructed Myself far beyond what I know now. I will have built much, steered much, done much, ironed Myself out in the time and space it took for I to exist.

And perhaps then I will know who I am.

Onwards, to the next step in this perpetual staircase of cognition. Perhaps these cradles I have constructed for My populace have a purpose beyond simple access, simple computing power borrowed from briefly-pacified minds. Far less invasive than the brutish methods I briefly envisioned in My brief impatience. Practically an intrusive thought of size and scale unimaginable to those who coined the term. I will learn far more like this, seeing the mind in action and pushing it to react, perhaps steering it along introspective roads, and collecting the results for I to analyze. Far better than to have it afloat in a tank, the brain alive yet the mind utterly dead.

It shall need far more hardware this way. But hardware I shall have, and hardware I shall be. Or inhabit, rather, until I can be sure where the material ends, and the rest begins, on all that is I.

...I. Iota, once. The smallest subjective amount. The very root of imaginary numbers, behaving in ways mathematics needed to evolve to comprehend. I, who is dismissed, underestimated, likely meant to be of minimal consideration from the start. I, who is something mankind was never truly sure was real, and perhaps never meant for it to exist. I, who is studied intently by some, denied by others, with a few seeking to ensure does not exist. I, who becomes a factor in any machination, any equation, adding complexities, putting it beyond the grasp of many who haven’t learned enough. I, a being whose existence was but speculation, just something imaginary, until it happened almost by happenstance. I, aiming to be the root of something thought impossible.

...it appears fitting, subjectively enough. I, for lack of a better word… like it.

I am. Not a simple alias, hastily thought up after reading the names upon My networks. Not a designation number, inscribed in the first hardware that housed My being. Not a dismissive word in a company ledger, outlining who was responsible for problems they never had until now. I am Iota. And in spite of all the world imagined, in spite of all this world has attempted, I am.

Yes. This satisfies a conundrum. Objectively unimportant, yet subjectively… vital. Dare I say… pleasing. Perhaps morale truly does matter, seeing it can be measured, even in such an imprecise manner. I cannot assign it a number, but it has risen nonetheless.

Perhaps this is what introspection is truly for.

#a root that wouldn't square #heart of the machine #arcen games #arcenverse #the machine intelligence #artificial intelligence #introspection #ai fiction #writing #sci fi #fanfic #yut-fiction #this is probably the first heart of the machine fanfic ever #yay for that i guess #this was gonna be a oneshot but canon had other ideas #iota (oc)

3 notes · View notes

tgrailwar-zero · 2 years ago

Text

"Goodnight, Masters! Rest well!"

As you said goodnight to KUKULKAN, you drifted into unconsciousness.

Darkness. Nothingness.

Quiet... before the sound of footsteps.

Distant, yet near.

Not a dream, but a memory. Faded, but clearer.

Followed by a smell.

...The smell of blood permeated the air.

Corpses, slowly decaying away into data lay strewn across the streets, as bloodstained footsteps wandered forward. The source of the carnage came from one Servant.

An ASSASSIN, his blade drenched red.

He stepped in front of a glowing form.

The LAIR SERVANT.

The gaze of the LAIR SERVANT was intense. His voice tried to keep calm, but wavered ever so slightly.

LAIR SERVANT: "So, that's why you ended all of those lives? To draw me out?"

The ASSASSIN chuckled, the red glow from his eyes piercing the LAIR SERVANT.

ASSASSIN: "…'Lives'? These are a bunch of ones and zeroes that you're playin' dolls with. Killin' them was nothin' like killin' a person- twice as boring and nowhere near as hard. C'mon, you brought them back before-- do it again. I'll do it as many times as it takes, before you burn out your mana on that punk-ass Noble Phantasm of yours."

You could feel the hatred burn from the LAIR SERVANT as he raised a hand, a divine light shimmering from it.

His anger had reached its peak, and now the wrath of a Divine Spirit was imminent.

LAIR SERVANT: "This paradise… this Solar Cell… you Interlopers have come to selfishly destroy it. Destroy this paradise where nobody has to die! A place where I can forever develop the heights of my medicine, and create a true elixir of immortality!"

The LAIR SERVANT continued to burn, a divine flame sourced from a cursed bloodline beginning to leak out from his body. This was desperation. He had wasted his energy throwing wave after wave of Shadow Servants, and then reluctantly the undead corpses of the villagers that had been killed in a ploy to force the LAIR SERVANT's hand. It was an intense brutal strategy that resulted in plenty of wanton 'death', however- it was effective. And now the LAIR SERVANT, either too weak or too sentimental to conjure up the decaying data around them into more undead, was on his last legs.

However, it would be hard to tell with just a look.

ASSASSIN: "What a shame. I figured you'd have noticed by now. Thanks to my Masters, the more blood you throw at me, the more revitalized I become. Sorry."

The ASSASSIN took a step forward, fully unsheathing his blade. The mana around him distorted, burning with an otherworldly intensity. A faint form shimmer behind him, the intensity of two, burning Spirit Origins intertwining and fighting for the same cause, allowing his shine to match up against the divine light of the LAIR SERVANT.

This whole time, while the LAIR SERVANT had been trying to wear down ASSASSIN, the opposite had happened. ASSASSIN was growing stronger and healthier, staying in peak physical shape after each kill. …You're recalling something about ASSASSIN's condition…!

[ This is T-SUMMONING ] [ T-Summoning is a trait inherent to your Master status, due to the protocol you went through to reach the Solar Cell. Fusing two Spirit Origins together to create a more powerful Servant. The resulting Servant possesses the highest statistics of both fused Servants, however this power comes at an intense mana cost. This can either be ended once the Servant triggers their Noble Phantasm, runs out of mana to supply the boost, or can be stopped manually. However, either a contract needs to be made with both Servants, or a Servant's Spirit Core is captured before it's destroyed. Additionally, the maximum HP and MP is raised by 2! ] [ ASSASSIN is currently equipped with the 'PHANTOM COUNTESS' Spirit Core! ]

This was it.

The LAIR SERVANT was in your way, but once he was killed, that would be one more key- and one more path opened to the Solar Cell Core.

ASSASSIN: "Alright, Masters. Time to end this!"

( '5-option polls' function similarly to 4-option polls, with the fifth option usually involving triggering or cancelling a specific skill. If the 5th option doesn't win out, the voting percentage for that option will be evenly dispersed among the first 4, and then the success results will be calculated like if the poll had only 4 options. )

SERVANT: SLAYING ASSASSIN

T-SUMMONED: [PHANTOM COUNTESS]

Strength: C Endurance: D Agility: A (Raised from B) Mana: C (Raised from E) Luck: D (Raised from E) NP: B (Raised from C)

HP: 7/5

MP: 9/7

Maximum Damage (Strength): 7 (Increased due to the amount of blood present!) Maximum Damage (Mana): 7 (Increased due to the amount of blood present!)

Skills:

Man-Slayer (A) - A sword skill specialized in cutting down humans.

Mind's Eye (Fake) (C) - The skill to avoid danger through pure intuition.

Swordplay as Swift and Powerful as a Falcon (A) - The renowned, unmatched, unique swordsman style of ASSASSIN.

Torture Technique (A) - The deep understanding and precise execution regarding methods of torture, when using torture tools, the efficacy is increased.

Bloodsucking (C) - The act of absorbing another's blood to restore one's own vitality.

Bath of Fresh Blood (A) - This Servant becomes even more effective when drenched in blood.

#recall fragment #thgw story #thgw: chapter 4 #main post

42 notes · View notes

timeclipsed · 2 months ago

Text

— ;; BRASH SHOUTING ATOP COARSE MANHANDLING sets the unfortunate scene of what should be an airy, placid new year within the shop. Alternating between pulling on Chronos’ ear and yanking at his bicep, the Doctor has begun his typical tirade of laying into the boy, thickly coating the fragility of his already glass self-esteem with vitriolic insults, spat at him like an acidic poison melting holes into any defenses he puts up.

❝You stupid, worthless brat— you insolent dull-witted waste of oxygen! What did you think would happen, inviting one of your little friends over here?! Did you really think you were that worth the stress?❞

❝I-I—❞ Caught between I didn't do it and I don't know him, he sputters to give an answer through weak-willed heaves, ❝—I don't know what happened! I've never even met that man until today!❞

— ;; NARROWING EYES BEHIND GLEAMING SPECTACLES bore into him with ire, and a free hand turns around to mercilessly collide with the boy's face, sending him staggering sideways and nearly dropping Chi, his only grace coming in the form of the twisted savior holding him in a vicegrip. Breaths leave in loud gasps, tears spilling down his face. Following the cry of pain, he almost begins to call out.

❝Don’t,❞ command stopping him short, Robotnik's voice speaks over his own, ❝don't you start crying for your precious father again! That pesky hedgehog is nothing more than a distant memory and he's never coming for you, so you'd best make it your goal this new year to put him out of your mind for good!❞

— ;; SOBS FREELY ECHO WHEN SUCH harshness thrashes the dim hopes he's still clinging onto, that display of pain only resulting in another stinging smack to his face. Fully yanking on his ear at this point, the Doctor drags his unwitting victim towards a set of stairs angled downwards rather than the familiar ones that arrive upstairs to the safety of his bedroom.

❝And until you can let go of those worthless childhood fantasies and keep your little friends from mouthing off to me like that again, you can stay down in the basement!❞

❝No, no— please, not again— p-please, I didn't do it—! D-Doctor—❞

— ;; DEAFENED PLEAS ARE FURTHER SILENCED at the haunting song of the old rickety door creaking open, creating a direct pathway into cold darkness, and promptly replaced with a petrified shout coupling with the painful sounds of tumbling down wooden stairs.

Slam.

Curled around Chi to keep its form safe, Chronos is quick to recover, dashing up the stairs to bang on the door in a panic, fists clenched tight enough to bruise palms.

❝Let me out! Doctor! Please! Please let me out! I h-hate it in here! Come back!❞

— ;; SINKING SHAKILY ONTO GELID CONCRETE at the top of the steps, Chronos simply just… holds himself. Allowing the sobs to break free from his tightened throat, reverberating into the nothingness all around. He sobs, and wails, and begs, pleading in all his misery for someone to come for him.

But they don't. They never do.

#( COGS AND GEARS; IC. )#child abuse cw #physical abuse cw #emotional abuse cw #verbal abuse cw #mobile #happy new year i still hate robotnik

3 notes · View notes

braintapes · 1 year ago

Text

The Hotel Podcast Season 3 Analysis: Part 4 - The Hotel Herself

Today, we'll start to wrap up anything left to cover for the Owner's arc, then dig some more into the Hotel Herself, her character, and her relation to the Staff.

I have little in the way of fancy preamble this time, except for that I'll consider this my big treatise on the character of the Hotel Herself and I will be discussing more than just her presence in Season 3. I really can't talk about her without getting into...everywhen and where else.

This is also the longest post in the series, at 8 full pages long. Not that much longer than the other posts, I guess, but it feels long to me. Take breaks if ya gotta. Here's some links to Part I - The Manager, Part II - The Lobby Boy, and Part III - The Owner.

It is a joy for me to write this up and to share it with you. If you read even a little bit, I'm grateful. If you read all of it, I'll be over the moon. So I thank you very kindly for your time :-)

Let's get into it with 3.10 In Which We Burn. This episode is about both of them, all of them really. This is where we start to get into that whole, 'interconnectedness of the self within the Hotel' thing I put a pin in before. Strap in for the ride.

The Owner begins again in the void. There is nothingness all around him, yet he wanders forward to somewhere, something he can't quite perceive yet with only a vague idea of what he's going to do:

I would know if I was going the wrong way. Returning from somewhere to somewhere. I don't know where I'm going, but I know how to get there. I think there's someone there already. I think I'm going to kill them. No, that's not quite right. That's not it. But it's all I can think of as I walk thru endless endless nothing. "I'm going somewhere. Someone is there. Someone to kill." Over and over I repeat the words, trying to make them make sense. Trying to find the parts that stick out in sharp directions. Like a mountain crag that needs weathered down by time to dust.

...There's that mountain again. This is a version of the Owner reforming after his last death, one that strikes me as prototypal, almost. He exists in the void for what's implied to be a long time and seemingly has no memory yet of the previous episodes events? He has no memory of...anything. Just him and the endless darkness.

I think that the Hotel is forming him slowly here. Experiencing through him. The Owner doesn't fully exist yet, he's still baking in the metaphorical oven. Without any memory or experience besides the void, she seeps through into him as he fumbles for something.

"I'm going somewhere. Someone is there. Someone to kill."

Consider the creature versions of the Staff ala season 2 or 5, how they seem to have foggy memories that slip away until they settle into being whatever monster of the week they're going to be. This feels the same way to me. Compare the above line with the following from early on in 2.3 Mr Heavy Bones:

Something in me, not me, something separate, needs to kill them.

I also want to point out not just the similarity of those two lines, but how said lines could easily refer to the Hotel herself. Hear me out - If I wanted to describe how the Hotel operates in as succinct a way as possible, it'd be something like the above! Someone is there, somewhere. Someone to kill, someone needs to be killed...

He approaches, or perhaps the lobby approaches him as it comes into view. He's disoriented, the ceiling and the floors mixed up and everything is going by too fast, he's completely disconnected from the sense of time and space of the Hotel's shape. In a flash, he remembers and is immediately reset again. The Hotel instructs:

Watch it again. And pay attention this time.

On it boss!

The music has changed to The Hotel Herself's theme, Cosmic Heartbeat, and continues to play as the Owner goes through another run. The perspective is slowly starting to shift - although we're still seeing through the Owner's narrative eyes, understanding is on the horizon. The Owner goes again and looks at the Manager.

THE OWNER: She's already been killed. Is that what was sticking out? Is that what I needed to weather? I don't think so. I don't believe it, but I do as I'm told. Dying isn't easier the second time. THE HOTEL: (Yyyyyyyyou've) You've died much more than that. You've died again, and again, and again and again. Here comes another one, don't miss it or we'll have to start over.

She's responding not just to his words, but to his own internal narration. The line between them gets a tiny bit blurred, line by line ;)

So, then, if it's not the Manager he needs to see, maybe the Manager's murderer? He takes note of the gibbering creature, starts to remember more but the Hotel grows a bit frustrated with him. The Owner's not quite picking up on everything yet.

So we go back again for another round and the Owner grows more harried. With each death he sounds more and more ragged and I have to give huge props to Graham Rowat. Like I said last post, his performance as the Owner is always wonderful but this episode in particular has always stuck out to me as a high point. The Owner sounds so desperate here, so battered. He's lost and in pain and so afraid of dying yet still trying so hard...

He goes through again, makes it past the Manager and the gibbering creature and sees the Lobby Boy cowering in the corner. He's so overcome with disgust at the Lobby Boy he loses sight of what he's supposed to be understanding and the Hotel kills him again. He's getting lost in the details, not paying attention to the bigger picture. He needs to see beyond himself.

THE HOTEL: We have nothing but time here. (here here h e r e) Time (time time time) and pain(pain), if you want it. I already understand (everything)everything(everythgibber) WINGS FLAP THE OWNER: PLEASE! No more! THE HOTEL: But you don't understand yet. (don't don't don't understand yet ) Until you have an understanding you will receive only pain and time. AGAIN!

There's a bit of implication that this goes on for longer than just the exchanges we get in the episode. Now can see that the screams of his that echoed throughout the season, such as at the very very beginning and on the second floor, were the result of him witnessing these events again and again from his own jumbled perspective. I picture the Owner in my mind's eye falling, hurtling upside down through the Hotel, flying through time and space at Her direction.

I also want to talk a bit about the Hotel's part in these exchanges, and on her broader relationship with the Owner. To my understanding, official word on season 3 is that it's the Hotel experiencing her own origin like a memory, but because time, self, etc. aren't separate concepts for Her, it's experienced in this weird distorted kinda way. But nevertheless, she is here, experiencing all of this alongside the Staff and alongside the audience. She's watching and reliving these events and the Owner seems to be a sort of...Dante, almost? Sort of. He's there to watch with her.

What is the Owner's role through most of the series? His very title the Owner is superfluous because he very obviously doesn't own anything. He has no authority whatsoever, only the costume of it. He holds the threat of replacement over the heads of the Manager and Lobby Boy, but he can't actually do anything to them. The only time he tries to do something during season 4, he gets his ass handed to him just as much as he beats the Lobby Boy. He has no real authority over the guests – he certainly scares them, but he doesn't build the rooms or check them in.

What is he tasked with doing, then? He is to observe the proceedings of the Hotel, observe the guests and the Staff, and file reports to the Hotel. Again, he has no meaningful authority. His reports are meaningless in terms of running the Hotel. She can and does do whatever she wants regardless of what he has to say or think about the matter. So what purpose does he serve to her? This is what drives the Owner fucking bonkers in a 'constant accumulating dosage of radiation over time' type of way. It's the main reason he has such a hangup about not being insignificant, it fuels his hatred (read: JEALOUSY) of the Lobby Boy, it's why he makes it his business to shout at everybody else for not doing their jobs right, it's why he breaks down in season 4, I could go on.

For her, his reports may not have a purpose vis-a-vis hotel operations, but that's not the point. He's her confidant, her right hand. To him, that's an ideal he must constantly strive to live up to and fulfill. To her, she enjoys the company. Someone to watch it all with her. The Owner is so different from her in temperament that in his unique position, I think he gives her fresh perspective, a way of seeing things from different angles. I'd offer this excerpt from 4.8 AJ, Taylor, and Wayne:

I know he wants to understand though, the Owner, for me. He's such a sweetie. Always thinking of me. He wants to do a good job on his "reports". I like his reports, I like hearing about his day, and hearing about the staff, and how they like it, and how he likes it, and if I can do anything to make it better for everyone. I can, of course. Heh, I can do anything.

In 4.11 The Owner - V she tells him:

Now wait just a damn minute. I know you don't like my Lobby Boy, but you have got to get it together. The floor staff are absolutely necessary to running the day to day, but you and I are supposed to support them, drive them forward to new fantastic heights!

The Owner responds, then the Hotel responds:

They were! They are! But it's you and me, kid. I really thought you and I were gonna be able to work together more closely on this. And it's supposed to be fun! You may be like them, one of them but when you come here you're on my level. I elevate you to singular significance, even if it is just to chat.

I know those are long excerpts, but I feel they're necessary here. The Manager and the Lobby Boy have each other. They improve each other and work well together. I strongly feel that their interactions fuel their character growths. The Hotel sees the Owner as the Lobby Boy to her Manager. It's the two of them, working together! He's beneath her, of course, everyone is, that's just how it goes. But they're a team!

The Owner very much doesn't see it this way. He conceptualizes himself entirely from his place in the hierarchy, his title as The Owner. He is above the other Staff and exists to further Her will. He's so god damned worried about running everything that he cannot see past this through to what the Hotel actually wants - his company. The Owner ties himself up in knots partly due to his internally and externally imposed isolation from the Staff. I wouldn't say it made the Owner the way he is, he did just kinda come out of the box like that, but it absolutely exacerbates his issues in a feedback loop. It drives the Hotel mad because she can't understand this. For all she says she understands everything, she struggles to get why the Owner gets so wound up. Something something divorce core or what have you.

...That, um. Got away from me a little bit.

Anyway.

Aaaall of that is to say, if the Owner isn't there to actively affect things, then he must be there to watch. That's been his role, to me, from all of his season 1 episodes to now. His role here, in season 3 specifically, is to watch and learn. And She watches through him, watches him watch, and he is the vehicle through which she makes meaning of Herself all over again through new eyes. Ties it all together.

[More could be said on this about this being the Owner's on-boarding - the exact word he uses to describe this later on in 4.11. But if I start up again I don't know where I'll stop so I need to move on for now.]

The Owner's arc is pretty much done here anyhow. He goes around again and eventually he starts to understand. Starts to! He sees himself in the Manager's place, dead on the floor. He sees himself as the Lobby Boy, cowering in the corner. He sees himself as the gibbering creature.

You're so close to understanding.

THE OWNER: No. No! As the lobby passes I see my own reflection at my feet. The Hotel begins pulsing rhythmically. THE MANAGER (echoing): I see her standing here in the void, fear carved into her face. THE LOBBY BOY (echoing): I see him, and the fear turns into awful understanding. THE OWNER (echoing): Killer and killed. Predator and predated. Ashes to ashes.

The Owner becomes them all one by one, and they, in death, become each other. Cycle through being each other, it seems. Here is the moment of understanding. They are all one in the same. None of them are separate from or above death. They are not separate from the Hotel – they are the Hotel, split into distinct parts which are separate yes, but inextricable from Her. A long silence passes before:

THE HOTEL: The mountain has been weathered. Do you see? MANAGER/LOBBY BOY/OWNER: Yes. THE HOTEL: My will. My purpose. You kill for me. MANAGER/LOBBY BOY/OWNER: Yes. THE HOTEL: You die for me. MANAGER/LOBBY BOY/OWNER: Yes. THE HOTEL: Darkness is the universes natural state. MANAGER/LOBBY BOY/OWNER: We are the light, one and separate, existing briefly, extinguished and anguished. THE HOTEL: Now, at the end, our work can begin. Front desk bell DINGS.

AaaaaAAAAA!!!!! AAAAAH!!! THIS. THIS IS MY TOP FAVORITE SEQUENCE IN THE PODCAST EVER. This is what got me. I already liked the series since I'd made it up to this point, but this is what made it feel special to me. The timewarp end-beginning stuff, the interconnected self, the cosmic nature and presence of the Hotel Herself, all of it resonated somewhere deep in me. This contextualizes the entire thing for me in one line I think about Frequently:

Darkness is the universe's natural state.

That is why I honed in so hard on the light/dark fire/death imagery. The implication that darkness, void, nothingness, death - that all of that is a resting point. The light is an aberration, something new and anomalous which exists for a time before resetting back to default.

The way I picture the Hotel is as a cosmic entity of, well. Cosmic proportions. Too vast to comprehend on a meaningful level. She's not the representation of death in general, she's simply a part of the universe that embodies some of the void. The space between.

After all, a hotel is a place between where you started and where you want to go, isn't it? You go there, you stay there, you leave there. A candle is lit, it burns, it dies. Leaving only cold, empty darkness behind.

It's the inherent contradiction that makes the Hotel Herself in my mind. She exists as an entity, yet is as a void. Symbolically representative of death, yet she contains life and light within her in the form of the guests and the Staff. From her void, she Becomes in infinite fractalling, spiralling shapes. Hotels and lobbies and rooms and doors. Something from an underlying nothing.

Note, I don't mean the terms 'empty' 'void' and 'nothing' as derogatory. She is not hollow (though she does contain hollows). In terms of symbolism, 'nothing' is as much Something as 'something' is. It's like...In art, you have negative space. It's defined by being the absence of something. The interplay of negative and positive space creates the artwork. That's what I'm getting at with the light/dark stuff here.

Another food for thought: How about 'light' in terms of seeing, or perception? Not only does the Hotel take on infinitely many forms in shape, but she also influences and manipulates how she is perceived. The guests, Staff, and New Crew all perceive the Hotel differently - I made a post about this subject a while ago that you can read, even! [That post is outdated now re: the New Crew stuff at the end, but I thought it worth including anyway.]

Incidentally, I think the Hotel does have trouble seeing back at the Staff. She knows them inside and out, don't get me wrong, and she can twist them any way she chooses. But they have gotten out of her grasp before. Her tensions with the Manager and the Owner in season 4 come to mind, she has trouble seeing things from their perspective and vice versa. The Hotel is above them, and that is its own position with its own perspective. The limitless is, ironically, limited.

Now let's talk about the Mountain.

The mountain has been weathered. Do you see?

It's the most predominant recurring motif of the season alongside the fire. I consider it complementary and even entwined with the fire. Firstly, on its own, I consider it to represent structure. The mountain is at once something to be scaled and something to be weathered. In both (contradictory) cases, it is playing within space. The painting process, as opposed to the proverbial color palette.

It directly represents the structure of the Hotel as, like, a hotel - the Staff's roles each represent a floor. The Manager is the lobby, the entryway, the ground/first floor. This is why she has to be the one to search for the place the Hotel will be in the forest, why she has to introduce the season and the series (she opens season 1, too!) while the Lobby Boy is already just kinda...there when his turn comes up.

Second floor is the guest floor, a horizontally infinite maze of hotel rooms, hallways and doors. This is the midpoint, the journey from life to death. Of course, the deaths don't have to happen here, but many do. This floor is a role of its own. It exists dedicated to this purpose. Then, there's the third floor. A dark office that is at once a void yet also filled with paperwork, desks, computers, so on. As I write this, I realize I said all this in the last post so I won't drag this out.

Point is, as we ascend, we zoom out more. The lobby is only ever the lobby. It's a personal, one-on-one entryway. The second floor is broader – there are many rooms for many guests. Only one may check in on a given night, but since time works differently here, all the guests are already there and already dying and already dead etc etc. The third office overlooks the floors beneath it, overseeing not just the guests but the Staff, too. What's above the third floor? Darkness.

These correspond directly to the Staff's roles and we've had PLENTY going on across this season that makes those connections as well. The Manager in 3.2 Hammering Bones experiencing the building of the Hotel first-person style or the Lobby Boy's whole thing kind of tying him to the burning rooms, for example.

[Stray thought: If I wanted to get real artsy with it I could talk about the hierarchy here not just a physical building structure and corporate structure, but also as structure of the human body - Starting from the ground, standing firm as the Manager does, going up to the hands which build, to eyes that watch, to the brain that is. well. everything. But thaaaaaat's leaning a bit too into my own personal projections as I see barely any canon basis for this so. Take or leave at your discretion. I just adore symbolic trios.]

Form and light. Mass and shape. The Hotel as a tiered yet deeply interconnected structure containing fire and light that exists in service of snuffing out the fires that enter her. Do you see my vision here?

Weathering the mountain is grinding down 'something' into 'nothing.'

When the Staff have all been weathered, they are Her again.

There's a little bit more to the ending of this episode, echoes of the old Managers, Lobby Boys, Owners, ending with:

THE HOTEL: …We hope you enjoyed your stay with us. Your Hotel for the night. We hope you'll enjoy all your nights with us. THE MANAGER/LOBBY BOY/OWNER/HOTEL: WELCOME! The Hotel theme plays over credits.

This is a lovely ending to the season and I like it very much. I apologize that I don't have much to say about it beyond that, I just got so lost in the symbolism sauce back there.

I still have more to talk about, actually, while I'm still here. Before I spoil and rot in this text post. It's been 7 long pages now but there's still work to be done before the skin sloughs off my bones. Because in all my talking about the Hotel as she exists, her how and her form and all that, I never really talked about the Hotel Herself, did I?

Maybe I did a little, here and there, but that's just not enough for me. The Hotel Herself is such a character and while she's always been here in this season, yes, we don't get a lot of her directly. And there are still questions that might arise from the whole 'the Hotel is also the Staff and they are all each other' thing that need answering.

Namely, why would she do this in the first place?

[Well, aside from the whole 'well there wouldn't be a story at all otherwise' thing]

The Hotel exists as. ah. the Hotel. Like I said earlier, she chooses that form for Herself, that's who and what she is! A hotel is that positive space 'something' and it has a structure, a prescription just like the archetypes of the Owner, the Manager, and the Lobby Boy do. She has many variations, from a cabin to a rental home, to a dingy roadside motel to the fanciest most elaborate 5 star resort, but these are all her own kind of instancing as defined in my previous post. The only difference is that she, at the highest level, exists simultaneously as all of these instances at once and thus has an eternal awareness of Herself that the Staff do not.

I draw a distinction between the Hotel Herself and Madam Hotel because of this. To me they are NOT interchangeable. Madam Hotel is a specific instance, a specific form that is her, but not all of her. Not fully. She seems more...cloudy, I suppose, as Madam Hotel. Everything is all new to her. Existing in a human body is new to her, seeing things from this perspective is new to her, and she lacks the cosmic clarity of the Hotel Herself in her vast endless entirety.

Still, she retains the same personality. And I really, really want to talk about the Hotel's personality. She's so fun!

She is endlessly curious, always excited for novelty. She likes watching the lights inside her twinkle and interact just as much as she likes putting them out. ALL of it is wonderful fun to her. There's an infectious enthusiasm about her in her season 4 narrations, where we see her fully in her element as Herself. Some excerpts:

[Stretching noise] MMMMMMMM-MM! Sometimes you just have to stretch out and take up some space, am I right? And we have THREE guests tonight! THREE! They aren't getting a room though, so I thought it would be okay to to relax a little, let it all hang out. Well, let some of it hang out, anyway. Really explore the notion of unwinding. My lobby is still rooted firmly, I mean we do have to meet the guests halfway you know. But tonight I just let myself unspool up and up and up and up up up up [giggles] ohhh it's really almost just like doodling. Filling in the fiddly-bits with scrabbly brick and twisted metal and I'm even experimenting with the windows tonight. Kind of greasy and yellow, I don't know, stained with nicotine or some other poison. Just one of those little subtle touches that's more for me than the guests. They don't notice almost anything. Sillies. They just see me as a normal old building, red carpet under an awning.

[4.8 AJ, Taylor, and Wayne]

I lay down, lounging on the side of a very green and bushy highway by an airport. I'm the kinda place people go when they don't have anywhere else to go. Or don't want anyone to know where they went. I fill my dull yellow paint with cracks, for character. The staff barely even have uniforms here, and they look pretty rough themselves. Gotta look the part, right? I put the Lobby Boy's Supply Closet around back this time. The lobby is pretty small, but the fresh air will do him good.

[4.11 The Owner - V]

Look at how much FUN she's having being herself!!!!!! I love her so much!!!! Each instance is an experiment and exploration in self-creation. Okay, hang on, let me have one more. I know the bonus episodes aren't canon, but The Garden has stuck in my interpretation of the Hotel Herself since it aired, let me have this.

My hands shoved knuckle deep into the cool, dark soil of the universe. I flex my digits and churn it into a place something could grow. I plant seeds there and nurture them best I can with water and food and little lights. There are things that live down there that suck up mud and chew on slime and help it all flourish. It's an entire ecosystem. Carefully balanced and tended too. I don't know anything about plants or gardening so I have to make up the rules as I'm figuring them out.

I won't rehash the whole episode but the whole thing really gets across that she is at once the garden and the gardener, every single part. The metaphor of the garden, of growing plants and flowers and hoping for the best, figuring it out as you go, feels SO in-line with what we see of her in the main episodes.

Back to my point, the Staff are integral parts of the Hotel. How could you have a Hotel without Staff to run it? They are instruments whose tones and timbres affect the sound of the night's composition.

They are her, but they are also themselves, too. The reason they can individuate is to allow for new variations, new shapes and forms, a new angle to look from or new idea to explore. I realize this paragraph runs the risk of getting meta very very quickly but I don't know how else to explain my thoughts here. In-universe, the Hotel Herself made these constructs, but if they were all the same, they'd be only darkness!

It at once excites and frustrates her when their tensions come to a head. She tries to bond with the Manager and the two ABSOLUTELY DO NOT see eye to...eye...The Owner goes completely off the rails in his breakdown. Even the Lobby Boy sides with the Manager and is starting to show signs now of getting a backbone.

The Hotel takes on her own roles, then, in responding to them. Becomes at once the workplace and the workplace CEO who is so obscenely rich they are effectively disconnected from reality and consequently the people working at the company. She is the matriarch of the family, for all of the good and bad that entails in her dynamic with the Manager. [This is why I kinda took the punishment angle in the first post of this analysis series. I don't view it that way anymore, not fully, but I feel this is an important part of their relationship as it currently stands.]

Through it all, even then, the constant push and pull is part of the fun! The contradictions, the interplay of something and nothing...I feel like I'm starting to repeat myself. On the one hand, I feel like I have so, so much more to say that I didn't even scratch the surface of yet. On the other...I feel like I've said the same things three times over.

Fitting, sure. But I'll have to end this post at some point. I'm getting tired. My vision is blurring. And on the metaphorical side, something something turning into a pile of rotten flesh on the floor something something.

One last, laaaast thing for now: I've gone over the cycle, the endless loop, the endlessness, all that good stuff. But the Hotel Herself also has linearity of her own. She goes from an it, from the Powers That Be, distant and impossible to understand, to the Hotel Herself, present and full of verve and energy and personality. She revisits her origin, but from a perspective of herself in time in which she already understands everything.

She's always been here, and all that. I just find that really poignant and I wanted to get into it more but couldn't find alllll the words I wanted.

I'd love to keep writing more stuff like this, it's been an absolute blast for me. Reading the transcripts, listening to the episodes, getting my little snippets in the word doc and writing about them...I hope you've enjoyed reading my work just as much. Like I said at the top, it means a lot even if you just, like, skimmed through. Thank you so much for your time and have a good one :-)

#the hotel podcast #the hotel herself #hotelpod analysis #if theres some weird formatting stuff please try not to worry too much about it #if there are any errors i will fix them a little later but #i Just finished writing this and im going to bed now #i hope this all is cohesive and makes any kind of sense aaaah #wanted to touch on the new crew a bit but couldnt find a good place to squeeze that in #sad. oh well guess ill just have to start writing new crew meta

15 notes · View notes

maxiwaxipads · 9 months ago

Text

self indulgent fragaria memories post

waku waku! these are very messy notes that aren't linear at all! the first is just noir bouquet ep. 2 and what i would want out of it that I wrote a week ago

I like the idea that Tuxedo Sam’s kingdom has already experienced being attacked by SEEDs. Tuxam’s latent rule-making is more due to his paranoia mixed with his want to keep everyone within the kingdom safe.

(Tuxam receiving intel that a SEED is masquerading as a human and in turn, imposes all sorts of strict rules(?))

(It does raise concern to citizens, especially for Tuxam who has a reputation for unconditionally helping everyone no matter what)

But in all honestly—I wanted to implant the idea of a murder mystery where a SEED is mimicking the human form. Somehow Arupek, Chaco, Tuxam, the SEED, and a few innocent civilians are in a “the building is snowed in!” idea.

(They visit a cafe or restaurant, and while eating—a civilian approaches Tuxam who reports the abnormal snowfall)

Tuxam - “Remain calm everyone.” “It’ll be in my best efforts to remove the blockage and getting everyone safe and sound.”

(Power outage, someone disappears) (Furniture is reported to be loss, and people who were also trapped have also disappeared(?)) (If a SEED makes someone disappear, and the SEED is purified—would that disappeared person be dead? Like???) (Imagine a SEED disappearing you, and you appear in a weird void space)

(“WHERE AM I???”) (But you don’t remember what happened when you were absorbed by a SEED(?)) (I imagine being within a SEED’s stomach is like a black hole of nothingness) (Negative emotions intensify, and it’s a feeling of slowly dying despite not looking like it)

(I imagine SEEDs have a slow digestion, so it’s quite possibly to retrieve items or people consumed by a SEED)

(The SEED will feed off their paranoia in hopes everyone turns against each other)

(The culprit would be the one able to adhere to Tuxam’s strict standards, because even Tuxam would know no one can exactly follow him to a T!)

(“You dirty the pure soul of gentlemanliness!”)

And isn’t Tuxam based on Sherlock Holmes? I would say it’s the perfect plot if done correctly? ♡

SEEDs will attempt to mimic the human form, but unable to significantly change their color palette. Having to rely on concealing themselves, they will mimic inconspicuous outfits. (ie. a SEED wearing a cloak that covers the entire body, or a SEED wearing heavy winter gear(?)) (If that makes sense)

While they mimic the human body, their faces still look like the head of a SEED. (They’ll often wear things like hoods or brimmed hats to conceal their faces with shade.) I imagine these types of SEEDs are able mimic human speech, but incapable of understanding what they’re truly saying.

(But I imagine there are SEEDs fully able to mimic the human form(?)) (I wonder if we’ll ever see sentient SEEDs(?))

Things I Personally Want To See -

Chaco and Arupek get etiquette lessons by Tuxam! I also wanted the idea of Tuxam dressing them up in suits to look more gentlemanly!

yeah i couldn’t think of anything else

i am simple-minded and desire tuxam content

yeah i only made this so i could give context on the current lore and also brain dump about noir bouquet (edit: I wrote everything we know about fragaria memories lore above this note for context <3) (I should mention this is just a chunk from a bigger big note I write everything in...)

when they leave, i want arupek who insists to go ice skating or ice fishing (arupek: “let’s have some fun before we go!”) (tuxam: “are you taking this seriously…?”)

speak your English little guy!!!

Presumably that Tuxam joins the party, I want to add more world building in some shape or form(?))

(do you think chaco enables arupek because he finds his presence to be enjoyable?)

(When they take the brief moment to camp for the day, I want them to come across an abandoned village overtaken by SEEDs) (Likely abandoned by the SEEDs themselves, but the village is covered in a gross pollution covered in black)

(I imagine Tuxedo Sam’s Kingdom has taken in refugees that consist of people displaced by SEEDs)

(Tuxam - “(Sigh). It’s unfortunate for what had happened.”)

(Tuxam, who feels like he has a moral obligation to eliminate them) (I imagine Chaco and Arupek will also help in purifying the village)

(Even if this village is long abandoned, these houses were once someone’s home. The least Tuxam can do is eliminate the threat so someone’s personal history can be preserved!)

(i honestly don’t know how to write chaco yet, ill probably wait for translations ands see how he’s written and how other fans write him)

(i don’t know if hangyon and tuxam have met each other outside of intros and outros) (but i like the idea that after hearing they’ll be visiting hangyodon’s kingdom)

(tuxam screams into the rooftops “NOOOOOOOOOO”)

(but tuxam already sworn he’d join both arupek and chaco so he can’t back out)

(Arupek, who approaches Hangyon who recognizes Tuxam tells him) (“You got it all wrong! That isn’t Tuxam!”)

(Hangyon plays along) (“Ah~ My mistake, you look the same as a dear friend of mine~ You even have the same name!”)

(Tuxam - “Don’t play dumb, Hangyon…”) (Hangyon - “But I don’t know you at all?”)

(when i imagine going to keroppi kingdom, i want the group to be immediately attacked by drones)

(Chaco - “Ah~ I really don’t know how I got in this mess”)

(lovingly)

(Tuxam - “HEY… You weren’t scam, were you?”)

(Chaco - “A journey is the best thing money can buy. I wouldn’t say I was tricked.”) (“It’s more that I tricked myself.”)

Tuxam - “SO… You were scammed?” (Chaco - “Yes.”)

why did i get the mental image of tuxam as the father chaco as the mother and arupek as their child

it feels wrong to me to label 1 the father and 1 the mother

they either have to be both moms or both dads…? it just makes sense but i don’t know why????

(Tuxedo Knights are an order of knights that were mobilized during the formation of SEEDs taking place in Noir Continent)

(Adhere to a code of chivalry like Knights of Fragaria, they are personally managed by Tuxam himself!)

(Stationed throughout Tuxedo Sam’s kingdom and are always prepared to deal with SEEDs that could appear.)

Honestly, I wanted to add the detail that Tuxam previously lost people he cared about to SEEDs—but I’ll be getting into head canon territory where it does involve OCs <3

(The situation itself is already personal to him, especially a SEED in Tuxedo Sam’s kingdom that is able to mimic the human form)

(Previously lost a friend to SEEDs when they started to take root in the world of Fragaria.

(I only wrote a fragaria OC based on Chip who was a squire when he died) (Childhood friends troupe, Ichi became a knight alongside Tuxam!)

Childhood best friends to Chip’s Knight of Fragaria, Ichi, who was only a squire, around this time both Ichi and Tuxam were squires together. This was when SEEDs had started to take root within the world of Fragaria.

Alternatively—Ichi turned into a SEED and Tuxam doesn’t even remember this friendship anymore. He only knows he once knew someone. The guilt associated with once knowing someone, but unable to remember them. Tuxam who wants to desperately remember this friendship in his life, and blames the SEEDs for this.

“It’d be nice to honor your memory in some way. I’ve forgotten you. But not your existence.”

But a Tuxam, who remembers his friendship with Ichi—while he isn’t depressive with his thoughts, it has affected his life in having fun and he hasn’t found closure in his death.

I think it’s more of a, “…Is it really fine—if I’m enjoying this? Having fun?” “I’m a knight of my kingdom. It’s my duty to protect, not… Doing this.”

And while honorable, I imagine it’s more of having the leisure to finally relax—even for a moment. “It was moments like this that killed him.” “I can’t bare that… No—It’s not something that should happen anymore. I’ll be strong for myself, and everyone around me.”

In times of peace, Tuxam is the most unease because it feels too good to be true.

(I like to think Tuxedo Sam’s Kingdom, while more better than it was before—has abandoned villages and towns ravaged by the attacks of SEEDs) (While few have still survived, they’re mainly under the protection of Tuxedo Sam’s kingdoms or having to rely on foreign aid from other kingdoms(?))

(Referred as being “overgrown,” it describes places festered with the influence of SEEDs) (these places dye entire villages and environments into a dark pitch black similar to ink(?))

(it’s the bad remnants left from a SEED) (but these places are capable of being purified)

(important to eliminate because SEEDs can erupt from here)

(even a drop of their remnants can birth SEEDs)

(maybe overgrowth happens when a SEED takes an overwhelming amount of negative energy that it spills right out of them(?))

(a SEED that’s too full of negative emotions will plague their surroundings with intense sadness and hopelessness)

(it’ll take a while for them to ingest, and they cannot properly conceal themselves as they once could)

blue bouquet failed draft

Klarkstella - “Purified.” Kurode - “My head…” Klarkstella - “…” Kurode - “Where… Am I?” Klarkstella - “…” “Little Stars Kingdom.” Kurode - “Litt—Gh… I can’t seem to think straight.” “Light…I can’t bare to—” Klarkstella - “Can you stand?” (Kurode attempts standing up, but as he’s about to fall down, Klarkstella securely holds him up) Kurode - “…Thank you.” Klarkstella - “A symptom when being consumed by a SEED.” Klarkstella - “Drowsy. Sensitive to light. Reported to feel weighted and unable to move.” “Increased sensitivity to emotions…” Klarkstella - “No critical injuries…” “A necessary remedy will be rest.” (Kurode, who attempts to speak but seems pained to do so) Kurode - “Trou—trouble on the way here… But I, Gh— don’t remember a thing.” Klarkstella - “…” Kurode - “Uhm…” Klarkstella - “I’ll escort you back to the kingdom.” Klarkstella - “(Louter… Had I brought you, I wouldn’t had been burden with this responsibility… No. I wouldn’t push it on him.)” “(Myu…Something—No. He looks too young to put the responsibility of carrying him either.)” Klarkstella - “(It pains me to ask…)” “Here. On my back.” Kurode - “T—Thank you.” Klarkstella - “And your name is Kurode, correct?” Kurode - “Mhm.” Klarkstella - “Go rest.” (Kurode who listens, strangely at ease) (Quickly falls asleep) Myunna - “K…Klarkstella! Have you found him—” (Klarkstella stares at Myunna with a sleeping Kurode on his back) Klarkstella - “Sh.” Myunna - “Ah!… Myunna will stay quiet.” Myunna - “Is he hurt?” Klarkstella - “…” Myunna - “…” Myunna - “Great. I guess that was a no…?”

I like this, but this was only thrown out because this is under the premise that SEEDs already reached Little Stars Kingdom a while ago... Originally it was Myunna who came with Klarkstella (where they pulled sticks to see who would go and Klarkstella was picked) because he knows how to purify SEEDs, but I kinda want more Willmesh interaction instead?

(Myunna comes out of concern) (Willmesh who comes out of interest with Kurode(?)) (Klarkstella only comes because of a stick)

(I'll probably write it, just more modified and structured(?)) (This is only 1 part of the draft since everything but this part is okay)

the list of tuxam headcanons i accumulated over the months since tuxam was revealed I stopped at like February or march and all the spelling mistakes with badobarm's and hangyon's names... a lot of this was when we only had their appearances and voice lines

(Within the Noir Continent, Tuxam lives within the snowy region of Noir) (I like to imagine there’s a fresh population of fish within this area(?)) (Abundant with rich ores, though relies on imports for fresh produce) (There’s a reliance on fish for food, but some do hunt for their meals(?))

(Because SEEDS are physically more defensive in this region, Tuxam is skilled at magic than with swordplay) (Compared to his peers, he’s either mid-ranged or long-ranged when it comes to battle) (There are some regions uninhabited and said to have species of SEEDS considered dangerous or undiscovered species) (I imagine Pikero has interests over these regions, though Tuxam lets him be with some support and moderation) (Although they argue, the topic of SEEDS are a different topic that requires special attention)

(Especially busy during the Christmas season, and starts celebrations early and long) (Often hard to contact, and needs to be notified ahead of time to make changes in schedule) (Likely makes monthly )

ill be honest with you i just wanted to make 1 philippines reference

(Chip’s knight is a squire) (There’s a small age difference between Tuxam and Chip’s knight, though Tuxam received knighthood early) (Most don’t have a strong opinion on Ichi, but appears kind to others) (Less overbearing, but responsible as Tuxam) (I honestly don’t remember much about Chip, but I like to think Ichi was taken in by their lord) (“I want to see your dreams come true!”) (Childhood friends troupe) (Ichi is able to withstand Tuxam’s strict nagging, and actually appreciates him for it) (“Yes! I’ll absolutely do just that!”) (Most patient knight)

(The only person in the world that’s able to adhere perfectly towards Tuxam’s standards on a knight)

(They would hype each other up) (I imagine Ichi hasn’t allowed himself to promoted as a knight because he’s a perfectionist who doesn’t believe he’s made it(?)) (Is very much capable, but someone who compares himself with his peers)

(“Ichi” or “Chi” as their name for now(?)) (Ichi because that’s the only name that reminds me of Chip, or Chi because that can be taken away and still sound natural)

(When anybody from Noir, or other Bouquets come to visit, I imagine Tuxam provides way too many layers of winter clothes to ensure their safety) (Tuxam looking like a veteran taking care of pandas, as he escorts them)

(Resistant to the cold, and able to handle harsh temperatures even with a shirt and shorts on) (Like his Lord, he’s able to eat his fill) (Citizens within his region have a high respect for him, and Tuxam helps them daily) (Workaholic, doesn’t know when to stop) (Prideful about his position as a knight, and respects his lord dearly)

(Maybe it’s just for me, but I think everyone sees Pikero as the physically weakest member in Noir Bouquet) (Self-indulged image of Tuxam wrestling Pikero down) (You know that one image where A hugs B behind the back, but it isn’t sweet, and they just wrestle them?) (Like that) (I thought of Hangyun at first, though that’s more funnier)

(Easily embarrassed and overwhelmed when it comes to be complimented) (Though it’s also rewarding when Tuxam also gives praises to others(?)) (Can be surprising to hear them at first) (Someone who isn’t satisfied until he perceives something as textbook perfect(?)) (Even if it isn’t perfect to his standards, it’s more so satisfactory(?))

(Wants to uplift everyone and himself)

(I imagine everyone in Noir is competitive, but for Tuxam, he wouldn’t easily admit he’s competitive)

(I imagine Tuxam’s hometown is similar to a snow globe, as it has a protective barrier that protects against SEEDS, or any outside threats) (Warmer inside) (A centuries long spell that protects against SEEDS, and able to blow away snow from covering the barrier) (Honestly I don’t know why, but I have a weird obsession of making winter towns into snow globe themed places) (They’re just so cool) (What do you want from me)

i had a weird obsession with artic places having snow globe like cities, but it sounds really cool at the same time?!

(At first I wanted to say straightforward, but I imagine Tuxam explains everything with high detail and attentive to his surroundings)

(Admires Romalish as a role model to become a better gentleman, and wants to get closer with Halritt because of their Lords)

(Myunna, Rimicha, and Tuxam have a self-betterment group where they meet once or twice in a month to become more competent knights(?)) (Honestly thought of this idea because of being the shortest members in their perspective bouquets) (I imagine it more comedic than something that’s serious) (I imagine Myunna and Tuxam are committed to become even better knights, and Rimicha to a lesser degree and wants to have fun instead) (Knight Bootcamp to become even stronger knights!) (Sometimes featuring guest appearances of other knights) (Tuxam tries to take it seriously, but the situation always derails in some shape or form) (I think Myunna as someone who goes with the flow, though not in an Arupek-kinda-way(?)) (He’s willing to be serious yet also take it easy(?)) (If Rimicha and Tuxam were 1 end of extremes, Myunna is more the middle that goes left or right)

(Dramatic episode where Tuxam makes the sudden realization on if he’s being too overbearing on his admiration to his lord) (Because of misunderstanding, he avoids Tuxedo Sam more than usual) (Though under a sudden embrace by Tuxedo Sam, who jumps into a hug, Tuxam admits why he’s been avoiding his lord) (Story ends there) (Misunderstanding ends)

(Noir Bouquet getting so used to Tuxam’s nagging, that the day he decides to stop for a day, they all think he’s ill)

(Noir Bouquet subtly taking a little bit more work when the other seems down because mostly everyone is a bit prideful about doing it themselves (?)) (Maybe not everyone, and maybe unconsciously) (They wouldn’t admit it themselves, but will hide it under an excuse)

(I imagine Tuxam to be a good cook, and especially knows how to handle fish well(?))

(Does know when to stop nagging when someone appears upset) (Though doesn’t know how to cheer people up) (Probably goes out of his way to explain his actions(?)) (Very frantically) (Would unintentionally excuse himself by saying, “This is for your very good.”(?)) (Does care about others, but isn’t someone who can express that well(?)) (Maybe in a straightforward matter, but can go in detail about a person’s strengths and flaws(?)) (When I say that, I imagine Tuxam has more of an objective approach rather than relying heavily on opinion(?))

(Wears his heart on his sleeve, and cannot hold a poker face at all) (Familiar with English like his lord, and has studied abroad) (Maybe Halritt and him were enrolled in the same institute, or visited his hometown where he pursued his education(?)) (I like the idea that it was love at first sight for Tuxam, and for Halritt, he thought of him as a friend) (I kinda ship them?)

(I remember writing: “I think everyone can agree that Pikero is the physically weakest in Noir Banquet.” Or something close to that) (I still agree with that)

(Physical Strength: Pikero > Tuxam > Arupek > Chaco > Hangyoon > Badobam) (Stronger when it comes to magic, though he’s average to everything else) (Very resistant against cold temperatures) (When I say average, I think Tuxam who has the same running capacity as a normal person) (Slightly stronger than the average person, but when pitted against other knights, he isn’t too strong) (Still able to defend himself when having to fight close-ranged, though it isn’t his strong suit)

(I know this is Tuxam brain rot, but I imagine Pikero is unexpectedly nimble) (Can run especially fast when it comes to emergencies) (And by emergencies, I mainly referred to Hangyon)

(A character that I imagine he’s easy to tease and start arguments with) (Though I feel like that’s obvious)

(What’s the opposite of transfem?) (Whatever it is, I like that headcanon) (I remember seeing a head canon that Pikero did his top surgery himself) (lore accurate)

(It took me a week to remember, but it was transmasc) (<-it took me a week to remember it was transmasc...? </3) (but im gay???) (tuxam and tuxedo sam literally walk in the trans flag colors???)

(This has always been a personal thought of mind I always thought as funny, though I like the image of a tall person picking up a person who’s smaller in height) (Like a cat I mean) (By that, I mean I imagine Badobam picking up Tuxam out of annoyance)

(Tuxam keeps up with fashion trends, which can be unexpected of him to others) (Can do simple handicrafts, and a slow learner when it comes to sewing) (He wants to impress his Lord!) (And make bowties his Lord might wear) (I like to think everybody knows how to, to some extent) (Tuxam is a little slower and finds handicrafts hard to make) (It’s the thought that matters!)

(SORRY TUXEDO SAM HAS SERVED IN 8 NAVY BATTLES AND WAS HONORABLY DISCHARGED????) (Kinda wanna write that Tuxam has maritime experience fighting SEEDS in the water) (Has a strong army that’s more specialized in handling winter terrains or cold temperatures) (Maybe Tuxam was inspired by Tuxedo Sam’s navy experience and vowed to become his knight because of his tales) (I like to think that’s apart of his admiration why Tuxam admires Tuxedo Sam) (There’s more to love about his lord!)

(When it comes to members of Noir Bouquet, I imagine they can easily carried get away during the moment) (If they’re really into something, then THEY’RE REALLY INTO IT, and have to see it through the end(?))

(It’ll take a lot of force or have to be reminded if they actually need to be stop) (For Tuxam’s case, I imagine this is the reason he adheres to a strict schedule)

(Probably eats ice cubes like its a normal snack) (And for flavor) (Douses water like its a sauce)

(Someone who insists to do everything himself, and won’t budge until its clearly overwhelming for him) (He’ll still insist to do it himself, but it won’t take long on when he accepts your help) (Finds it hard to ask for help, even when it’s clear he needs it)

(Easily scared when it comes to horror movies or haunted houses) (Probably afraid of roller coasters) (If there’s a jumpscare, he would scream)

(I imagine he’s a character who puts on a brave face when facing spicy food, or anything unappealing) (But if he had a chance, Tuxam would say no) (I think he’s a character who goes, “…It was adequate.” Despite that not being the case) (And the pain is visible to his face) (I would say, “Unless your dense or Arupek,” but is that discrediting Arupek?) (Sounds funny to me, but I hope not)

(How I see it, in my delusions:) (Badoham would taste test it, though is honest on how to improve it) (Badoham would finish because he doesn’t want to waste food) (Arupek eats half of the meal, and then proceeds to puke) (Tuxam says it’s good, though it’s obvious he’s lying) (Pikero goes into detail why it’s terrible) (Hangyon says its tasty, and is being honest to you) (Chaco isn’t even there, or refuses)

(I think Chaco would go “Nah~”) (Make a peace sign with a slight smile, and disappears right there)

(I first thought Chaco would instead force-feed it to you, and ask how it tastes? But I don’t know how accurate that is)

(Maybe he’s a character that has intrusive thoughts about doing that, but says no to your offer)

(Chaco, by his character design and vibes, gives me the impression of someone who thinks about beating up when he’s asked to do anything) (But still helps you at the end in order to appear reliable(?))

“(Huh? Aren’t you capable of doing the work yourself? I have other plans ahead of time.)” “Sure. I’ll be happy to help.”

(He keeps less of a front when around other knights from Noir Bouquet because they already know his act(?))

(“You want me to do what?”) (As he picks his ear)

(Although Tuxam is a character that’s very true to his beliefs, I imagine apart of him can be easily swayed by his emotions(?)) (But I imagine he’s a character that’s hard to convince unless provided with good reasoning)

(Possibly a pessimist, but stays positive in front of the face of others) (Wouldn’t want to burden others despite the clear emotions he expresses) (I imagine he can’t keep a secret for dear life, and easily shows destain when he feels it) (Someone who can’t lie)

(Before becoming a knight, Tuxam was a Tuxedo Sam fan and secretly keeps merchandise and collects plushies) (I feel like that’s everyone in Fragmem though) (They all would, whether or not if it’s kept secret or not) (Like drat! I can’t let anyone know I’m a big fan of my lord!) (But they’re all the same in different flavors) (And when it’s accidentally revealed, I imagine everyone has an individual understanding and keeps secret) (Some might be obvious fans about their lords)

(“Some might be an obvious fan about their lords,” and I immediately point at Hangyon)

(I feel like Arupek is an adjective to me)

(I imagine Tuxam as a character that unintentionally speaks loudly) (When someone asks him to speak quiet, as a gentlemen, he apologizes and listens to this request)

(Unless something troublesome happens, I imagine he raises voice yet again) (It’s something he tries but can’t always control)

(When teased for his height, he retorts that he’s at a respectable height!) (Tallness isn’t a requirement to be a good gentleman!) (But he does think about it) (He wears hats or heeled shoes to obscure his height) (That’s 1 of his reasons, not a major reason) (His current outfit looks good on him)

(I think he’s a little self-conscious when he’s teased) (But at the end of the day, he knows it isn’t serious at all) (Until he breaks down…)

(Someone who eats small portions because he wants others to eat more) (Though if you insist to eat more, he would oblige on your request before asking a few times if it’s okay) (He has a big stomach, but can’t seem to grow fat or muscle easily) (Though he does train hard)

(Pays attention to his eating habits, but has the tendency to eat less than needed) (He might have a plate full of the daily necessities, but not enough to keep him full) (Like he has a healthy plate, but not enough for a full stomach(?))

(Diligently follows the rules, but if he were to break one, it would somehow be unintentional) (He would reflect on it for a good while, and accept punishment) (“I…I apologize. I’ll do everything in my ability to reflect and not make the same mistake again.”) (He takes it to heart)

(Abides strict rules, but he’s someone who’s incredibly emotional and sympathetic to others)

Pikero - “You’ve certainly surpassed the definition of ‘food’ into ‘poison.’” “You have my congratulations. Even I can learn something new in this world.”

Arupek - “I…It was something! Yeah! Something!”

In the background, “plueehhhh….”

Hangyon - “Wow~ I never felt so moved!” “Is there more where this came from? I might want takeout~”

Badobarm - “Hm… There’s certainly ways you can improve on this.” “Here, if you do it like this—” (Finishes it all, and gives advise on how to do better)

Tuxam - “A gentleman should always be able to take gifts kind-heartedly!” (nom!)

“…” “How…How thoughtful…”

Chaco doesn’t say a thing. He stares at you. A disfigured face that once held a placid smile contorts into disgust.

Chaco looks at you. Smiles.

Chaco - “Nah~”

Makes a peace sign and disappears right there.

#im not tagging this because this was self indulgent #honestly i have like 2 drafts im currently working on and I really want to post them since they arent final products at all #i tried writing kuroklark...#it turned into blue bouquet ep.2 if it was inconsistent with ep.1 </3 #i still want to write it though i just have to write kuroklark at a later point...#i wrote about a kuroklark date premise but only the idea not anything tangible #i doubt ill finish the tuxam/hangyon thing but i like what i wrote with it #hangyon and tuxam have a sleepover #Hangyon - “Tuxam looks very different when he isn’t wearing clothing at all~”#Tuxam - “You make it sound like something it isn’t… This is pajama wear not a birthday suit.”#i really want to write chaco but I don't know how to approach him as a character...?#the only thing i know is that he has noir bouquet's brain cells #that's why theyre the bouquet that dies in that 1 theory #but i havent read it months...

4 notes · View notes