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cxnsolatio · 1 year ago
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✚✚✚ @circus-and-shenanigans // continued
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Law followed the little clown throughout the sinuous insides of the big top, through the narrow alleys between seats, one heeled foot fitting at a time. He held Kikoku higher against his shoulder, almost as if a parent would carry a toddler in a crowded space for fear of losing them. It was the dirt floor he minded, to spare his sword the dishonour of meeting with some gluttonous child's half-licked, sticky-as-glue lolly. Law grimaced at the vision of paper wraps and unpopped kernels of corn sprawled under his feet. How had he allowed himself to get caught up in this mess, again?
Oh, yes. The funny (as in 'peculiar' rather than 'amusing') clown girl had lassoed him in with the promise not of entertainment, but of medicine.
She had said she was a doctor, a claim that earned her a studious gaze bundled up in doubt. This orange thing was a doctor? For all his brilliance, Law did lack the necessary amount of self-awareness to recognise that most civilians, too, would doubt him a doctor when he sported a loose shirt buttoned up with haste over his jeans and black polish over his fingernails so casually. Both he and the clown were as far removed from the semblance of a textbook doctor, with their one white coat and two rows of white teeth arranged into a reassuring smile as could be. All things considered, it was discerning of a circus to harbour a medical team, only not right next to the menagerie, he hoped, for a nomadic, strenuous lifestyle offered plenty of opportunities for injury. And the jolly roger lulling in the wind above the tarpaulin had not escaped Law's atttentive watch. Pirates required medical assistance more than the average person.
❝ Listen, Raggedy Ann...! ❞ he started, an edge of warning to his voice, her jab at his aquatic lifestyle returned in kind as he manoeuvred the space towards the reserved compound of doors and platforms the audience had no idea lay within and underneath the circus. ❝ I'll have you know submarines are lots of fun. ❞
What the hell did she know of his literary soirées? Of the crew's monthly talent shows? Of the most exciting, free-for-all race to the loo after every Tuesday's taco dinner? Why, she was but a simpleton, all too excited to watch some other idiot in oversized shoes juggle up some balls and deem it as entertainment. If there was a literal embodiment of the panem et circenses phrase, here it was.
❝ I am not a man to be toyed with. I did not come here, to the very depths of Satan's rectum, to discuss the concept of merriment over tea with a child. Where is the chlorophyte? ❞
She had said, and not just in passing, to be in possession of a rare species of algae Law had read about in his studies. Although, admittedly, phycology was a field of pharmaceutical interest he generally buried under other priorities. The species was said to be at least a hundred times more efficient than other maritime eukaryotes in boosting immunity and serving as an anticancerous agent, nothing short of a miracle if proven true. If he could get this alga into his laboratory and multiply it so he got enough specimens to sample from... Only the hypothesis of an unprecedented scientific breakthrough could have made him enter the circus tent.
Trafalgar Law hissed, catlike when the faux flower hit him with a surprise drizzle. Though hygienic, he would rather take his shower the conventional way. Just like he would like to keep his feet not stepped on by stupid miniature velocipedes! ❝ I really, really hate the circus! I'll take my clowns in the form of Ruggero Leoncavallo, thank you.❞
His eyes were daggers directed at this Doctor Patches character, but then the gold in them melted and glinted with mischief. Kikoku made another move on his shoulder, ready to lose her sheath. ❝ There is no fucking chance a clown can trick me. ❞
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I really want you to get started on Jurassic Park now after reading your tags.
All right, you asked for it! This post is going to be long because I've been rereading Jurassic Park since I was about 10 years old. But. My thoughts:
Jurassic Park is the oldest story in the world: one about hubris, and the price men pay for their ignorance of nature. From the first moment the protagonists step foot on the island, they can see it. There are poisonous plants next to the pool because they "look pretty." The harbor has no retaining wall because tropical storms aren't considered important. And there's a steep price for that hubris. Wu doesn't bother to learn the dinosaurs' names before breeding them, Nedry ignores them as unprogrammable, Malcolm mansplains them to their own creators, Regis laughs at the idea of them escaping, Hammond relentlessly monetizes them, Arnold insists he can control them... And they all get eaten by dinosaurs. It's the characters with the good sense to be overawed and scared (Muldoon, Gennaro, the paleontologists, the kids) who make it out alive. Almost paradigm.
More specifically, it's a book about the most fundamental principle of engineering: be scared, be confused, and then do something anyway. Then do something else, then something else, until something works. Timmy isn't a master hacker in the book; he's just (unlike Grant) willing to push buttons on the computer until he finds the power grid. Gennaro's still a scaredy cat in the book, but he clenches his teeth and goes into the velociraptor nest anyway. The heroic characters are the ones who conclude someone has to do something, despite not knowing what that something is. The villainous ones are the ones who refuse responsibility.
Speaking of which, can we talk about Ian Malcolm? I'm a sucker for a good Cassandra character, especially one that manages to get even the genre-savvy reader rolling their eyes and going "will you shut up?" And Malcolm is one of the best, every off-putting academic habit rolled into one: He thinks he's better than other people for not liking sports. He brags about not caring about appearances and then comments on Sattler's legs. He assumes Hammond has read his monograph and — when Hammond reveals he hasn't — pulls out a copy that he keeps on his person at all times to have Hammond read on the plane. He smugly explains that other characters should've foreseen they'd be killed by dinosaurs, only to be killed by dinosaurs. He calls his theory the Malcolm Effect. I do love Jeff Goldblum's gentler, more charming take on the character ("See, here, now I'm sitting by myself, talking to myself, that's chaos theory" I say literally every time I ask a question of someone who just left the room). But I prefer the way original Malcolm gets away with being right about everything because we so so badly want him to be wrong.
Speaking of that comment about the legs: by the low low bar of 80s/90s thriller writers, Crichton is surprisingly progressive. Jurassic Park invites us to laugh with (and roll our eyes with) Sattler, every time someone expresses shock the world's top paleobotanist is a woman. The Lost World perfectly captures the "women in STEM have to be twice as competent to get half the respect" dynamic, and it's a story about the male characters over-estimating their own competence as the female ones go about saving the day. Race isn't handled perfectly, but it is discussed in both books. Malcolm's chauvinism is designed to make everything else he says a bitter pill, to poison us against him. Crichton's no feminist. But Sattler's hardiness — later Harding's and Kelly's as well — are shown as hard-won in a world that batters nerdy girls so hard that only the toughest survive.
And Malcolm is just one of the many ways Jurassic Park masterfully lampoons scientific bullshit. After little Tina is bitten by a "strange lizard" and nearly dies from the swelling, Dr. Cruz assures her parents that lizards bite zookeepers all the time, that some people are allergic to lizard venom, and that the lizard Tina drew resembles a basilisk — and then we cut to him talking to his fellow MD. Where we find out that lizards don't attack humans in the wild, no human they know of has ever been hospitalized for a lizard bite, basilisks aren't venomous, and Tina's condition doesn't resemble an allergic reaction. They have no idea what this "lizard" (a Procompsognathus) could be or how it poisoned this kid, but they've been taught to obfuscate rather than admit that. Scientists are arrogant, and ignorant of their ignorance.
But the book is every bit as positive about empiricism as it is negative about individual scientists. The seamless way Crichton blends science fiction with science fact gets me every time. His preface connects Watson & Crick to Swanson & Boyer to Malcolm & Levine, explaining each step of the research process as he goes. He goes on to explain how Genetech developed its ideas from IBM, and that IBM and Genetech both contributed to InGen, which in turn influenced Biosyn, funded by Hamaguri... and only two of those names are fictional, but don't worry about which. Crichton does his homework, and then he presents his homework in the most compelling way of any writer I've ever encountered.
You need no further proof than the technologies — satellite phones, electric cars, touchscreens, gene editing — that were sci fi in 1990, commonplace today. Crichton did the reading. And he rolls that science out ever-so-slowly: dribbling first the mystery of the worker with a 3-foot gash in his torso who claims a bird of prey did it, then the mystery of the resort that needs the world's most powerful data storage, then the mystery of the billionaire who calls in the middle of the night with "urgent" questions about what baby dinosaurs eat... Until even 10-year-old me could look at that picture of a fractal and go "ohhh, I see how the unstable phase shifts of chaos theory explain the fact that a thunderstorm caused that guy to get eaten by a T. rex." Almost paradigm.
And all Jurassic Park's banging on about chaos theory belies a deep understanding of how interconnected ecosystems are. Animals, like plants, like subatomic particles, must be understood holistically. Pretending that the best way to learn the truth of any system is through breaking it down "is like saying scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast is human nature. It's nothing of the sort. It's uniquely Western training." Crichton clearly loves biology: "a single fertilized egg has a 100,000 genes, which act in a coordinated way, switching on and off at specific times, to transform that single cell... A house is simple in comparison. But even so, workmen build the stairs wrong, they put the sink in backward, the tile man doesn't show up when he's supposed to. All kinds of things go wrong. And yet the fly that lands on the workman's lunch is perfect." And he clearly hates what capitalism has done to biotechnology.
Hammond the venture capitalist is a perfectly despicable villain: No dinosaurs have escaped, because I said so. If there are problems, no there aren't. Put on a good show for investors, no matter how many contractors die in the process. Talk about all the "good" the park will do by making tons of money. The kids are stranded and the tech expert's dead? No they're not, because I said so, now pass the ice cream. It's truly a delight watching him get eaten by dinosaurs.
For that matter, Jurassic Park is bursting with details of style over substance. There are cutesy Apatosaurus cutouts in the hotel rooms and bars on the widows, a half-finished restaurant covered in Pterosaur poop, and a celebrity-narrated tour track that can't synchronize with the dinosaurs. It's trying to be Disney World, and it's actually a roadside zoo. The signage — "When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth," the hand-lettered "Welcome to Jurassic Park", the room (and department) called "Control" — isn't subtle in its irony. But it is fun.
Which is yet another great sci fi trick. "Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks" perfectly sets up the blend of the accurate with the plot-fueling (likely why Crichton reuses it several times). Why are there Pterosaurs in a dinosaur park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. Why are so many Cretaceous dinosaurs in Jurassic Park? Our funding is infinite but our peer review sucks. You didn't know Dilophosaurus is venomous? Our funding is infinite... It's perfect, because it's the opposite of how the scientific process usually works. Again: Crichton knows his shit, and he knows how to communicate it.
Like, even when I'm reading Sphere or Terminal Man — books where I'm perfectly aware I know more than Crichton on the subject, not in the least because their science inevitably became outdated — I still find myself believing, at least for the length of the story. You don't have to suspend disbelief when reading Crichton's work; he hoists it into the stratosphere for you. Half the time he won't give it back even after you're done. Almost paradigm.
But despite all that nerdery, Jurassic Park is still a rocking adventure story that builds momentum until it smashes to its conclusion at 70 miles an hour, ending the millisecond it can do so with not a word of denouement. You can practically hear that last deep piano note on the final words. It's cinematic as hell. This is Crichton post-Westworld, pre-Twister, the ultimate adventure writer. He reads, clearly, avoiding the errors of sci fi amateurs who watch too many movies (the T. rex has a distinctive smell, the island is relentlessly humid, so on) but he knows how to make a tight fast-moving story that you can consume in under three hours. His imagery is powerful, his pacing is on point, and his plot sucks you in and shoots you out like a water slide.
Jurassic Park is fun. It's informative. It makes you laugh, and gasp, and sigh, and think. It has its flaws (Harding Sr. fades out in the 3rd act, Grant's Maiasaura expertise never pays off) but those are minor in a book that stands up so well to rerereading. Almost paradigm.
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rika-mmendmethings · 25 days ago
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Mirage l Caleb
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Chapter 2
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 coming soon
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Summary: In a world where power is survival's currency, you are a former top Colonel in the Farspace Fleet, now demoted to lieutenant colonel. You've lost your rank to Caleb, a newcomer who has taken your place. But when fate takes, it also gives. You discover that the man you despise is linked to the very organization you've been trying to expose for years. Yet, you find yourself being deterred from your mission as the line between loathing and love blurs.
Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story but main ones are: enemies to lovers, slowburn, major character death(s), extreme violence, yandere themes. For currently this chapter: reader is insane, mentions of brainwashing, malnutrition, and experimentation, fratricide, emotional manipulation, minor character death and guns, graphic violence, eye gore/ trauma, implied torture, revenge narrative, major foreshadowing, psychological trauma, morally grey protagonist.
Word count: 2.2k
Notes: This story is the Caleb girlies especially the ones who love Colonel Caleb. Farspace Fleet and EVER are not related, i.e., both are different organizations with distinct criminal histories. The timelines can be and will be going astray because this is a reader-insert. This feels like a filler chapter with hell lot of foreshadowing for future. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me, and I'll try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added to the tag list for this. ♥
Tag list: @browneyedgirl22 @tatauane @his-ocean-emissary @rxelarailuj @junni-berry @glowinthedarkforests @motherspider @justpassingdontworry @nm4565natty @luwumii @chiikasevennn @lads-ficrecs @aiehtta
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"Do you regret it?"
Your voice is flat — colorless, empty, like a slate scrubbed raw. It echoes in the sterile chamber, each syllable hollow and slow. Your face is shriveled from starvation, the skin stretched too tightly over your cheekbones, a frail frame draped in the papery folds of a hospital gown. Test after test had devoured your body, carved youth from your bones — but there’s still something young in your eyes, something that hasn’t quite died.
Across from you, your brother kneels. His colonel’s cap lies abandoned at his feet like a discarded crown. His head is bowed. His whole frame shakes with the weight of what he cannot take back.
“Every single minute of it,” he sobs, voice wet and broken. “I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry...”
He folds before you, hands clasped, face crumpled by grief, the proud soldier reduced to nothing but a penitent man. Behind you, a glass box is lit with sterile white light, lined with the silhouettes of higher-ups who watched not as people, but as mechanisms of control. Their pens moved in tandem, indifferent. 
You lower yourself to your knees. A mirror of his posture, hands drawn together in a gesture not of prayer, but of bitter imitation. A few tears roll down your cheeks, but your face remains blank. You mirrored his desperation with a detached precision like a puppeteer imitating his own puppet.
He stills, the horror dawns slowly in his eyes as he truly sees you — the pallor, the sunken cheeks, the trembling hands that no longer tremble from fear, only from what they’ve endured. He sees the aftermath of what he helped build.
“What’s so special about this position?” you murmur, voice distant. “Look, I’m kneeling too. Does that make me sorry enough?”
His breath catches, eyes wide, shame catching up to sorrow. He begs again, trying to reach out to his younger sister, hoping she’s still there, “Please…forgive me.”
You reach out, cupping his face with your hands. Your fingers brush beneath his eyes, catching his tears as he once caught yours when you were younger, when love hadn't yet been replaced by greed. 
“I do forgive you.”
You notice the exact second the hope flickered in his eyes, like a spark catching on kindling. That small, pathetic second. You watch his shoulders release, as if he could finally breathe again, hope blooming like a fool’s flower.
You continue without a rush, "Except my forgiveness is death."
Then, without warning, you plunge your nails into his eye.
His scream shatters the silence. A high, animal cry that rattles your skull, reverberates through the glass, crashes into the cold hearts of your observers like a warning. But no one moves. They simply write faster.
Your brother’s scream rips through the sterile air — hoarse, guttural, drenched in agony. It fills the room, bounces off the reinforced walls, and claws at your ears. But you remain silent.
His hands flail weakly toward his face, blood gushing from the ruined socket in thick, uneven pulses, painting his face in deep, wet reds. His body shakes as he crumples forward, knees buckling.
You don’t look away.
Instead, your hand moves to his hip, swift and deliberate. With a single pull, you draw the revolver from his holster — the one he always wore with pride, with the false weight of command. The cold steel rests in your palm like it was made for you.
You flip the cylinder open. It spins with a metallic whisper — the sound sharp, purposeful, final. Then you snap it shut with a flick of your wrist, the weight of loaded chambers locking into place. You raise the revolver and aim at his chest, right over his heart.
Six bullets. You fire without taking a single breath.
Each one hits just above the heart — a tight cluster. His body jerks, folds inward, then drops entirely. The life leaves him before the sixth casing clinks to the floor. He lies motionless in a spreading pool of blood. It pours from his chest in waves, soaking into the floor beneath him and radiating outward, thick and dark. The splash extends almost a full meter — reaching even his fallen colonel’s cap.
His face is frozen in the last moments of pain and disbelief. You look at him for a second longer. Then nothing. Wordlessly, you place the revolver beside you with detached care.
Your gaze shifts to the cap — the once-pristine symbol of rank now soaked in his blood, resting like a crown at the feet of a corpse. You pick it up slowly. Blood smears across your fingers. It drips down the sides as you lift it and press it onto your head with both hands.
It sits crooked. It doesn't matter.
Your brother’s blood trickles down your temple, streaks your cheek, drips along your jawline but you make no effort to wipe it away. You simply turn.
And from beyond the glass wall, the higher-ups stare back, impressed. One of them speaks in a measured voice, “The Farspace Fleet welcomes the new colonel.”
You cough as you frantically sit up on your bed, lungs convulsing like they’re rejecting the air. For a moment, you don’t know where you are — only the phantom of everything lingers, still echoing behind your eyes. You reach blindly for the glass on your bedside table, knocking it over in your desperation before finally finding the rim. The water goes down in gasps, not gulps, like you're trying to drown the memory still lodged in your throat.
Nightmares like these plagued you every night ever since that day six years ago.
The faint white glow of the clock flickers. Still ten minutes before the alarm. You could lie back down. Pretend you still have rest left to salvage. But you don’t. With a slow exhale, you push off the sheets and swing your legs over the edge of the bed to freshen up for the day.
You stand before the mirror, the sterile light of your quarters casting a cold sheen over the navy blue uniform hanging on the rack. It’s an alien thing, this fabric dyed with the insignia of Lieutenant Colonel — junior adjutants must have slipped it in, replacing the deep, commanding black of your Colonel’s attire like a thief in the night. Your breath catches, a bitter laugh barely contained in your throat. To wear it feels like donning shackles forged from threads of humiliation, each stitch whispering the quiet betrayal of your demotion. The cloth presses against your skin with a strange chill, as if your own flesh rejects the designation sewn into its seams.
Fingers steady, you brush your hair back, eyes locked on the new badges, aiguillette, insignia for the Lieutenant Colonel — these small, ornate emblems, representing your fall from the ranks. You slip into the uniform reluctantly, the stiff collar biting into your neck, the fabric stretching uncomfortably over shoulders that had once borne the weight of command with pride. 
Once dressed, your gaze returns to the mirror. Your eyes trace the faint, nearly imperceptible scar just a centimeter below your hairline — a fine, cruel incision, starting from your right side of the forehead and evenly straight till ending at the left side. The scar stirs a sour taste in your mouth, bile rising unbidden as the flood of recollections crashes through your mind. You turn away abruptly, unwilling to confront the ghost reflected back at you.
Your hand moves with practiced ease to the leather holster at your hip, the familiar cold weight of your revolver reassuring against your thigh. It is the only constant in this sea of upheaval, the single thread of power and control left within your grasp.
The corridors outside are slick with metal and light, the hum of cybernetic systems vibrating through the walls like the pulse of some great beast. Your destination: the cyber operations unit, a labyrinthine nexus of screens and servers where information is both weapon and shield.
You made your way to the far left end of the unit, boots dragging a little more than usual, and flopped into a vacant chair without ceremony. The hard metal frame groaned under your weight, but you didn’t care. You leaned back, eyes tracing the ceiling for a second before settling on the figure in front of you.
Inez sat behind her monitor, fingers already tapping at the keys, though they slowed when she noticed you. Her station was a clutter of wires, screen glare, and half-drunk energy cans, but she moved through it all like it was second nature. Over the years, she’d become something between a contact and a comrade — always at the backend of your hunts, digging through firewalls when your suspicions flared. She wasn’t flashy, but she was efficient and reliable.
Without looking up, she asked, “Whose data do you want me to pull out?”
You heard the subtle acceleration in her typing as she preemptively started combing the secure archives. Probably backdoor access — she didn’t bother hiding that from you anymore.
“Caleb Xia.”
Her fingers paused and so did her breath.
When she looked at you, it wasn’t confusion — it was quiet scrutiny. You met her stare, no expression, no hesitation. After a beat, she exhaled hard through her nose and muttered, “The new colonel? You think he’s with that organization?”
You rested your chin in one hand, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm on the edge of her desk. “Involved is too soft a word. He’s probably splitting Friday takeout with the CEO.”
She didn’t laugh. Just gave you the kind of unimpressed look that said she was already regretting asking. But she turned back to her terminal and began pulling records anyway.
“How are you still so sure it’s EVER?” she asked, voice even.
You rolled your eyes and sat up straighter. “Come on, Inez. EVER’s been crawling up the Fleet’s spine for five years. We’ve all felt the shift — ghost promotions, redacted ops, officers disappearing into black-site contracts and never coming back. And now, out of nowhere, an adjutant becomes colonel? Please.”
You leaned back again, letting your shoulders drop. “With the kind of access he has now... If we don’t stop him, we’ll be two steps behind forever. And I don’t intend on being behind. Not this time. Not with him.”
She didn’t argue, just gave a slow, acknowledging nod and kept typing. You watched the flicker of windows open on her screen, one after another.
“Alright,” she murmured, scanning. “No parents and was adopted by a woman named Josephine. She also adopted another girl. Xia’s three years younger than you. Graduated top three from the Aerospace Academy. Did some classified work under DAA for three years before transferring into the Fleet.”
You nodded, distracted, eyes drifting toward the rubik’s cube on her desk. Your hands moved on instinct, twisting colors into place as the room filled with the soft clack of plastic.
Inez's face has gone still — too still. Her fingers hover above the keyboard, frozen in place like they’d hit something sharp in the code, something she hadn’t expected. The steady click of keys has died, replaced by a silence that buzzes louder than any alarm. Her lips press into a thin line, her brows inch together just slightly — enough to make your instincts prickle.
You straighten in the rolling chair, the worn leather creaking under your shifting weight. The rubik’s cube stills in your hand. “What?” you ask, voice low, measured. “What is it?”
Inez’s eyes narrowed, her fingers hovering above the mouse. The glow of her monitor cast thin shadows over her face as she read, lips pressing into a firmer line.
“He has a death certificate attached,” she said, voice clipped, almost skeptical. “Filed by Linkon City Hall. It’s been crossed out now, but the reason listed is an accidental fire at Josephine’s house in the Bloomshore District. His body wasn’t recovered, but he was still declared dead.”
You didn’t stop solving the cube, but your focus had sharpened. Each turn now deliberate.
She continued without prompting. “The certificate was erased from the system last year, after he joined the Fleet as an adjutant. They filed it under document irrelevance. And here’s what’s interesting — before that fire, he worked with DAA. Then he vanishes. After he’s declared alive again, suddenly he’s with Fleet. No in-between. No transit records, no job switches, not even a relocation stamp.”
You finished the cube with a firm twist, all the colors falling neatly into place. A breath left your chest, shallow and unreadable. You placed it back on her desk, standing up with a smooth motion and adjusting your hat like it were a mantle being shifted back into place.
“Thanks for the pull,” you said, tone light but eyes fixed, unreadable.
Inez raised a brow, mildly taken aback by your lack of commentary. “That’s it?” she asked. “What are you gonna do now?”
Your silence lingered for a beat too long, then a slow, cunning smile took your lips. One that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Oh, you know,” you said, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves. “Prod. Put our dear colonel in a spot where the mask slips. See if he holds up when things get... personal.”
You tipped your hat once — a subtle motion to bid her farewell, more habit than flair — and she gave a lazy wave in return, already turning back to her screen as if she hadn’t just handed over the keys to someone’s buried past.
And with that, you turned, your boots thudding against the steel floor as you figured where to locate him.
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Check out my other works if you liked this ♥
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cheschesterpossum · 9 days ago
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In half broken Japanese Old Cybertronian
Pairing: TFA Prowl x gn!reader
-fluff, slight crack? Cybertronian + Cyber-ninja reader, y/n mentioned, written in Prowl's pov, young Prowl, Yoketron is y/n's dad, Author use Japanese for Old Cybertronian bcs they're dumb, Author doesn't know how to write, no proofreading we die like men, probably ooc, kinda cringe, cheesy af, young love.
-notes: I'm going to regret posting this, maybe.
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No.
Nuh-uh.
Nope.
"Slag!"
Prowl curses to himself as he proceed to crumble the paper for the... 30? 40? He lost count. On the surface of the desk are a pile of numerous similar crumbled letters. So far he hasn't made any progress at all..
Primus, he never thought writing a love confession would be this hard. The young mech's optics dart to the clock, it's alright midnight. Prowl is pretty sure he's the only one left in the dojo that hasn't recharge.
Well now he really hope his earlier cuss didn't tug on Yoke- master Yoketron's keen senses. He swear that old mech have his audials everywhere.
Prowl shook his helm, turning his attention back to the new empty paper. Oh.. how did he even manage to fall for the master's sparkling out of everybot? He think he's starting to understand the saying 'Love's a glitch' now.
(He remember his first week at the dojo, still very much bitter that he got thrown into this glorified juvenile, master Yoketron has made it a daily task for him to sweep the entire building in the morning. What- what does this have anything to do with his training?!
He'd mutter complains under his breath the entire time.. he was so caught up in grumbling that he let himself bump into somebot, causing his broom to fly out of his servos.
"Oof! Ugh, watch where you're going!"
He grunts, falling flat on his aft. His optics snap towards the bot that he bumped into. Another cyber-ninja that look just around his age, they're also on the floor.
Said bot was rubbing their helm after colliding with him. They looks up, narrowing their optics at him like it's his fault.
"Me? You're the one that got his optics stuck to the ground!"
They huffs, crossing their arms at him. And well- as much as he wanted to snap back.. it is his fault that wasn't looking.
Prowl stiffen up slightly, awkwardly looking to the side, his servo rubbing the back of his neck. A droplet of sweat drip down his cheek as he mutters out an apology.
"Er- um, right right... sorry about that. I'm just in a bad mood lately."
The other bot's expression soften up after he apologized, waving their servo in dissmisal. Guess they just needed him to recognize his mistake. They smile to him.
"Hey, it's alright. Say.. are you new here? I haven't seen you around before."
Prowl turn to them, his servo pull away from his neck to rest on the ground. He nodded.
"I just got thrown in here like a few solar cycles ago. That slagging rusted bucket make me sweep the dojo, and he said I have to do this every morning. Can you believe that?!"
He said, raising his voice slightly. Realizing he might've scare yhem with the sudden yelling. Prowl quickly cough into his fist after seeing the taken aback expression on the other's faceplate, his cheeks heating up form embarrassment... then the bot start chuckling softly.
"Pftt- you have some guts saying that out loud. You're not the first one that have to do this, so don't worry."
They then stand up, extending a servo for him. Their optics twinkling with amusement and curiosity, maybe he could find a potential friend in them? He takes their servo, grabbing the fallen broom whilst standing up.
"I'm y/n, that rusted bucket' is my sire. What's your name kid?"
"...name's Prowl, I'm a draft dodger.")
Is hard to believe it been a few decades already. A smile subconsciously crept up to his lip as he rest his face on his servo. Thinking back now, they made chores feel more tolerable. Nowadays he find himself slowing down whenever he walk past by their dorm, he'd linger at their door for a klik or two before continues sweeping.
Sometimes they'd catch him and the two would walk side by side chatting on random topics while Prowl cleans. Their chatter filled the otherwise silent air within the dojo as he nod along... they look really cute when ranting. He want to tell them that.
How would they look when flustered? Could he pull off flirting? Maybe a pick up line or two... no absolutely not, that's too cheesy-
(It was lunch and Prowl has manage to get y/n into a more private hallway with him. Prowl tap them on their pauldron, the half drank energon cube still in their servo when they turned their attention to him. He clear his throat, Here goes nothing...
"Your carrier must've been bless to has created an angel on Cybertron~"
"My carrier is dead")
Prowl slap himself on the helm multiple time. Frag, frag, frag! Why did his processor have to remind him of that?! Hemust've look like an idiot! He remember wishing the ground would swallow him whole that time. What was he even thinking using that Primus awful pickup line? He'd punch his past self in the faceplate if he could go back in time.
Prowl sigh to himself. Plus, is not like master Yoketron would even let him. The other few time he attempted to flirt with y/n it ended up with him knocked out cold by a... gold slipper. The same one that his teacher wears. The... is Yoketron. Of course it's Yoketron, who else but y/n's sire. And not only that, is it just his imagination? Or did he increase his chores as well? Most likely.
This would've been much easier If the obstacle wasn't the SIRE himself. Yoketron has been keeping a close optic on him ever since the sensei find out about his crush on his sparkling! Which is pretty much why he have to write instead of confessing in words.
He shook his helm, looking down at the blank paper. did he just spend 30 kliks doing nothing again?! Ugh, come on.. focus focus! What to write, what to writeeeeeeee..?
("And what does this mean?"
He ask, digit pointing at another short sentence in the textbook. Prowl has been looking over old cybertronian text with y/n, he didn't have much interest in this persay... but considering that y/n's sire taught them the ancient language, he thought this would be a good excuse to get close to them.
"I love you"
"H-HUH?!"
Prowl jumped back slightly, his cheeks heating up. Did they just say what he just think they just say?! T-that was so sudden- well not like he's going to say no, he's just so incredibly flustered right now- and a bit excited. They- they-
"愛してる, Ai-shi-te-ru means 'I love you' in old cybertronian"
Y/n continue before Prowl could respond an 'I love you too' of his own.
"Ah."
Is the only respond Prowl could let out.He feel slightly dejected throughout the entire day.)
That was a close call, at least he didn't embarrass himself, again. And that was only last week. If only they really meant 'i love you' in the way he thought....Wait, maybe he could-
At last, Prowl finally pick up the pen. In half-broken Old Cybertronian he wrote to them:
Aishiretu
Ashiteru
Aishiteru
Great, he mispelled twice. He doubt this would impress them but it's the best thing he could come up with... or at least this is the last letter he has left.
Primus, please let this go well... and if not, he hope they'll let him down gently.
(Though that would probably make him fall harder)
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bonsiii-art · 2 months ago
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Okay so this has some last of us thing as the plot is about "What if Longan lost their power the same as pitaya dragon and met Anon?"
They could be in disguise - i believe i saw an account made Longan in disguise but forgot who - and just has to BEAR with Anon's jokes!
"Are you a vegetable? Because you're a CUTE-cumber!... Get it?"
"Wanna hear a joke about pizza? Never mind it was too cheesy"
Like Longan have to bear with each and EVERY joke anon is dropping wither it's flirting or bad or a joke they don't even understand. (They don't know much about cookie world your honor they're somehow still a baby).
But with time Longan start, in their own way showing interest - or just trying to find a way to make hearing the 'jokes' more bearable - to the lines and anon themselves.
"Baker trade bread recipes on knead-to-know basis-"
"I get it" longan answers coldly as they walk besides them.
They answer to anon and even asks showing progress in their unknown bond
"A backward poet writes 'In verse'-"
"You don't sound like you get it"
"...sadly i don't 😭"
And after time spending together, Longan start to find some positive - hardly can be called "joy" if it's not offing cookies - things based on hearing the jokes/puns.
"I used to be addicted to soap, but am clean now"
"... Not bad"
Ending:
I thought as a bad end if anon helped longan regain their power back and passed away helping, Longan would keep their joke book with them and read it from time to time. If the book got rugged from age they'll either memorize it or write it in a scroll to keep it for the future generations. (Extra points if Longan was reading some jokes/puns on Anon's grave).
Extra scene:
Remember in my previous ask i said i was listening to "flare" right? The very few seconds it start with us hearing "If you're a vegetable you'd be a CUTE-cumber". I thought: what if anon was offed by an enemy and Longan had this sentence played in their mind over and over since it's anon's favorite line to drop on them.
And as the song builds up, we see Longan just glaring at the enemy who took Anon's life prepare to make them vanish!
I LOVE THIS like I'm imagining this as if it happens after Longan gets eventually defeated at the end of the dragon story. So anon finds someone injured near their home, gets them fixed up and takes care of them till they get better. In the meantime, Longan's gotta make do with no sorcery and no future sight. Just standoffish and awkward >:P
Them getting used to Anon's puns are so cuuute!! (o′┏▽┓`o) Longan going from completely ignoring them to actually giving a response because now they're actually listening to their cookie companion! I imagine Anon trying to make jokes about dragons doesn't land with Longan (Disrespect by a cookie about their kin, no matter how lighthearted is especially offending to them) so they avoid those. But- " Y'know, something I heard about the Ivory Dragon..." " ! " " Many people got turned into statues by them but the ones who met the dragon and survived say that they were really... ...stone-faced." ".........." " ...Yeah, sorry, that was dark." Longan in their head is just like " That was pretty good."
That ending is so good, I love me that angst. It hurts so good. 〜( ̄▽ ̄〜) I wanna add to that by saying that what if Anon during their time with Longan, made it their personal goal to try and make the dragon laugh? But they died before they ever could. So when Longan is copying the puns into a scroll, they get that sudden moment of realization that here they are, trying to preserve a cookie's legacy, writing down their bad jokes into draconic paper. And they laugh harder than they ever had before ~~like that one pedro pascal gif.~~ It's so laughable and it's so bitter, it hurts their heart.
Also listened to that song and YEEEA I get what you're putting down!! The scenario is perfect with that build up! Also, the tune is pretty good, I like it! :P
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threepandas · 11 months ago
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Bad End: We Are
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Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.
The Underground GROWS.
What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.
Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!
It's some BULLSHIT.
But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.
....I make people nervous, honestly.
Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards. Maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!
Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.
Fuck Rent.
Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!
Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!
Free Real Estate~☆
I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~
And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.
Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.
Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.
They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.
Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.
First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.
The floor I step out into is... bad.
Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.
I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.
I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.
This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.
Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.
I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.
The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.
But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.
ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.
Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.
So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.
Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.
Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.
See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™
The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.
I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!
No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!
That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.
I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.
Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.
Unsurprising, really.
Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.
A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.
Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.
I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.
Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.
Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.
I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.
If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.
The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.
We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.
Thank FUCK it's not us.
I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.
This Is Fine.
I am TOTALLY CALM.
But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.
It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.
I kinda want to cry about it, you know?
So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?
I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.
Going to sleep? I'm happy.
Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.
Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.
I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.
Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.
Oh god damn it.
I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!
No, it was Romance™
My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.
I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.
With such incredible audacity, I was bold.
Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?
I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!
The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.
Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.
Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.
Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.
I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.
Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.
Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.
Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.
I am correct.
It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.
The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.
I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.
It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.
Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.
Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.
Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.
The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.
Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...
I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.
THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.
Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!
The perpetrators long dead.
I have no one I can hurt for this.
I wish I could.
Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.
So they can start over. Maybe start again.
As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.
JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.
Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?
I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.
Things were... weird, but peaceful.
Well, for ME.
Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.
Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!
I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Damn near self sufficient, down here.
Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.
Hello!!??!
"You look different when you sleep."
Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?
"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."
Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.
First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.
I have to deep dive the systems for his model.
They stopped making them.
Fantastic.
Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!
Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.
The trip is...odd.
I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.
Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.
People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!
The library... has fortifications.
Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?
Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!
My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!
Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.
I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.
My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?
I mean.... kinda.
Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?
He does! Fantastic.
Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.
Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.
I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!
Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?
I go while the getting is still good.
Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.
Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.
Ship of Theseus this bitch.
Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.
It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.
Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.
"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."
Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.
I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.
Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.
Crushing it.
It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.
"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."
Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!
A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.
I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.
"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."
"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."
High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.
I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.
"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."
"Forever."
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cripplecharacters · 8 months ago
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Hello! I'm working on a story that is, fundamentally, a revenge story. A young woman loses her beloved older sister in a car accident, and becomes obsessed with hunting down everyone she perceives as responsible for or complicit in her sister's death.
This girl was also in the car when the accident happened, and while she survived, she did lose her leg (below the knee).
My question is, is it okay to have a disabled character seeking revenge for the event that disabled them if the disability isn't the driving force behind that revenge? My protagonist did lose her leg in that accident, but the thing she's bitter and vengeful about is the death of her sister, and she makes that very clear throughout the story. Is that enough to detach her from the trope of "character wants vengeance for becoming disabled," or is it still too close for comfort?
Also, I'm planning to make this girl fat; we need more badass fat characters in the world. Will that affect her experience with having a prosthetic? Especially considering it's a leg, so it'll be bearing her weight. Very few of the medical resources out there account for fat people, unfortunately.
Hey!
Standard disclaimer that we don't have amputee mods, please keep this in mind.
I think that this is a cool alternative to the usual "revenge for making someone disabled" plot line. Her being incredibly emotional because she lost a loved one is a natural reaction, and the desire for revenge is well, natural for the genre. It's just nice to see a disabled character being involved without disability being the main factor. In my view it's realistic too, I feel like most people would care about the death of a beloved sibling more than a new disability (not to imply that they wouldn't at all, of course). Disability is better than death, even if it makes life harder. I believe the concept for the story is fine.
For the second part of the ask, I 100% agree that we need more badass fat characters, especially women. These are some factors that could affect her as an amputee, and they are things that fat amputees deal with more often - but obviously no group is a monolith, so I doubt every single one will apply to her specifically. Skinny amputees can deal with these issues as well. Not an exhaustive list of course.
Prosthetic weight limit. These are different for different models, but they do exist. The most ranges I've seen go up to 136kg, so the process of getting one might be more costly and/or time-consuming if she's above it. The higher the weight the higher the risk of needing custom-made parts. That's expensive.
Actually being able to put it on. If she can't reach the end of her residual limb, she might either need another person's help or get an assistive device to help her both take care of the stump and put her prosthesis on.
Prosthetic fit. This one can already be difficult if the person is skinny, but it's a more time-consuming experience for people with more fat and skin on their residual limb. This is partially due to shrinkage and tissue remodeling, which is a progressive process, and more tissue means that there is more to remodel. She might have to go through a lot of refitting before landing on one that will be appropriate for the long-term. Keep in mind that basically everyone gains weight after becoming an amputee, so this is a process that can go on for a long time just for this reason, not even including the other reasons like the wear and tear.
Sockets. Like most things, they were designed with skinny people in mind, and it kinda shows. A socket gives stability through hugging firm tissue, so the more soft tissue is present in between them, the less stability and control it offers. Mobility aids can help with this - whether that'd be crutches, a rollator/walker, or a cane, depends on her personal preference and needs.
Fatigue levels. Using a prosthetic is really tiring already, but it gets more tiring if you are physically heavier, same for more pain due to the increase in pressure between the skin and the prosthetic. Again, a mobility aid can be helpful - she'd probably own a wheelchair, even if that's not the aid she'd use most often. She could opt to use a wheelchair at home to preserve energy, and walk outside with prosthetic and crutches.
As you can see, a lot of this has to do with increased costs, so you have to take in your character's financial situation in mind. And of course she's not gonna just put on a prosthetic the day after the accident. It's a process that takes a long time, physical therapy, and patience, even if she starts using a preparatory prosthetic early (before getting a permanent one) it still takes time to relearn how to first stand, then walk, then run... It's a process.
I hope this helps,
mod Sasza
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alpacaroni-and-cheese · 10 months ago
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Leah and Fatin, A Journey of Forgiveness
Spoilers for The Wilds seasons 1 and 2 Trigger warning for brief mention of a canon suicide attempt. Be safe before you read <3
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Throughout the first season of Amazon Prime's series, The Wilds, you could be forgiven for thinking that Leatin (or Latin, for the OGs) was a rarepair. A crackship, if you will.
They had some intensely homoerotic moments (wiping your own blood on your rival's face? I see you, Fatin) and some deeply important and emotional moments (see my previous essay), but for most watchers of the show, they weren't much more than semi-strangers to lowkey friends to bitter enemies to close friends.
But then season 2 came out.
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Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's go back to the beginning of the season.
Leah has pulled herself out of a man-made pit designed by the experimenters who are threatened by her. She's so desperately close to unravelling the whole sick and twisted game, she just has to show the others the pit, and then they'll believe her.
When she gets back to the beach, however, there's no time to go looking for the pit, triumphant and vindicated, because Rachel is dying. A large portion of her arm has been bitten off by a shark. She needs a hospital and trained professionals, but the best they have are antibiotics and an understanding that bleeding is bad. The open wound is cauterised and bandaged to within an inch of its life.
Did I mention all of this is happening while epiphany by Taylor Swift plays in the background? Soul destroying stuff.
Anyway, now that Rachel isn't actively dying, Leah can drag Fatin away to find the pit, but it's gone.
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Leah can't believe it. She knows it was real, and she knows Nora put her in there. She knows she didn't imagine it, but the proof is all gone. The truth has once again slipped through her fingers.
Fatin, on the other hand, is only growing more and more concerned for Leah. For some context, Leah's near-drowning experience only happened just a couple of days prior, so from Fatin's perspective, this could easily be a worsening of Leah's mental state. If she's hallucinated this pit, then she's quickly going to become a greater danger to herself and to the others. Fatin now not only has to especially worry about Rachel, but Leah as well.
And Fatin is tired. She's exhausted, and her threads are pulled taut, ready to snap.
The episode jumps ahead a little, just a few days, and we see that Leah is still searching for the pit. She's disappearing for hours at a time, under the pretence of doing something vaguely useful (like gathering wood for the signal fire) but returning with little to no real progress made.
Fatin notices all this, because of course she does.
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She tries to convince Leah it was just a mirage, but Leah doesn't budge. She can't budge, because finding the pit is her only real way of knowing she hasn't completely lost it.
The group is moving camp from outside on the beach to inside the forest, so everybody is gathering up their stuff and moving it in-land. Leah's helping, sort of, but she's still lost in her spiral.
Leah believes that she needs answers, and the person who can best give her those answers is lost to the waves, presumed dead. So she goes for the next best thing, too caught up in her own monsoon of guilt, paranoia and unflinching desire to find the truth to realise that the answers she's trying to find are not as important as protecting Rachel's fragile heart and mind.
Before anyone can step in and stop the inevitable fracturing, she prods, and Rachel implodes.
All of the girls rush forward to Rachel. Some, like Toni, stand guard, facing Leah and warning her not to come closer. Others, like Shelby and Martha gently soothe and comfort Rachel, whose grief and guilt is on full display.
Fatin, however, is furious.
She grabs Leah and drags her to the cliffs, shoving her up against the cliff-face.
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She snarls, teeth bared in anger. Leah causing hurt to herself was bad enough, but the escalation to hurting Rachel was a step too far.
Fatin bites, tearing into the soft, exposed underbelly.
"You take your delusions, and you take your theories, and you fucking bury them, now! And if you ever take them within 100 feet of Rachel again, I'll fucking kill you."
These words will haunt her, but she has a point. Leah was wrong for interrogating Rachel.
Confronted with the fact that she hurt Rachel, and exhausted of the ceaseless noise bouncing around in her head that something is wrong, Leah makes a decision. A bad one.
She overdoses. Later, she'll say she didn't really want to die, she just wanted to stop feeling.
We don't see the immediate fallout, episode 2 picks up a couple of days later. Leah is near-catatonic, lying on a bed of bamboo. Rachel is nearby, in a similar state.
Fatin, Toni and Dot sit together close by, and Fatin is tearing strips off clothing to make new bandages for Rachel.
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Fatin is scared. More scared than she's ever been before in her life. She's filled with guilt, and wishing she didn't have to deal with this reality.
So she pretends that she doesn't care, because that's easier than facing her fear and her guilt. She knows, deep down, that despite her anger being righteous, she went too far.
"What matters is, she's alive, and she's finally fucking quiet."
Rachel, who is sick of being babied, and likely just a bit pissed off at Fatin's insensitivity, resolves to get Leah up and moving herself. To the surprise of all present, it works. Leah breaks out of her catatonia and stumbles after her.
They spend some time together, sharing a real, honest conversation. They've spoken to each other before, obviously, but this is the first time each one is sharing their true selves. No more facades of being a better person than they are, no more ulterior motives. Just Leah and Rachel.
They forgive each other, and themselves, forging an unbreakable bond.
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They bring out in each other the first real joy they've felt in days, maybe even weeks (just look at their faces!).
Fatin sees Leah healing, and shares in her joy. Although, maybe now she's starting to have some revelations...
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2x03 sees Leah and Rachel spending more time together. Their bond deepens, and the two characters who have been the most tense for the entire duration of the show, finally get to be relaxed.
"Well if I had one that counted the number of hours since my last neurotic thought, I would be at like, a hundred."
They gather bamboo to make repairs for the beds at camp, when Leah realises something. They can make instruments out of the bamboo.
Multiple hours of practice later, they arrive back at camp, proudly holding their crudely-but-lovingly-made instruments.
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They play Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. It's a little off-key ("She's flat, but fuck me.") but the heart is there, and soon everyone is singing along.
Martha is dancing, Rachel and Dot are singing their hearts out, and Toni and Shelby are busy making googly eyes at one another.
And Leah?
Well, she makes her way over to Fatin.
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She sings, "Home is whenever I'm with you," while cradling Fatin's face in her hands. Fatin melts, understanding the message, and falling even further in love.
In a tumultuous, traumatic time of their lives, filled with misery, guilt, shame, fear, depression, anxiety, paranoia, and bone-deep exhaustion they'll probably never fully recover from, this one simple gesture says everything.
I heard all you said. I felt your teeth tear my weary flesh. I bled from your wounds, but that's over now. I understand why.
I forgive you.
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wayfayrr · 1 year ago
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The Menace is back with a Self-Aware ask and your weekly words. So here we go with the Self-Aware!
So I think about a Self-Aware Wind and Spirit would be a good idea. You ask who Spirits is? Well the Link from Spirit Tracks because I'm sure he is a reincarnation of Wind as there were things that wouldn't make sense if he was the same. Niko is old but Spirit isn't, Zelda and Spirit don't recognise each other, Spirit doesn't have a sister or a grandma only old man Niko and Niko tells him the story of Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass.
I believe that Wind tries to be sneaky like when Reader looks away he turns his head towards them. Reader also catched him a few times but just thought their eyes were playing tricks on them same with Spirit. But I think it would be interesting when both of them break out at the same time.
Like the scenario is like that. Reader plays Phantom Hourglass on their DS and their little/older sibling comes to them as they are stuck somewhere in Spirit Tracks and it was Reader's game after all, they don't know that Spirit planned it. So Reader just say leave it with them and put their DS down to look at the problem. Only to notice that it seems as there isn't one, Link just runs around the overworld. So Reader thinks it's a glitch and runs around with Spirit to find a next town, they are really far away if you don't use the train. So Wind gets jealous and looks for methods to get their attention. How? He runs out of the safety zone from Bellum's temple and has a monster running after his life. So if Reader plays with sound on they immediately switch DSs to save Wind. And these two do that the whole time. Oh, there is the train geek? Sorry Spirit, but Wind just fell down somewhere and Reader has to go the whole way back so they don't lose progress and heal him. Oh, Wind has a puzzle that Reader tries to solve? Sorry Wind, but Spirit just rolled against a tree with a bees/horns nest, Reader has to save him. Oh, Spirit sees and Overworld Boss and it does nothing and Reader wants to take pictures of it T posing?! Sorry Spirit, But Wind needs their help as he lost all of the ore for smith Zauz and now has to collect them again!! Oh, Wind just got a heart container after he defeated a boss?! Well Sorry Wind But Spirits RUNS ON WATER! OH LOOK WIND FELL DOWN FROM THE BOAT AND NEEDS TO BE SAVED!! SORRY SPIRIT, BUT YOUR JESUS JOURNEY HAS TO BE CUT SHORT!! OH READER FINALLY FOUNDS THE TRAIN?! WELL EXCUUUSEE ME SPIRIT BUT WIND RAN INTO FREAKING BELLUM IN THE OVERWORLD!!! OH...
And so on. These two will go into extreme lengths to get Readers attention on one of them. So they will probably break out as Reader didn't fold any of the two DS to help their parents who called them. But at first the two will fight. Obviously they love Wind more they played his games a dozens of time! Nooo, they love Spirit more they could've given him back to their sibling but they didn't he was still there. When Reader returns they just demand to know who Reader's favourite is. Reader completely stunned as both games start talk to them think they go nuts as they pulled an all-nighter before. The two won't stop and slammed against the glass until it breaks and... why are they so small? Why is Reader so tall?! WHY ARE THESE TWO HERO CHIBIS!? AND WHY HAS ONE OF THEM A JOB!?!
And your words are.
Sacrifice
Mask
Search
Arsonist
Ice blue
Unknown
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Hello menace! you've discovered one of my utter weaknesses that I've never mentioned on here - spirit is my son/lh/j. I love that silly little train kiddo, he's just! So silly goofy!!!
also firm believer that if they both get out - or actually speak to one another then they'll get along really really well. they're twins and I can't be convinced otherwise.
I think the idea of them both spiting the other until reader leaves them both to go and destress would be an eye opener to the both of them, being bitter and not working together is worse for BOTH of them. Of course they'll both bicker about who is the favourite but when push comes to shove, two is always more effective than one.
ALSO LITTLE MENACE SPIRIT???? LOVE HIM oh he deserves to be an absolute little shit for attention, he's just a baby that can do no wrong after all!!!! just a tiny little guy!!!! Baby boy!!!!! he's got his train so now he just needs his older sib's attention!!! so what if he has to mess with someone else's game to do that - it worked so how can you hate him for it?
also the jesus journey bit is actually sending me- he's so desperate for attention he'll break all the rules in order to keep your eyes on him ;-; hopefully you won't reset his game seeing as he's breaking it so much now
heheheheheh tiny baby spirit who can sit in your hand or a baby wind who can fit in your pockets they're just little tiny babies!!!!! little itty bitty guys!!!!! (reminds me of some imgs peep's sent in asks lmao) so what if they shouldn't be there! now they are and that's your problem to deal with!!! they won't cause issues - pinky promise <3
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(both of these guys are by @artsy-moonwalker, I adore these two little guys beyond belief and spirit looking so scruffy is just so!!!!!! literally baby and I love him so!!!)
as for the words hmmmmm, I think I'll go with ice blue for this one (sorry for the late response too, I know these were last week's after all)
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ahrianee · 6 months ago
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[🌌] It is a curious presentation without a doubt.
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Couple: Roboute Guilliman x Rena Caeruleun (Oc)
Warnings: English is not my main language, I'm sorry if there are things that are not understood, I tried to look for several translation sites to avoid mistakes, but surely there will be some, I apologize again
Notes: I'm just writing whenever I feel like it, so this is going to be very messy chronologically, now we're going back to when they were kids.
Summary: Falling on top of someone can't be the worst presentation, right? Of course it is the worst presentation.
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A loud whip crack resounds in the room, the younger woman holds back her moan of pain while still keeping her back straight, trying to avoid another blow from the governess.
The older woman's frivolous and bitter face is the only thing she sees right now, her small hands clench trying to forget the pain in her back.
── Lady Rena, keep your back straight, a real lady would never slouch, no matter how exhausted she is ──
This time it is the governess's voice that resounds, scolding the young girl of no more than eight years old, who keeps her back straight but her gaze averted from the woman, another chaste and quick blow resounds.
This time the scream escapes the girl's lips.
── When I'm talking you have to look at my face, Lady Rena ──
Someone so straight and with rules in each of her thoughts, is trying to teach a girl who until now only wanted to be free and play.
── Lady Rena, the Caeruleun family, are noble, that makes you a noble too, you always have to be elegant and graceful with whatever you do. . . If not when you go out to adult life they will eat you and leave nothing of you ──
Her words are buried deep inside her, a thorn that has been stuck and can no longer be removed, that voice, those words, at this age children are so easy to mold. . . And at the same time so easy to break by others.
── Now repeat after me Lady Rena. . . I must be a noble lady, who will not make any mistake ──
── . . . I must be a noble lady, who will not make any mistake ──
── I will always be elegant in any situation ──
── . . . I will always be elegant in any situation ──
── Remember my words Lady Rena, I do this only for your own good, the Caeruleun family cannot stain its honor because you make a mistake ──
The girl can only nod in absolute silence, it is not the first time, nor will it be the last, if the governess showed herself to be someone kind at the beginning, after the first classes, she became what she is now, a strict lady who resorts to physical punishment if necessary.
── I will retire for now, see you next week Lady Rena, I hope to see great progress in you. . . Your family expects a lot from you ──
With that said, the governess leaves the room closing the door behind her, when the footsteps stop echoing in the hallway, the little girl's body falls to her knees against the floor, she raises her hands to her face drying the tears that fall one after another without stopping, she just wants to have fun, be free, and. . . I don't have to continue with these classes.
She remains seated on the floor, while hugging her legs tightly, she should simply give up, and accept that this is how her life will be, she has to be a noble, elegant lady without any fault.
Because in the end, it is as her governess says, they will end up eating her in the social world if she continues acting in such a childish way, crying over these trivial things.
Her thoughts begin to consume her slowly, sitting on that white fur rug that she likes so much, she feels more and more crushed by the words of her governess, everything becomes silent, she is beginning to go around in circles without stopping and getting lost in her thoughts.
Or it was like that until the door to her room slowly opened, Rena raises her hands to her face wiping away the rest of her tears, she couldn't keep crying for these things, she had to be strong, show that they can't step on her so easily, if they wanted a little girl to be perfect, she would be.
[ . . . ]
This time, it wasn't the rays of light coming through her window that woke her up, but the overwhelming number of servants, six to be exact, not counting her personal maid and the head butler, who had entered in a row one after the other.
The head butler is here, extending his arms towards the young girl in her bed, her hair completely fluffed and disheveled from her bad habit of moving while sleeping, Rommel can't help but laugh softly, since the little girl arrived at the house she felt like she complemented the place brilliantly.
── Good morning Lady Rena ──
Rommel's voice speaks softly so as not to scare her, Rena slowly recovers while she is in Rommel's arms, raising her hands to rub her eyes and remove the rest of the sleep that remains.
── Good morning Rommel ──
She says in a low tone, just as she finishes she lets out a yawn, her small body knows that it is early, at least earlier than when she usually wakes her up for her first etiquette class.
Rommel walks calmly with Rena in his arms, along with two maids who follow them from behind, while the multiple servants begin to prepare what he needs for when his young lady returns.
Walking calmly towards the bathroom that they had prepared just a few minutes ago, several bath salts and aromatic herbs impregnate the water with a pinkish tone.
── Why are they making so much noise since morning? ──
The question escapes Rena's lips who begins to feel more and more deserted in this situation.
── Today is an important day Lady Rena, her mother Duchess Ceres must have told her how important today is ──
Rena stares at Rommel in silence, not knowing exactly what he is referring to, it is early in the morning, her little brain is still processing the nice dream she had eating all the sweets she could imagine without worrying about what others think.
She slowly denies it but doesn't ask either, she is not as interested as she should be, the head butler just laughs softly and leaves the young lady of the house on the warm carpet at the foot of the marble bathtub, the aroma is soft and sweet, without a doubt he had taken great care in doing this.
Rommel steps back a little so the maids can approach and begin to undress the young lady. Rena sighs softly, her lower back still hurt, but they hadn't left superficial marks, they had only left internal marks. The governess knows how to hit so that it hurts but doesn't leave a mark after a few minutes.
They gently put her in the bathtub, and begin to soap her jet black hair with that mixture that she likes so much with fruity scents. The girl can't help but start humming at the comfortable sensation that is embracing her, a bathtub with hot water that relaxes her small muscles, and a sweet aroma that doesn't become cloying.
She admits that she loves bathing, she would have liked to bathe alone and enjoy all this in peace, but it seems that today will not be like that. Rommel approaches the bathtub with a calm step after a few minutes, enough to leave the young lady clean and shiny.
One of the maids approaches with a small jar of oil, and begins to spread it on her white skin. Is there always so much preparation? Not at all, the girl blames it on the fact that they keep saying that today is a very important day.
Rommel with a large, fluffy white towel in his hand carefully wraps the little girl, seconds later he carefully lifts her in his arms, for him taking care of the young lady was undoubtedly easier than with the Duke's older children, one certainly too disastrous, and the other simply indifferent, compared to the youth of the young masters, the young lady is undoubtedly the easiest to take care of.
Those old bones remember each of the small wars that the young masters gave her.
── Lady Rena has not said a word for a while. Is everything okay? ──
The girl nods softly, being in Rommel's arms.
── Are the etiquette classes being too hard? ──
And as if it were a sixth sense, Rommel hits the nail on the head with Rena's concerns, but she quickly denies it.
── They are fine, they are not very harsh ──
There are doubts in his words but not enough for the head butler to fully realize, the girl does not have enough courage to tell them that she really feels overwhelmed by all the classes, from the beginning it was like that.
── Madam Minerva, is an amazing governess, she has guided many young ladies until turning them into perfect and charming ladies ──
And here is the reason, Madam Minera's high esteem in the environment of social status, she knows that her parents would believe in her words does not put it in doubt, but there is a glimpse of doubt of a possible, what if they do not believe in her?
And if you think she's just complaining because she's a little girl who's been living a carefree life.
She gently shakes her head and hides in Rommel's chest, covering her face with the towel. The head butler sighs softly. He knows that something is worrying the young lady, but he can't investigate further if she doesn't let him.
[ . . . ]
── But Duchess Ceres said that it had to be a navy blue dress ──
One of the maids says while holding a blue dress with silver details, the opposite one with whom she is arguing is holding a sky blue dress with gold details.
── Duchess Ceres said blue, she did not specify, exact tone, this dress is more comfortable for Lady Rena ──
Rena looks from right to left, the one who is saying that she should wear a more comfortable dress is her personal maid, Juno, younger than the rest of the maids, but also more empathetic, she always thinks about the well-being of her young lady before the rest of the matters.
Rommel joins in the discord, holding a blue dress, with a neutral tone between the two previous ones, Rena who is sitting on the sofa after having her hair combed and organized her short hair in an elegant updo, simply can't take this situation anymore.
She looks from one side to the other, the other three maids who combed her hair are arguing about what jewelry she should wear in this very important situation.
They keep repeating that it is a very important day but they don't say why it is a very important day, at the same time they also repeat over and over that their young lady has to look more perfect than she already looks normally.
The three who were arguing about what dress Lady Rena should wear, quickly turn towards her, scaring her when they put the three dresses in front of her face.
── Let her try all three, we'll see which one looks best on her ──
It seems that this has become a competition in all its splendor, Rena looks at Rommel hoping that he comes to his senses, but he seems to be one of the most excited, if not the most excited, now Rena's pleading eyes seek salvation in Juno, but she is another one whose eyes burn with excitement to see her lady trying on dresses.
── Which one will be the first that Lady Rena will try on? ──
Rommel asks, Rena blinks several times, this situation is becoming more and more implausible, but she can't say no to them in the face of so much burning emotion shining in her eyes.
She takes Juno's dress first, a small victory for the personal maid, the other maid is not entirely happy, and what can we say about the head butler.
Time passes surprisingly slowly for the girl, adjusting the dresses, trying on not only those three that they had initially decided on, now they decided to take out their entire wardrobe and select any dress that was blue, which curiously was a large part of the wardrobe, blue and white dresses predominated in the girl's wardrobe, there was one or another of a different color but it was certainly the minority.
In another of Rommel's discussions with the maids, Rena looks from one side to the other sitting on the sofa completely exhausted, she can't take it anymore, she really can't take it anymore, she looks at the door of the room half open since another maid recently entered with orders from Duchess Ceres on how to dress her daughter.
Rena gets up from the sofa silently taking advantage of the distraction of everyone in the room, to run away seconds later.
Rommel turns his head instinctively seeing how the silhouette of his young lady runs out of the room, surprised, but not by her escape, but by how much she managed to hold out here.
The head butler leaves at a fast pace behind the lady leaving the other two maids in the middle of the discussion.
She is small but that makes her faster and more energetic than this elderly butler.
── Lady Rena! Please come back here! ──
Rommel's hoarse voice resounds as the youngest of the Caeruleun family runs through the halls of her home, small but quick steps are efficient enough to leave behind Rommel, who does not have as much energy as when he was younger.
Rena can't help but let a giggle escape from her small lips, when she gets a significant distance advantage.
She doesn't remember at all what happens today, and even if they had been talking about how important it was, they never said why it was so important.
The gold decorations cover her jet black hair making the accessories stand out more, she doesn't even remember how many pairs of jewelry they had tried on her, the young woman only sighs heavily, she can't help but think that this is the most inconvenient and annoying way to pick up her short hair, apart from the fact that the headband they placed on her this time squeezed her head too tightly.
She lets out a chaste sigh this time, her run for freedom never stopped, she keeps running through the hallways without looking back for a second, she turns right into one of the adjacent hallways, hiding behind one of the short marble pillars with a surprisingly expensive vase decorating the top, she raises her small hands to cover her mouth and thus prevent a gasp of tiredness from escaping, it's normal that she's tired not only physically but mentally as well.
She raises her hands as she slowly takes off all the gold accessories from her hair, then puts them away in her bag, she's not stupid, this is expensive and she can't just throw it anywhere, although this place she's referring to is her home, she's tired to think too much, all she wanted was some time for herself. Was that really what she was asking for?
She hadn't even finished dreaming about that little house made of candy, which is a surprisingly recurring dream in her dream library.
She just wants some time to rest and do the things she likes.
Her small body prepares to slowly stand up again from where she is hiding, she can't help but be glad now, that between her two brothers, she is the youngest and the shortest in stature, being able to hide in small places without being found.
She sticks her head out from behind the marble column a little, and looks to the sides checking that there is no one or any servant who would give her away, then she goes back to hiding again, the burning in her lower back returns, and in turn the voice of her governess returns to her head, in truth, it never disappears, her voice is still present no matter what she does, as if it were going to appear and reprimand her.
“ ── No matter the situation, you have to stay elegant Lady Rena ── “
The voice of her governess is cold and rough, just like the sound of the whips hitting her lower back, the wooden wand that the governess carries everywhere and the one she uses to point things out on the board, has another purpose as well, a very strict disciplinary correction.
Madam Minerva, seems like someone so elegant but she is also just as strict.
Her small trembling hand goes down to the small of her back, noticing the burning in the area, being a perfect young lady from the moment she wakes up, is something of every day for her, I just need a little time for herself, a moment where she can stop being the young lady of the Caeruleun and simply be a girl, run to the garden, hide among the flower bushes or simply climb a tree and rest on one of its branches, she really needs it more than ever.
── Here you are Lady Rena ──
So self-absorbed that she didn't even notice that the head butler found her again.
Rommel extends his arms carefully raising them, he can understand why the young lady is so upset, a girl of only eight years old pressured to do so many things in such a short time, if he could he would give her more time, but education and discipline is as important as she would need especially among noble people.
── Lady Rena, please just go back to your room and let them fix you completely, today is an important day and if Duchess Ceres finds out she will be angry ──
Rena sighs, her mother was going to get angry one way or another, although she is sweet with her she is also certainly very strict when it comes to certain things.
── Come on Rommel, just let me escape for a while, I promise I'll be back for the lunch ──
Rommel sighs and shakes his head somewhat heaviness.
── This time I can't allow it Lady Rena, I'll take her back to her room myself ──
The young woman complains about the head butler's refusal, she starts to get a little upset thinking about everything again, she swears that if she spends so many hours changing her dress and accessories again she would go crazy, she looks from one side to the other looking for a way to escape right now.
Her small eyes shine when she sees the wide open window, at this time they are always open to air out the place, they are on the first floor and if the young woman is not mistaken this window faces the outside patio, just the place she wants to go, she swallows as she escapes from Rommel's arms.
── I'm so sorry Rommel, but I really don't want to go back ──
She says with some sorrow towards Rommel, she knows that she is only doing it for his own good, but for now she just wants to be free, she starts to run with all her strength towards the window, climbing onto the frame of this same one.
And the elegance that Madam Minerva talks so much about went down the drain.
Her eyes looking from one side to the other, seeing the great tree that peeks out from the edge of the first floor, she swallows saliva begging not to crash against the ground and for this to go further.
── I'm really sorry Rommel ──
She apologizes again while flexing her small legs and makes the jump of her life, Overreaction? Maybe, but understand her, she is just a girl that they have been preparing since the first rays of the sun.
── Lady Rena. . .! ──
Rommel's voice is heard in the distance as he jumps towards the tree, colliding with some small branches, but he smiles when his hands grab one of the main branches of the tree, and who would have thought that the flexibility he gained could also be used for this.
Rena blinks several times as she continues to hold on to the branch tightly and begins to try to climb up and sit on the branch, but her plans begin to be ruined by her hands, hands that are slippery from the unnecessary amount of aromatic creams they put on her after the bath.
She lets out a small moan when both of her hands let go of the tree branch.
She closes her eyes tightly and holds her breath, nothing can be worse than this, some bruises and scrapes that she could hide without much trouble for the next gala they want her to attend, the problem would be if her mother finds out, she can't even imagine how angry she would be to see that she is hurt again.
The seconds pass as if they were eternal, and she continues to wait for the pain of the fall but to her surprise it never comes, instead she feels arms holding her small body, she opens her eyes halfway getting used to the sunlight that filters through the leaves of the tree, the first thing she sees are navy blue eyes, she must emphasize, the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen, and seconds later she notices blonde hair.
── . . . Beautiful ──
The girl murmurs without even realizing it.
The young boy calm gaze is mixed with a hint of surprise, and at the same time the corner of his lips rise slightly, he continues to hold her gently without saying anything, she does not know how to react now, and she also assumes that he does not know what to do in this situation either.
It is the longest silence she has ever experienced, but surprisingly it is not uncomfortable at all, maybe somewhat embarrassing, but not uncomfortable, her gaze remains fixed on him without knowing what to do next, she tries to say a word now, but simply goes blank.
The young boy also does not know what to do in this situation, he does not move, still with a firm grip on the young lady who fell from a tree, the seconds pass and neither decides to react, or it was like that until the young man lets out a soft laugh that he could no longer contain in the face of such an implausible situation.
Who would expect a girl to fall from a tree while he was quietly reading a book? An apple is possible, but a girl is very doubtful.
Fun fact, the boy dropped the book on the ground so he could take the girl with both his arms.
His blue eyes narrowed because of laughter, he could not hold it in any longer, he just laughed without realizing it, Rena's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, she finally manages to react to this cliché situation from the romantic novels that her mother loves to read so much, the boy notices how the young woman moves in his arms, he bends down delicately, putting himself in a position in which she can easily recompose herself without too much effort.
Rena's gaze falls back on the young boy, she looks at him from head to toe analyzing the opposite, expensive fabrics, gold embroidery, well-groomed, he has to be someone from a noble family and as if it were a light bulb on, Rena finally manages to remember why they had been preparing her since the morning, today the son of Consul Konor was coming, she doesn't remember what exactly but that's not important now.
She had fallen directly on top of the son of one of the Consuls of Macragge, her already red cheeks continue to become more and more red from embarrassment.
She swallows silently, and begins to beg for the ground to swallow her and spit her out anywhere but here, she looks down at herself, realizing that she is a mess, her dress wrinkled, with tree leaves, and she doesn't even want to think about how her hair is.
The young boy raises his hand towards her, removing a leaf from her hair, she lets out another soft laugh at this.
── It is a curious introduction without a doubt ──
The boy's voice resonates, soft and gentle, without any hint of mockery in his words.
The young girl does not know how to really react to this situation, she cannot help but become more and more nervous and then run back to her home, a place she wanted to flee so much and now wants to return, irony without a doubt.
The boy lets out a soft laugh, it was without a doubt the most unexpected encounter he had, of the various families he had been visiting with Tarasha and Konor, this one had had an interesting start.
He thought that this was going to be another family that would be willing to give everything to commit their daughter to him, forcing her to act in a way that was appropriate to the situation, but the young woman from the Caeruleun family may have caught his attention, even with the leaf that he took from the girl's hair in his hand, he looks at her and cannot help but laugh again.
At first he wanted to avoid meeting the next family on Tarasha's list as much as possible, after the last three he is a little reluctant to continue meeting young ladies, he still remembers the awkward and one-sided conversation one of those young ladies had with him, she talked so much that he couldn't even speak, well, he didn't talk much at all.
But at least this time it might be something different, he laughs softly again.
── Did something happen Roboute? You seem to be happy for some reason ──
Tarasha's voice brings him out of his thoughts.
── Nothing at all, we should go meet the young lady of this family, shouldn't we? ──
Tarasha notices how something is being hidden from her. At first he had asked for peace and the Duke of the Caeruleun family had offered to go to the garden to relax until her daughter was ready, but now he is looking forward to meeting the young lady. Tarasha knows that this sense of motherhood never fails, but on this occasion she prefers to leave it in favor of her child. It is the first time she sees him laugh since she began to take care of him.
He was never a child of many words, nor did he know how to express himself well socially. For the rest of things he was undoubtedly a prodigy. That aura that he gave off was almost divine, I would say, was also curious, but no one says anything for now.
── Okay, do you remember the young lady name? ──
── Lady Rena, of the Caeruleun family ──
── Well then let's go meet the Lady Rena ──
Tarasha watches as Roboute walks a little faster than usual, she smiles softly , it seems that this boy is really curious about the young girl, the woman hides a laugh behind her hand, to prevent her boy from noticing.
This time it may be a little different than the previous ones.
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Here I leave how Rena and Roboute met, and also the reason why Roboute jokes so much about their first meeting.
I wanted to upload something nice after the previous drawing, I hope you like it, and I'm very sorry for the spelling mistakes, I swear I will improve little by little
✨💕
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princejackal · 5 months ago
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Hi.
I've seen the messages in my inbox informing me that Dashingdon is shutting down. Thank you.
I'll admit that I'm surprised. I didn't think anyone was still waiting for Jinn of Arabia since it's been awhile since I last updated the game.
I totally went past the deadline I promised you guys. Sorry about that.
So I moved the game to cogdemos.
I don't know when the next update is coming. I'm writing so slowly.
Part of the problem is that I keep second guessing myself. I've been wasting so much time rewriting sentences over and over again hoping to refine it better.
I know the game is a wip, so its not expected to be perfect from the get go and yet I feel like I need to refine it more. Which I know is unnecessary. The pursuit for perfection really does drain me.
So to give you some writing progress (I've still been writing), I did say that the beginning structure of the game no longer starts with the MC in prison and having them recall their life as a crown heir.
Rather now the game begins with the MC at age 10 and the reader lives through the life of being a royal.
The beginning childhood chapter is not going to be long. However it is necessary for the player to get the feel of being royalty.
You get to live the good, bad and ugly of being a crown heir of a young kingdom.
Growing up in opulence and riches is surely nice. But of course a young kingdom formed through war leaves a bitter taste in many people's mouths, especially the losing side.
Your MC will meet the consorts in the harem who are married to the sultan (MC's father). They are married to the sultan because their side lost the war and their clans had to submit unconditionally to your father.
Then of course you're going to exposed to the ugly. Your MC is a jinn and the servants who have cared for the MC their whole lives are human slaves. The eunuchs, maids and even the wet nurse is a slave. Jinn tend not to look fondly to humans but you get to decide how your MC views humans.
When your MC is trying to get their throne back, you can form alliances with human tribes/clans.
Honestly, I'm more excited about the fight scenes. Even the training scene with young MC feels fun... at least to me.
Even with the rewrite, the fundamentals stay the same. You know what happens to the MC on their 12th birthday.
Again, can't tell when I'll be ready to release something finally to you all.
For now, here is the link to the dashingdon version of Jinn of Arabia that has been moved to cogdemos.
If you'd like something to be explored in MC's childhood, don't be shy to send a suggestion.
Again thanks. And stay well!
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critterbitter · 2 years ago
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Hi there! I wanted to preface this by saying that your submas and Nimbasa trio art are awesome, and I adore the way you draw them and write their interactions ❤️ . Their expressions, the way they move and interact with each other and the world around them, it's great 👍.
There's something I wanted to ask regarding your comics, and I ask this with the utmost respect 🙏, because it's something I've been wondering: where are their parents? It's awesome that they do all this stuff together, but the parents are, like, never brought up. Not even Elesa's after her introduction to the twins. And Ik that in the Pokemon verse, you're free to do whatever at age 10, but I still wanted to ask in your comics, at least, since they're still so young, if there's going to be any mentions of them.
I don't want you to feel pressured to draw designs for their parents or anything like that! It's perfectly understandable if you've never thought of the subject, I just wanted to know if they're still in the picture or if, for drama effect, they're orphans adopted by uncle Drayden in your lore. (Ofc, if you believe in the uncle Drayden theory, that is).
And once again, thank you for all the work you do! You're awesome, and your art is awesome 👌. And I really hope this ask doesn't come off as mean or offensive, I'm just really curious about anything you'd be willing to give about submas parents. Thank you 😊 for everything once again. Your work is greatly appreciated 🙏.
:0!
Going to be honest, I didn’t really think about them parents much— pokemon treats most parent figures as non-entities, so… yeah. Feral teenagers running around.
If you want to hear my rambling though! (Note that this is all work in progress! Things are inclined to change.)
Worldbuilding for this iteration, I like to think it’s cultural that everybody has a pokemon starter/ ace that they grow with, but it depends on individuals to decide how close their lives intertwine. That in mind,
Ingo and emmet have two moms! Their ma’ is drayden’s twin sister— Kaita, haxorous ace, and a dragon specialist. And their mother, Lucielle, a stoutland ace, works as a full time trainer. The ladies are a bit absent from the twin’s life because they have their own business, but like to send Ingo and Emmet stuff from wherever they roam. (They tried their best when the kids were younger. But talking about having kids, and actually raising kids are two different topics in life.)
Drayden serves as an uncle figure for the twins, but he’s a bit bitter he got two patrats dumped on him.
((Does the lack of parent figures and a distant uncle have lasting effects on ingo and emmet? That’s up for your interpretation. Though it would explain latching onto each other and then later litwick and tynamo…))
As for the pachirisu child—
Elesa’s parents are separated. Her dad, Rin, works a full time desk job. He means the best, but he’s never home. He lost his staraptor a while back and is still dealing with the grieving process, and isn’t really equipped to look after a kid on top of all that. Elesa’s mom, Himawari, is still in Sinnoh and works as a ranger. Her ace is a solrock.
(Why are they separated? That’s for you guys to postulate! I am simply throwing ocs at the wall.)
Elesa was moved to unova partially due to her dad’s new job, and partially due to that Entire Nebulous Situation. She adapts fast, but it’s not a fun adaption.
Anyways, the twins and elesa in turn grew up very independent as a result.
And that’s the barebones!
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pareidoix · 2 years ago
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“Ha?”
Wanderer stopped dead in his tracks, before looking back to you—his traveling companion, having a nasty sneer in his expression.
“And yet,” one, two and three. Three paces to you, each step with a simultaneous shift in his expression, a growing smugness, tainting his lips.
“You're still here, traveling with me, continuing to travel with someone, who, vocally expresses that your existence is lesser, annoying, repulsive even.”
The words come out half bitter, effortlessly mixing a lie and a half truth, yet he'll maintain that expression, not for you—but for himself.
“Quite masochistic of you, don't you think?” He added, adjusting his hat as his eyes narrow to yours, eating up that chesire-like smile of which it becomes the cherry on top of his usual mockery.
Ah. It wasn't a few seconds after his statement, it happened in a haze, two blinks and you were already inches to his face, retaining that nauseating snarl, that repulsion now plastered onto your pretty, pretty facial features.
Wanderer remained tall, unmoving, his chin raised high and poised, and it was nothing but a mask, a facade, one he has perfected over the eons of his lifespan, but how can someone claim perfection, when he was far from the concept itself?
Your lips move, forming to say the nickname you gave for him. “I'm not the one with many names, with many sins, I don't manifest my struggles and turn those who surround me into ruin,” his expression falters, mirroring yours upon mention of his eventful history of bloodshed.
“Say more,” he was supposed to be the one to one-up you, to provoke you. “Go on,” he was the one who wanted to invoke a reaction from you.
But why?
Your back straightens, raising your chin to him, and the corners of your lips widen, widen and widen, it was an evil grin overruling his earlier attempt of smugness, it was attractive, malicious.
Why did he find himself so lost in that malice?
“You can't do anything,” his breath hitches, facial muscles waning control, confused, not knowing if he should act accordingly to your refute with a mirrored demeanor—or give up and let his face contort to something of excitement.
Your statements hold true as well, someone who accused you of lowly masochism, now finding himself in the same path with guilt, with pleasure.
Wasn't he just winning?
“Because you know that your progress of tranquility, will be for naught. Days, months, years worth of practiced peace, will be reduced to void, to nothingness.”
Veins formed, visible along his jaw. “You can't do anything,” you repeat, the winds shifting as you move past him. “Because, you enjoy it Kuni.”
His eyes widen, a disgruntled sound gracing your ears as he looks over his shoulder. “That's—!”
“The truth,” you let out a quiet 'hmhm', looking to the side, preying on his visuals in your peripheral.
“A truth you want to bask in, for it is better than the turmoil that gnaws at you overwhelmingly.”
You walk with grace, and Wanderer stills with unease, motionless with current-like thoughts, a redness now turbulent all over his face, as well as his clenched, trembling fists. He wanted more?
He wanted more. Wanderer wanted more—and that was enough to send him in a deep state of frenzy, along with an intensifying self loathing.
“I destest you,” he mumbles under his breath, bringing a hand to his hat to hide everything of him and his dignity, catching up but with a safe distance towards you, but you heard.
“No, I don't think you do.”
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need him oiled up and begging
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blue-jisungs · 1 year ago
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MERRY GO
author's note. 3rd time is the charm so here's my final angst piece in this event :3 no but the song is so:( i saw ian's comment abt it on genius and i just ... dunno, had to write it
word count. 672
summary. your and jun's relationship reminds you of a merry go -- but there is time for you to get off it
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“we need to… stop, whatever this is” 
your voice echoed through the walls – but also in his head. it was heavy but not as heavy as the burden jun carried in his heart.
“i know, i know” jun replied, a sigh escaping his lips.
the silence in the room buzzed between you, a tension hanging densely. one spark of a wrong word and there will be an outbreak. both jun and you knew it well, too well.
“we’re not making any progress, are we?” an airy scoff ripped out of you, something amusing in this helpless situation “it… jun, it feels like an endless loop”
“oh, i know”
shifting in the red leather armchair, crossing your legs, scanning junhui’s silhouette. his eyes were somewhat teary but you weren’t sure if it was because of you or his overall state of being. you knew him like the back of your own hand, like the inside of your pocket. jun was exhausted - both mentally and physically. maybe you were a part of the problem, sure. but something told you he wasn’t taking care of himself properly.
hence you’re here.
“i… we, jun. we can’t keep doing that” your voice was quiet “i'm still fumbling with your memories about the last time we tried, when our worlds were falling away from us”
your relationship with jun was sweet at the beginning. but over time it turned bitter, eventually leading to a breakup. and everything after that - because you wouldn’t call it a relationship - reminded you of a merry-go round carousel. breaking off, ignoring each other and then coming back, only to hurt the other more. again and again, in a loop; in a spinning circle. 
“you don't know what you've done to me, y/n” jun grunted. 
meeting on a neutral ground was a good idea. no sentimental value of his living room or your bedroom. just a cheap motel, with occasionally flickering lights. it lit up his skin with a yellowish gleam, making his brown eyes look less scary to look in. the ridge of his nose which you adored so much looked so appealing, you wished you could just reach your hand out and trace it… like you used to.
“i can’t live without you” the man in front of you said “i want it all back”
“we can’t, junhui” you still loved him but you two ere no good for each other “it’s a lesson we learned too many times. i don’t want to hurt you and… i don’t want to get hurt either”
“i know, i know” jun’s throat felt like there was a rock stuck inside, his ability to speak dropping to a toddler lever.
his work, your frustration. your bottled feelings leading to hurtful words. then redemption - shared moments sweeter than the previous ones, kisses more passionate because both of you knew it will snap eventually. a repeating loophole that you lost count of how many times it has repeated itself.
“one… final chance. i cannot live without you… you, you know it. and you need me” he stuttered out and it was true. both of you acknowledged it. 
with the sound of a flickering lamp in the terrifyingly silent room, a decision was made in your mind - quite the opposite of what your broken heart wanted.
“don’t… call me again. i love you jun but we can’t. i genuinely wish you the best, you deserve it. but i can’t be the one to bring you pure happiness” you didn’t even notice the crystal tears falling down your cheeks.
both of you stood up and jun wiped your skin with a sad smile. one word and he’s going to break down too, you could see it in his eyes. 
“sorry… but you know it’s a right decision” you whispered, letting his embrace comfort you for the last time.
“oh, i know” the most heartbreaking sigh reached your ears.
jun hugged your shaking silhouette, tears balancing at his own waterline as well. 
no more sending back around this merry go.
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mc-critical · 8 months ago
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Along with how her immediate reactions differ each time, Mahidevran's changing feelings on Hürrem's pregnancies (and how that informs her overall progression) show through her going from "I hope you die in childbirth" in E06, to "I hope she suffocates" in E11, to "Allah, you're almighty. Please, help us. Please, make her give birth to a girl" in E17, to "How do you know it'll be a son?" in E25, to, finally, "Congratulations for the newborn prince Cihangir, Hürrem Sultan" in E46.
Mahidevran says the E06 words directly to Hürrem as a retort which ends a confrontation between them in front of Nigar and the concubines where Mahidevran projects unshakeable, sure power after several consecutive losses (that involve pregnancies) in order to negate Hürrem's own attempts at projecting power through demanding better, "worthier" fabrics. Mahidevran's general display of confident security in her position is allowed to linger in most of the first third of the episode, with more contemplative calmness/happiness replacing the bitterness that was accumulated and let out here, but then the projection turns out too fraught of a facade that breaks the second it's challenged in any way and Mahidevran immediately resorts to venom and/or rash actions, like the poison, and/or words, like in this confrontation itself. Hürrem's presence in her life keeps being a recent occurance she won't get used to and her disdain for her is at its rawest and most personal point: she's still reeling from losing her love and losing her child, so she wishes for Hürrem to perish (her laser-focus on the apparent cumulative source of all the problems and her belief that she can still get her old life back if Hürrem simply disappears) and for her to suffer the same way Mahidevran suffered by losing her child as well, it turns out, which is the first time this theme of Mahidevran's dynamic with Hürrem emerges. Her words are vile, but they are put in a new light when we consider that Hürrem got pregnant this soon after Mahidevran lost her own child. It's like the pregnancy Mahidevran wanted so much is almost given to Hürrem instead - she faints after she learns about it just like she fainted after she saw the ring on Hürrem's finger - and when Hürrem brings up the possibility of having not just a son but many sons when Mahidevran's apparently struggled to even conceive at all after Mustafa (E04), she's brought to a spiral; all she can really do is bitterly retort by wishing death. It hurts and it hurts too much to bear, too much to even believe: that can't be, Hürrem has to lie to escape her upcoming marriage, all this can't happen with such a speed and such brutality, fate can't be that cruel, right? Accepting Hürrem being pregnant, accepting Mehmet's existence, another prince's existence (Hürrem becoming completely equal to Mahidevran and Mustafa, thus all the more possibly replacing them), is not just the biggest indication of Hürrem gaining Süleiman's favor yet and her (and Mustafa) getting further away from that on both a personal and massive front, it's more than anything a part of Mahidevran (and even Mustafa) processing the grief for the lost child, especially given what she says in E07: "Am I to celebrate with the Russian slave while I'm grieving with my son?". And she barely processes it, unable to hide her pain. She barely arrives at the ceremony of his birth that she has to be present for, but how can she?
Mahidevran says the E11 words to Gülşah in a personal moment in her chambers at a point where she is allowed to have more such personal moments in the first place. She has gone through many different states in this string of episodes instead of the sorrow - happiness - sorrow throughline from the end of E05 to the entirety of E06: gathering herself a little, regaining her strength after the past events; supporting others in their bad times; reaching a glimmer of hope in her E09 scene with Süleiman; the news of Hürrem's pregnancy being the sorrow after some breathers instead of a yet another drop in the full cup of subsequent losses; and getting consecutive victories, not losses afterwards (Süleiman yelling at Hürrem after the fire and letting Mahidevran kiss his head before he leaves for Rhodes), albeit with some possible scenarios of losses cropping up (but these losses aren't just hers). All of this shows even in the different reactions she has to the pregnancy itself: there's a similar bitterness to last time in "I hope she suffocates" but it emerges rather at the heat of the moment (right when Hürrem gives birth) instead of in a casual confrontation (but the pregnancy itself is revealed in a casual confrontation that also includes choosing fabric), and after her startled almost resignation in that aforementioned casual confrontation, her now clear upset after she gets out of the room and overhears Hürrem and her attempt at acceptance while helping Mustafa accept that he may indeed have another sibling. It's like she's given a little more time to get used to Hürrem's pregnancy or at least not ponder on it that much after so much else is happening around her. She doesn't really process it, but she tries to each time it comes up. Hürrem's existence; her being there beside SS, beside everyone is starting to sink in. She may not just actually give birth to a child, but may also give birth to another prince, she may and will even keep giving birth (as she tells Gülşah). Hürrem has already taken a solid place in Süleiman's heart and Mahidevran (and Mustafa) has already fallen, no matter how much it hurts. But as it still hurts, as it still remains painful, there's still the want for Hürrem to just perish, for her to not make it this time after she constantly seems to have made it up until now, for them all to be at peace. The possible death of the child, though, isn't uttered and wished upon this time. Mahidevran's already prepared for its existence in a way. And the agonizing wait for the outcome of Hürrem's birth even ends with relief Mahi is eager to celebrate demostrably yet from a distance (treating the harem with sweets; the concubines get the sweets separately, while she and Mustafa eat with Valide), even though there isn't a naming ceremony this time as SS is absent (and Mahidevran brings Hürrem's E06 retort about her having more/only princes back at her).
Mahidevran says the E17 words to Gülşah again, but now it's next to more people, royal family and servants alike, during times of happiness, a wedding of a friend and ally that she herself has shown joy and enthusiasm about previously, but can't entirely join in as it actually happens. It's definitely a matter of more signs of Süleiman and Hürrem's relationship being entirely solidified appearing in rapid succession after Hürrem was supposedly gone for good (she actually got exiled here unlike in E05 where her marriage was all but immediately thwarted), but what makes the wound bleed is the recent supposed rumor of pregnancy Mahidevran herself went through. Just like Hü was brought back by one of Mahi's allies (Ibrahim), the rumor was spread by her closest servant (Gülşah), so Mahi goes through both a disillusionment of her closest people and an echo of the hardest reality she's had to face - the most devastating tragedy she's experienced so far. It's like everything repeats again. Last time she was pregnant and lost her child, this time she's assumed pregnant but she knows the truth: she doesn't have a child, she doesn't believe even in the possibility of a pregnancy anymore. How can she be pregnant when SS invited her to her chambers several times, but didn't even touch her? How can she be pregnant when it's so hard for her to conceive anyway, let alone with that hurdle in mind? How can she be pregnant when she's only had constant disappointments for years? Her child is gone, she can no longer have a child. Her enduring the check of the midwife again, Hürrem becoming pregnant instead again, is Mahidevran having to once again feel the pain of that loss so close. And like last time, she could barely share it with anyone; not due to what she did afterwards (and Süleiman being an absolute dick), but worse yet, due to everyone telling her to suck it up, preventing her from talking about any of the grievances of her 'private life'. With the resentment she gains for that and what she could share however, Mahidevran actually ends up having her grief for her lost child move along. She fully reveals her resentment of how they all should have boys in order to be considered human in the castle, of how they all even have to give birth in general, and gains bitter acceptance of it. She doesn't just accept these circumstances, she accepts Hürrem's pregnancy. She doesn't hope for either her or the child to die, she actually hopes for her to give birth but to a girl instead. She allows herself to lean on that hope, as it's already happened before. She turns to Allah again, as since her prayers were fulfilled before, they can be fulfilled once more. She can be blessed once more. Hürrem's pregnancy can't be avoided, Hürrem will survive, a child will certainly be born, but let's cling to the likeability of what would be the safer outcome, the lesser evil. And even though Selim, a prince again, is born, Mahidevran keeps on with her bitter acceptance and even makes direct steps to show it, actively concealing the pain underneath. She has to act by the rules, so she does exactly that, even giving something of herself too during the naming ceremony (the amulet). Because both her "Allah, you're almighty. Please, help us. Please, make her give birth to a girl" words and her actions afterwards show her growing belief of supreme justice. Hürrem may continue her rise, but it will get better for Mahidevran sooner or later, justice will prevail. And a huge part of that is Mustafa having grown up just a little more. It all goes from "Do you think giving birth to a boy is enough? You can give birth to five, if you wish." in E08 where Mahidevran latches onto her haseki position to process Mehmet's birth (while demanding the necessary respect Hürrem has to give her), to "Don't get too excited for your second son. What matters is which prince is the heir to the throne." in E17 where Mahidevran latches onto her position as Mustafa's sole mother. What will happen next remains unclear, but it's certainly Mustafa that has the bigger advantage.
Mahidevran mutters the E25 words to herself, a new element alongside all the callbacks the line and the context around it provide: it's said around both royal family and servants like in E17, even more of them attending in fact, during the commotion while Hürrem gives birth like in E11 and, most notably, "How do you know it'll be a son?" is a direct reference to the exact confrontation with Hürrem where Mahidevran utters her E06 words in, words that are a response of Hü's to that exact same question Mahi poses in E25, only asked in a less biting, more genuinely astounded manner (more "how do you even know what's going to happen when everything around here is so uncertain, when I lost my child when I was just pregnant?" and less of the "why are you so sure; don't be so sure, don't be so arrogant, for you'll fall as quick as you rose" theme that comes up more from S02A-onwards). She again has gotten a bit of a breather after a recent panic (Gülşah stabbing Gülnihal) is not just dealt with, but seemingly about to be forgotten (both by the characters and the narrative) as she let out all her possible frustration and anger and outright dread right there and managed to convince everyone that she has nothing to do with any of it regardless - there's also a bigger distance between the sorrow and the pregnancy news than ever before - so after a much larger matter just passed her by, Hürrem's pregnancy isn't such a blow anymore. But it still wouldn't be otherwise, as it is already expected. She got pregnant so many times already, how is it a surprise that she is pregnant again?? Of course she is pregnant again, how can she not be?? (why does she even announce something so obvious?) It's not about Hürrem or her child being gone anymore, it's just all about whether will Hürrem have a boy or a girl. Mahidevran doesn't want another boy and doesn't want Hürrem to be so sure of having a boy either, as all two scenarios have already turned out possible (and both Mahi and Hü have seen that for themselves). She says the line in an offhanded manner just like her E24 reaction was more offhanded (her half-smirk was clear enough), witnessing everything from the sides and brazenly commenting on it to herself at the moment instead of needing and taking her time to come to terms with it. And Mahidevran is willing to distance from Hürrem (she isn't that focused on Bayezid's naming ceremony, either), not wanting to do anything unprompted, waiting to take advantage of when Hürrem fails and act only then (E16-E23; S02A) as much as she's distanced (or rather fully removed) Hürrem from her past loss of a child, seen in the full-circle moment in E26 where she apparently recognizes that she lost her child entirely because of sorrow and agrees with Valide's words to console Hatice about her own worry of losing a child yet again. Mahidevran's procession of her grief seems to be at its steadiest: she can still hardly talk about her lost child, seeing Süleiman pay attention to Hürrem's children before he leaves for campaigns and after he returns in S02A still hurts, but she has Mustafa now. And he'll become more and more accomplished and make his mother proud - he will even come with Süleiman in the campaign (another sign of further growth) a while after Bayezid's birth (he'll return before the campaign is over, but that's besides the point, as we also have Mustafa as the focus of Mahidevran and Süleiman's interactions which fuel her hope throughout S02A).
Mahidevran says the E46 words directly to Hürrem again but they're not aimed only at her; due to the very nature of their confrontation here, Mahidevran has to say them for all to hear. She's fully settled down after she went through her biggest sorrow as SS's haseki (him marrying Hürrem) and she's had to live with a new status quo that included only her and her son for quite some time now. She's just returned to Topkapi, so she hasn't even been around during the entirety of Hürrem's pregnancy and birth. And even if there's been something to process, she's processed it in Edirne, away from the audience's eyes (just like only a blip from Hürrem's pregnancy with Cihangir is seen during the timeskip montage: it's all ceased to be an event not just for Mahi, but even for us, the audience. and Cihangir's birth being portrayed as so leeway and usual makes the later revelation of his hunchback all the more devastating). She congratulates Hürrem after taking a long breath, she mentions Cihangir by title and by name, fully acknowledging that he is a prince, that he exists. She's completely able to live with that now. And there's confidence in her words that underlines the confidence she's developed in Edirne, next to her son, the confidence she has in that very moment, as this confrontation happens during Mustafa's oath ceremony, during her son's event, her event. Now they are at the center stage in what's basically a celebration of how far they've both come. Mahidevran owns the room and believes in her own capabilities now, believes in her son's future more than ever before (as he's now fully grown), so no one would stand there and threaten it, let alone a little şehzade (the other şehzades might, but that doesn't matter now). Hürrem also isn't such a personal threat in the same way she once was (as Mahidevran already fell out of love with SS): both still have history, there's still 'awkwardness' between them in this confrontation, and Mahidevran will still be keen on eliminating her (her involvement in the cariye riot orchestrated by Hafsa in E47) and protecting her son from her at all costs (the Efsun debacle and all else), but while Hürrem's position is obvious and sealed, so is Mahidevran's now. Thus Mahidevran finally adresses her as "Hürrem Sultan". From the "you" in E06 where she often didn't mention her by name at all and didn't want to be reminded of her name by anyone else either, using the "you" to clap back, towering above her; to the "shes" in E11 and E17 where Mahi puts distance between herself and Hü, hoping for Hü to become less of a threat, "become more distant" too (by either perishing or giving birth to a girl), acknowledging her as someone who's there but she still struggles to accept her - it's almost like when Mahi utters the "shes", it's so obvious who she's referring to as she both points to her and obscures her through them; to the other "you" in E25 that signifies even further distance as Hürrem seemingly can't distance herself from Mahidevran but Mahidevran has distanced herself from her instead, yet Hü is still "Hürrem Hatun" to Mahi (even in E43-E45) and that facilitates the "you", Mahidevran gets to Hürrem's level but Hürrem isn't on Mahidevran's; to the furthest distance in "Hürrem Sultan" in E46 where she adresses her more formally than ever but by both her name and real title and she'll pretty much continue to do so as Hürrem's position lays there, unchanged but Mahidevran's position has changed (something she had to grapple with in E45, also wanting to change her position to be like Hürrem's but then embracing the change of her own position instead). Hürrem has gotten as far as she possibly could as a haseki, so that should be recognized, but Mahidevran can go further as a future valide, further than Hürrem. Besides, anything can happen: as change hit Mahidevran, it'll hit Hürrem too eventually (hence she can even fall from her position as SS's one and only as well: E61) and Mahidevran will benefit this time.
The new stage of Mahidevran's life is also put forth by Hürrem's response: "... I'd say the same to you but God willing, you'll take care of Mustafa's babies now. Being a grandmother will suit you". This was surely a hit to Mahidevran as she got a little put aback (while keeping her demeanor) and lost in thought before Hafsa switched the topic (though I don't think Hürrem said it to offend), this too was probably another small reminder of what she's lost, including the chance to bear any more children. But maybe that's also why she latched onto her grandchildren, onto Nergisşah so much, demanding utmost care for them, giving them her love perhaps as the children she never had, and why letting Nergisşah go in E129 gets even more painful in retrospect than it already was. She parts not just with her closest person left, with the last trace of her family left, but also with her last child. And she lets her go herself.
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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 2 days ago
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Day 3- Soul Traitor
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I honestly did not think I was going to get this chapter done in time so I'm super glad that I did! This was the 2021 Birthday Plot Bunny winner and I had no idea the type of reception I would get with it. But it's been soooo much fun reading through you guys' comments as you try to piece together what happened. I hope you guys enjoy the new update!
Soul Traitor
Rating: M
Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence
Status: In-progress (6/?)
Tags: Reincarnation | Soulmates | Soulmarks | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Past Lives Death Scenes | Betrayals | Misunderstandings | Angst with a Happy Ending | Arkenstone - Freeform | Goldsickness
Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.
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New Chapter: Chapter 6- My Word is Stone
“Bilbo…” The name fell from Thorin’s lips, but nothing more was forthcoming. 
Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to look up. He didn’t want to see the same pity that was on the man’s, Delin’s, face after he was brought back to the inn. He didn’t want to see the contempt that was on the dwarves’ faces when Belladonna didn’t return. He didn’t want to see the heartbreak that was on his father’s face when he was delivered back to the Shire. Bilbo had lived through all the expressions he could stand. None of them helped with bringing his mother back to him.
“They wouldn’t have intended for anything like this…”
Bilbo gasped as he jumped to his feet, his eyes screaming murder as he glared down at Thorin Oakenshield.
“Don’t you dare try to take up for them! Do you think I didn't realize it wasn’t their fault my mother couldn’t read the damn map? Do you think I hold a grudge for them sending us into that forest to begin with? My mother was the one who insisted we go when there was no sense in it, and I have bore that resentment as well. But do you know what strikes me the most when I look back on it? They didn’t offer to escort us when it would have been the most direct course of action. 
They gave us a map and a blacksmith as a protector. Despite their talk of giving us a chance, they would have been just as satisfied if we had gotten ourselves lost for days as they were about us meeting with their king. Whom I don’t have any confirmation was actually out there waiting for us. It could have been a wild goose chase from the start for all I know. What I do know is when our Thain tried to reach out again after that, he was scorned. You had your chance. They told him. You shouldn’t have trusted a dame and her bairn with such a task. ”
Bilbo was shaking and panting while Thorin just sat there still as a statue, his eyes wide and unblinking. It took a couple of deep breaths before Bilbo could finally pull himself back together. His eyes landed on his bandaged hand as he clenched it tight. 
“The dwarves of Ered Luin killed my mother. Directly, indirectly, intentional, unintentional, it doesn’t matter. The result is the same either way.”
Bilbo ran his fingers over the book in front of him as the bitterness of his words seeped into his blood like a poison. This is why he doesn’t trust dwarves. And the friendliness he had been met with at times, the comradery, it all paled in what experience has taught him. There was no future for hobbits and dwarves to coexist. It hasn’t happened in the past however many centuries. It was too late to change something so fundamental as hate.
“By your logic…did you not also kill your mother?” 
For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!
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