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kylorengarbagedump · 4 days ago

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Playing Soldier: Chapter 19

Read on AO3. Part 18 here.

Summary: You and Goddard come to an agreement. Your journey brings you back to The Worst Man You've Ever Met.

Words: 6000

Warnings: n/a

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

OMG HAVE WE FINALLY MADE IT BACK TO TAVINGTON :) WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK WILL HAPPEN I JUST DONT KNOW :)

Thank you so much for the engagement with the plot <3 It warms our little authory hearts that folks feel excited enough to stick around for all the parts without penis. Thank you so so much for your generosity and kindness and all of it. We love you and Happiest New Year <3

Benedict Goddard stood frozen to the spot. If not for the murmur of the river and the tiny bob of his throat, you might have believed time itself had stilled. Neither of you looked away from the other.

“I was just—”

“Miss, are you—”

Both of you began and stopped at the same time. You beheld each other for a breath.

“I got stuck here and I—”

“Why are you all the way—”

Goddard winced. Your cheeks strained under the mortified artifice of your smile. Inexplicably, like a lizard trying to shuck its own pinned tail, you yanked again to free yourself. But this only succeeded in toppling you over the stump once more and cramping the arm that hid your pistol. You swore under your breath.

“May I, um…” Goddard cleared his throat, taking one step forward. “Would you like some help?”

“No!” you squeaked.

Goddard paused, casting you a look that hovered somewhere between pain and gastric distress.

“I’m fine, really, I’ll just—ugh.” The stump was unyielding as ever to your efforts. Shuffling your feet underneath you, you threw your weight against your snagged sleeve. “Just—need to—get this—out—”

“Miss, please, before you injure yourself—” Goddard closed the distance with a wary glance at the firearm now flopping and poorly concealed in your grasp.

“Goddard, I said I don’t need—”

Unslinging his musket, “—this will only take a moment—” he aimed the stock at the stump and whacked it hard, snapping the gnarl of wood that entrapped you and sending you spilling onto your backside with a yelp, your flintlock tumbling to the grass.

After allowing yourself a few steadying breaths, you glanced up at Goddard, who was still looking at you as if you were a piece of expensive plateware he’d just dropped.

“I was just, um…” for some inane reason, you still felt the need to explain yourself. “Looking for mushrooms.”

“For… mushrooms,” Goddard repeated.

Suddenly irritated, you sat up a little straighter. “Yes. Is it such a strange thing?”

Goddard shrugged helplessly. His gaze flicked over you, to the pistol laying at your side. Then a lopsided half-grin softened his face a fraction, revealing the boyish ease of the Goddard you were more accustomed to.

“Good thing you brought that,” he said, nodding to the gun. “I hear they’re quick little buggers.”

His attempt at levity stunned you for a moment. You almost barked out a laugh. Almost.

Scowling, you snatched the pistol and shoved it into your pocket before making to stand. “What are you doing here, Goddard?”

He proffered a hand, which you refused. “I could ask you the sa—”

“Were you following me?” you snapped, the idea slamming you the moment your feet bore your weight. “Did Tavington send you?”

“Tavington?” Genuine perplexment twisted his expression. “No, why would Colonel Tavington want to—”

Your face burned. “He wouldn’t!” you said. “Obviously, he wouldn’t even care about what I was doing, so why would you even ask if he would want—”

“Miss, you asked me—”

“Anyway!” You threw your hands into the air, hoping to dispel the last seconds of conversation from his memory. “Forget it.” Sighing, you brushed off the dirt and debris that clung to your petticoats. Could you potentially go one day without doing something humiliating in front of a British officer? “Fine day for a fox chase, indeed,” you mumbled under your breath.

Goddard stiffened. “What was that?”

“What?” You cleared your throat. “Nothing.”

“No,” he said, approaching you. “No, you… You said something.” His eyes searched yours, and you averted your gaze, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was a British officer and you’d been found in the midst of attempting subterfuge. “Something like…” He stepped forward, trying to force himself in front of where you were looking. “Fine day for a fox chase?”

Your eyes widened. You stood still. Met his stare from the corner of yours. You realized that if he hadn’t actually followed you, the only other way a redcoat could have come out to this spot is if he had been specifically instructed to do so. Perhaps to deposit something for later retrieval.

“You…” Brow furrowing, you stepped toward him, poking a finger into his chest. “You’re the contact on the inside?”

“Shh!” Goddard’s head whipped around, finding nothing and no one around you. “Not so loud!” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “How do you know that? Did you—” He gasped. “You’re a spy.”

“Now you be quiet!” you hissed.

“After pretending to be a Tory who denounced her rebel father?” he replied hoarsely. “This entire time!”

Your hand shot out and pinched his lips together. “Yes,” you said, wagging him back and forth like a doll. “And I’ve managed to throw most suspicion off me, so please be mindful of your volume and conduct!”

Grumbling, he shoved you away. “Fine, fine!” He rubbed his mouth, pouting. “Tavington suspects you, though?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m working on that.” A slow breath left you. You examined him—this boy, not even two decades old and having wound himself up in some complex spy arrangement. You were surprised Lottie hadn’t killed him for even considering it. “Does Lottie—”

“No!” He swallowed. “No. She’d kill me if I even considered it.”

As you’d suspected. “She doesn’t know anything about this?”

Goddard averted his gaze. “She doesn’t know much about most of what I do,” he replied. “I tend to not keep her abreast of it all.” He chewed at his cheeks. “I can’t imagine she’d appreciate stories of what others in the legion get up to in the field.” He grimaced. “They’re rather ruthless, and she’s rather squeamish.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong there.”

You hummed in thought, studying him. If you had been given an option to choose someone to entrust your life to, it would not have been Benedict Goddard. As far as you had known, both he and Lottie were as adherent to the crown as any good Tory would be. Now, you found yourself in a position to enter an allyship with him. And if you were to do that, you needed to understand him just a bit better.

His face was red. His shoulders sloped toward the ground. There was something he hadn’t told you yet.

“Why are you doing this, Goddard?” you asked. His face tightened. “I thought that you… Your parents…” You faltered, realizing you knew next to nothing at all about the Goddards senior aside from your own assumptions.

Goddard rubbed the back of his head, then his eyes as he exhaled. “The…” He looked at you. “I suppose you’ll get it,” he said to himself, “not as if you’re a worshipper of redcoats.”

You ignored the polite skip your heart made in reminder of events the week prior.

“Our parents…” Goddard focused on the ground. “When the British tried to take Charleston in seventy-six…” His mouth trembled. “It didn’t go well. Lottie thinks they were killed by a Patriot mob. And I did too, actually. Since that’s what they’d told us.” He nudged the grass with his toe. “But I learned later, once I’d been commissioned…” Drawing in a breath, his shoulders rolled back, and he looked, for possibly the first time, like a young man instead of a boy. “They’d been arrested during the retreat. Put on a ship. They were good Tories. Loyal citizens. But it didn’t matter.” Goddard finally met your eyes. “My father died in confinement before his trial. I’ve no idea what became of my mother.”

Your heart wilted for him. For Lottie, too. “They’re both dead,” you finished for him.

He nodded, sniffled. “That’s all I can assume. And I didn’t… I didn’t have the courage. Until the explosion at Middleton Place.” Nodding to himself, he shrugged. “Made me feel as if I could make it so their deaths weren’t in vain.”

“They won’t be,” you replied quickly, assuredly, because that was what you believed. “All right. We can work together on this. You give me your intelligence. I’ll get it to the Continentals. But we can’t be seen together, and you absolutely cannot mention ever seeing me or my family. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but…” He hesitated. “It’s already well known that you’ve been living with myself and my sister. Wouldn’t pretending we’re strangers only raise greater suspicion?”

“Shite,” you murmured, casting around as if the right answer might be etched in the grass somewhere. “All right, then we carry on as we have.” You looked back up at him. “Keep things reserved, but friendly. Never seem familiar with me, and I shan’t with you.”

“Right.” Goddard nodded, wrung his hands. “I do have just one question, though.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. If he blew this for both of you—

“I understand everything,” he said hurriedly, “I really do. It’s just. I was wondering… if maybe you could put in a good word for me?”

“What?”

“With the Continentals! That’s where you said you’re going, right? With this?” He fished a folded parchment from beneath his coat.

“Goddard—”

“Please?” His brows pinched, making him look rather like a puppy that had just been scolded. “The man I spoke to in Charleston was apt to jump out of his skin. Didn’t even want to talk to me, seemed like. Probably thought I’d double-cross him or something.”

“I’m not even supposed to know who you are! Nor you I.”

“I know, I know.” Goddard ran a hand through his mess of curls. “But I think they’re testing me with this. Making sure I’m trustworthy and all. So maybe you could tell them I am?”

“They trusted you enough to tell you the code phrase, didn’t they? Surely they anticipated you might find their camp.”

Goddard brightened. “It could get me into their camp?”

“No—never mind!” You groaned, dragging your palms down over your eyes. It would be a miracle if you both went a month before swinging from a gallows. “Do not seek them out, Goddard,” you said firmly. He wilted. “Do not. Not unless your cover is blown. Us even knowing each other’s identity puts us in greater peril than you can fathom, I need you to understand that.”

“I do, I do,” said Goddard, chastened. “Then we never saw each other here. We won’t breathe a word.”

You sighed. If only it were that simple. “We may do much more than ‘breathe’ should the redcoats ever be of a mind to torture us for what we know.”

Goddard paled. “Then what do we do?”

“How should I know?” You threw your hands in the air. This was a mess. A huge mess that you never should have agreed to entangle yourself in.

“I could put this…” Goddard leaned toward the stump, reaching toward as if to hide the letter.

“Oh, just give me the stupid letter!” You snatched it from him. “Christ.”

Goddard offered you a lopsided grin. You huffed, peering behind him. “Where are you supposed to be right now, anyway?”

He glanced at his boots. “With Major Ferguson,” he muttered. “I conscripted myself to assist his unit as soon as I was aware he’d be passing through Catawba.”

“Right,” you said. “And I imagine you need to return to that encampment relatively shortly.”

“Indeed I do, miss.”

“All right.” You sighed. With this intelligence on your person and with Ferguson still close by, you’d need to make it out of this area as quickly as possible. That meant saying goodbye to Grace far earlier than you’d wanted. You’d hoped to at least have another night. “How’d you get here then, a horse?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

He pointed out behind him, into the forest. “Tied up beyond the bridge.”

You nodded. “I’ll be taking it. You’ll be all right to walk back to camp.”

“Wh—miss, please!” Goddard balked. “What shall I say happened to my horse, then?”

Shrugging, you began to make your way to the edge of the woods. “Say it ran off,” you replied. “Or died.”

“Died—”

“I really must go, Goddard,” you said. “Good luck. Give me five minutes before you leave.”

As you left him in the distance, you heard him sigh. “Yes, miss, I shall…”

You trudged through the trees, eventually spying the shape of the broken bridge, and the horse tied to its posts on the opposite side. After picking your way across the planks, you paused, a sudden sense of familiarity washing over you as you took in the stout little animal before you. Bay, one white sock, a snip of white on his nose.

“It’s you,” you breathed through a smile, walking up to offer your hand. “Remember me?”

The horse flicked his ears toward you and snuffled your hand, puffed warm breath over it. Just as he’d done on that fateful May morning when you’d spirited him away from his lush pasture to become your accomplice in a flight for your life. That might well have been an eon ago. You felt a pang in your chest for both of you.

“Things have changed for us, haven’t they, boy?” The horse snorted softly and reached down for a mouthful of grass. “I ought to call you something proper, I suppose.”

You checked the girth, adjusted one stirrup before circling around to do the same to the other. The late summer breeze soothed your skin, ruffled his mane, reminded you of gentler and simpler times. Like something from a dream.

“What do you think of ‘Puck?’” you mused. The horse reached around to nose at your petticoats. You stroked him between the eyes, and he gave a contented sigh. You smiled. “All right. Puck it is, then.”

—

Grace must have heard the approach of hooves—she had stepped onto the porch before you could make it to the steps, her mouth agape.

“What on—” She looked between you and the horse, her hands on her hips. “Where did you manage to procure a horse?” Another glance at the tack. “A British horse?”

You offered her a tight smile, neck tensing with the force. “Well…” You slowed your mount and hopped off. “It’s part of everything we agreed not to discuss,” you said, guiding Puck to a handrail and tying him up. “But have no worry, I was not pressed to shoot anyone for it.”

“Well, now it seems as if you were pressed,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. A realization sunk onto her shoulders like fog. “What need do you have for a horse?”

“That’s the other bit,” you said, ascending the steps and crossing to her, placing your hands on her shoulders. “I need to be on my way.”

Her face fell, and she averted her gaze. “So I feared.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I wanted to stay at least a couple more days.”

Nodding, Grace pressed her cheek onto one of your hands. “I know.” A slow, reluctant sigh escaped her. “I just…” Her mouth screwed in thought. “I did not anticipate being alone again so soon.”

You swallowed, pulling her into a hug. She buried her face in your neck and wrapped her arms around you, breathing you in before relaxing into the embrace. You kissed her hair, holding her close, hoping to imbue her with your love, that it might sustain her in your absence.

As you pulled apart, Grace bounced on the balls of her feet. “Let me send you off with a few things, at least.”

Before you could even begin to protest, she darted into the house. You sighed and moved to unfasten the saddle bags—mercifully empty aside from a spare ramrod and a few loose musket balls. Might as well collect a few things yourself before leaving.

Inside, the sounds of tinkling glass rang out as Grace rummaged through the kitchen. “My bag is here by the stairs,” you called, setting one down before ascending up to your room with the other one.

Humming tunelessly to yourself, you gathered an extra pair of stays (and several ribbons for lacing them), a few petticoats, and your hair comb. Stuffing each into the bag, you allowed yourself to soak in the familiarity of home and tried not to allow preemptive grief to smother you. This wasn’t the last time you’d be here. As long as you held onto that belief, you would make it ring true.

From the bed, a little mrrow drew your attention. Mr. Mouser padded along the edge, tail high, before turning in a circle to beg for pats. Softening, you stepped forward and stroked your fingers along his back, earning a loud rumbling purr. You scooped him up and buried your face in his fur, breathing in the comfort of his smell.

As you released him again, a shape on the bed caught your eye. The Odes still lay open where you’d used it to decipher Papa’s letter. You picked it up, leafed through the pages, smoothed your thumbs over the cover. It was quite a clever way to encipher a letter, you thought to yourself. You wondered where Papa had gotten the idea, or if he had come up with it on his own. Either way, you’d need the book if he wished to continue communicating in code.

After a moment’s hesitation, you slipped the book into your bag with everything else. Then you fastened it, swept a final look around your room, and headed back downstairs.

Grace was kneeling beside your other saddle bag, arranging an assortment of canisters and cloth-wrapped bundles so they fit neatly inside. When she stood at your approach, she wore a wry smile.

“What have you put in there?” you asked.

“Oh, just some tea blends, plus a few dried herbs and provisions for your travels,” she said innocently.

You smiled, shook your head. You supposed you’d find out eventually. “I’ll write you,” you said, taking her hand in yours.

“Please regale me with tales of John,” she giggled, lifting your arm to spin beneath it as if in a dance. “Promise.”

Who’s John? you almost said before stopping yourself. “I promise.” You released her, tapping your forefinger to her nose. “And you promise to stay out of trouble.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Please,” she replied, “I believe that’s a promise you must needs make to yourself.”

“If I made it,” you said, grinning, “I’d surely break it within the day.”

“Within the hour, more like.”

You both laughed, and wrapped each other in a hug again. Another sigh left between you before you drew apart.

“I’ll be going,” you said. “Burn Papa’s letters, all right?”

She stuck out her lip in a playful pout. “Oh, even that of sweet Mr. Pearce?” she said. “You seemed so fond of it.” She tried to stop herself from smiling. “Though perhaps he’s no John.”

You groaned, planting a finger in the center of her chest and pushing her away. “Go on, then,” you replied, unable to hide your own smile. “I’m heading to Fort Carolina. I’ll write to you when I arrive.”

With that, you descended the stairs, secured your saddle bags and hoisted yourself into the saddle. Eyes on your sister, you tugged on the reins and headed toward the main road, waving, sneaking glances at her until the woods swallowed her from view.

The ride toward the camp wasn’t long, but it was long enough to have your mind skipping over every recent event before you truly arrived. Goddard—you’d allied yourself with a child—Grace—you’d left your sister alone again—Papa and Pearce—whoever Pearce was, he’d ingratiated himself to your father so effectively that Papa seemed pleased with his intent on becoming an in-law—and William.

He’d spent the past week at the forefront of your thoughts, and irritatingly, he hadn’t been unwelcome. In fact, you realized that upon your admission to your sister, there was something you nearly enjoyed about your time together that hadn’t been entirely physical. That you yearned to experience again.

It was revolting.

You shuddered, shaking your head as if you could fling the sticky syrup of fondness from your skin like a dog shaking its fur free of water. You could not, would not be a woman who pined, a woman who sat in bubbling glee upon reading a letter penned in his hand. That sort of behavior was suitable for girls like Grace, to be certain, and they could relish that. But you? No, you could never expose the underbelly of your tenderness to anyone, and especially not a man, and especially not William Tavington.

And so you wouldn’t.

Once you’d come within a few miles of the encampment, you cut off the main road and rode through the field until a collection of white canvas rose from the horizon. The sun was beginning to cross into the west; you’d need to make this quick if you planned on making it to Fort Carolina before midnight.

As you approached the shabby huddle of tents, two militiamen rushed you, one with his hand in the air, the other with his musket aimed toward you. You couldn’t blame them—you were on a horse with British tack, after all—and you drew Puck to a stop before holding up your hands.

“Hold there!” said one of the men. “Stay your approach!”

“I’m staying,” you mumbled, and then, louder, “Understood.”

“Dismount,” said the man with the musket, drawing the path he wanted you to take with the barrel. “Feet on the ground and hands up.”

Sighing, you unhooked one of your feet from the stirrups, and went to sling your leg over the saddle, only for strange hands to grasp your waist. You yelped, swinging back atop the horse and glaring at the soldier who’d tried to assist you.

“Don’t touch me!” you growled.

The man’s eyes widened. “I was—”

“Off the horse, madam,” said the soldier with the gun.

You sneered. “Inform your compatriot to have his hands to himself, and I shall dismount with haste.”

“You’re in no place to make demands,” he replied, approaching you like one would approach a pile of vomit. “Perhaps you’re unaware, but the monarchy has no authority here. We’ll pay no heed to a princess.”

“Princess?” You laughed, looked him over. He was young, his hands pillowy and uncalloused. “I would hardly expect deferential treatment from a boy who has clearly spent his entire life delegating labor to his slaves. All while crying ‘liberty’ from around his mother’s teat, no doubt.”

His lip furled. “Listen here, you Tory bitch—”

He snatched your leg, and you snarled, slamming your toe into his chest.

“Get your hands—”

“Enough!”

Both of your heads turned—in front of you, approaching like wildfire, was Captain Pearce. The stupid idiot moron of a militiaman released you and snapped to attention. You restrained a groan, feeling like a spider now indebted to a fly.

“Private, what do you think you’re doing?” Pearce said, his eyes flicking between him and you. “Is this how you treat all women without supervision?”

The man snarled at Pearce. “I’m not your private, Captain.”

“You are under my command in Colonel Martin’s absence,” Pearce snapped, “and you will explain your behavior at once.”

The man seethed, but his eyes shifted away from Pearce’s. “We were told not to allow anyone entry without the passphrase—”

“They didn’t even ask me for a passphrase, Captain,” you interjected.

Pearce’s brows raised. “You didn’t ask?” He looked between the two men. “Your first solution was assault?”

“No, no—”

“My apologies, sir,” the bystander offered.

“This woman is to be permitted entry,” he said, waving you forward. “She’s familiar to me.”

“But the passphrase—”

Pearce shook his head, giving you a quick glance. “Forget the passphrase, the means of obtaining it are far too obscure—”

You frowned. “Fine day for a fox chase,” you said primly, brow raised. “Isn’t it?”

“Oh.” Pearce’s jaw dropped, then clicked shut. Both of the men looked to him and he flicked his hand as way of direction. “Dismissed, both of you,” he said, and they each scurried off. Once they’d made it several yards away, he cleared his throat. “My apologies, miss. My intent was not to assume anything negative—”

“Do you think I arrived here by accident?” You stared down your nose at him. “Or did you imagine that after reading your letter that my newly found affections led me to you like a fish wound toward the rod?”

Pearce’s face reddened. “No.” Sighing, he rubbed his brow and shook his head again. “No, no, you’re perfectly right. My apologies.” He focused on the grass a moment before laughing. “I suppose I can’t manage a conversation with you without stepping on my own feet, can I?”

You cocked your head. “No,” you replied. “I suppose not.”

“Am I to take it then that you did not appreciate—”

“Where’s my father?”

“Ah.” He glanced behind him, then looked back to you. “Your father left with the colonel of the militia this morning. Out scouting. I’m sure he did not expect you to arrive so quickly.” He gave you a hopeful grin. “But I will, of course, inform him that you received the message safely.” A pause, and he took a breath. “What were your thoughts regarding the rest of—”

“So then I can’t hand off the intelligence.” Your heart tumbled.

Pearce’s eyes widened. “Oh, miss, no, I am perfectly capable of receiving it,” he said, holding out his hand. “As you can see, your father and I work very closely together and—”

“Fine,” you said, proffering the correspondence from Goddard. “Take it.” You waited for him to collect it from your grasp, and then leaned forward. “And regardless of what my father tells you, do not write me again.” You returned to sitting straight. “Or at least refrain from including patronizing references to my appearance.”

Pearce looked at the parchment, his free hand curling in and out of fists. With a long sigh, he pocketed it and nodded, his face brighter than blood itself. “As you wish, miss,” he said, and then met your eyes. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Jump headfirst into a quarry. “Give my father my best. And tell him not to write to my sister, as she doesn’t wish to be dragged into war.”

“Very well, then,” he said, bowing his head. “May I tell him where you’re headed to now?”

“Fort Carolina.”

He frowned. “That’s about a day’s ride, is it not?” he asked. “It’s already past noon. You don’t wish to perhaps stay here and ride out in the morning?” His gaze betrayed his attempt to conceal his concern. “The roads can become dangerous for a woman traveling alone, worse still at night.”

“With respect, Captain, given my treatment upon arrival, I’ve no reason to believe your men are safer company than bandits or wolves.” You pulled your pistol from your pocket, brandishing it toward the sky.

Pearce looked as if he’d just watched a frog perform a ballet routine. “Ah.” He swallowed. “Well, then, miss. I bid you farewell.” He reached out for your hand, and when you didn’t offer it, stuck his back in his pocket, his lips pursed. “Safe journey to you.”

“Farewell,” you replied, replacing the pistol where you’d stored it. Wheeling Puck around, you headed back toward the road.

The events of the day rattled through your mind like the pebbles underneath your mount’s hooves. You hoped you had been right to trust Pearce with the correspondence, but you supposed you hadn’t had any other options. You hoped you had been right to trust Goddard with your identity, but he was trusting you with his, too. And you hoped you had been right to decide to do any of this to begin with—hoped you’d made the right decision instead of tossing out Papa and Pearce’s letters altogether.

It irritated you, really, the fact Papa hadn’t been there. He had no reason to anticipate your arrival to be so soon—surely he hoped Grace would write you and bring you to Catawba—but his habit of assuming your capable hands would catch every one of his burgeoning aspirations had your arms waning weary, your palms sore. There was no world in which you would not want to be your father’s most trusted confidante, but harboring that title meant you were now carrying greater, heavier loads than you felt prepared to bear.

You imagined telling your child self, her face muddied and hair a pincushion of twigs, that one day she’d conduct subterfuge for America’s independence. Imagined unlacing the burden from your back and strapping it to hers. Of course, that wouldn’t be fair. But was it fair for your father to do the same to you?

Or perhaps it was to your credit that he considered you so capable. Papa was the most capable man you’d met, after all—he’d taught himself to read and write as a boy and then demanded the knowledge of every skill he came across thereafter. It was to no surprise then he might expect the same attitude from his children. And shouldn't you have been thankful for that? Thankful for all he'd imparted on to you?

That seemed to ring more true than the bottom of abandoning it all. The alternative was something William had said—liberty to define your life free from their influence. But how could you ever resent an influence like Papa’s?

All of that without even mentioning the fact you'd met the man who was betraying the British, and you unfortunately knew him. Without your full and total dedication to this cause, you risked both of your lives, and in turn, potentially Lottie’s, too. Grace, you were sure, would be safe in Ferguson’s high regard. But Lottie only had you and her brother.

No, you would commit to this. Whatever Goddard and your father needed, you would provide. You would not be demurred by fear of your own incompetence.

One tiny, insignificant, needlingly small thorn of hesitation burrowed into your decision. Only quickly, but with enough discomfort that you paid it mind—

How would William feel if he found out?

Of course, that was ridiculous. William did not care about you and you did not care about him. Ruminating on the depth of his apathy would earn you little but frustration. You plucked it from your flesh and flicked it into the ether.

Day dissolved into night. The road awoke with crickets, their rhythm interrupted by the tenor yawning of frogs. Moonlight, fresh in its infancy, glowed in pearl lakes off of the fields, bleached the trees to periwinkle cotton, laid the tapestry for the Milky Way above you. You dissipated into it, awash in awe and admiration—you weren't sure when you finally noticed that the road met its destination.

Not more than a mile away, posted on top of a hill, was what you were sure was Fort Carolina. Curtain walls shot high into the air, torches flickered atop every bastion, and within its perimeter stood a building. A building, you noticed, with windows and candles, which meant a building with people inside. And those people included, potentially, William Tavington.

Your throat thickened. Your heart skipped. How annoying. Were you—you winced outwardly at the thought—anticipating his presence? It had only been a bit over a week, for little baby Jesus’ sake.

Then again, a week had been plenty of time to consider everything he'd done to you, and everything he had yet to do. Everything you wanted him to do.

Like an obedient whore, your cunt ached in want.

Damn that bastard.

Your approach drew the attention of soldiers stationed at the entry. In acknowledgement of your tack, they hailed you, but did not appear to have the intention of allowing you inside, stepping forward to blockade your progress. After ordering you to stop, both of their gazes flicked between your face and your pony, clearly in need of an explanation. For the second time that day, you found yourself needing to prove your bona fides to men for whom you had little respect and even littler patience.

“What brings you to Fort Carolina, miss?” said the man to your right. “And on whose horse? Your husband’s?”

“I serve in the field hospital.” You had no interest in actually answering any of their questions. “Please let me through. I’m arriving from Catawba and it’s been a long ride.”

“Do you have a pass?” said the other man. “Or some kind of written authorization?”

You frowned. No, you hadn’t been given anything of the sort, and you supposed it was too much to ask for William to spend one second considering your needs for returning.

“Is Colonel Tavington here?” you asked, leaning back in the saddle. “He’ll permit me.”

The men looked at each other, worry creasing their brows.

“Ah, well,” the one to your right began, “it’s late, miss, and I’m certain he does not wish to be disturbed at this hour—”

“Oh, I promise you, he’ll be very disturbed if he learns that you turned me away.” You weren’t sure how true that was, but you’d gamble on it for now. “Though I suppose those would be your consequences to reap, not mine.”

They glanced at one another again.

“Please wait here, miss,” Left Man said, before slipping inside the fort walls.

You and Right Man stood there, tension lingering in the night air. In the silence, he snuck a glance or two at you, face taut with unspoken questions about who you were and how you could possibly feel so comfortable invoking Colonel Tavington’s name so late in the evening. Perhaps this violated William’s previous dictate of discretion, but after riding all day, you couldn’t find a care.

The doors creaked open, and Left Man poked out his head, ushering you forward. “Colonel Tavington requests that you come along, miss.”

Right Man blinked. “Oh.” He stepped toward you, reaching up to assist you in dismounting. “Well, um, I’ll take your horse to the stables.”

You frowned, flung your leg from the stirrup and hopped from the saddle in one swift movement, teeth clacking as you hit the ground. “And my belongings to my accommodations.” You looked toward Left Man, chin in the air. “If you please.”

With a nod, he led you through the entrance. The moment your foot touched the tilled dirt path toward the main building, your heart fled from your blood. You felt its beat in your lips, your fingertips, in the pit of your stomach. Colonel Tavington requests you come along, he’d said. You imagined the conversation, imagined what he’d said to William to inspire such a request.

Colonel, a choleric bog woman is insinuating familiarity with you. Colonel, a creature from the swamp requests entry to the fort—it appears to be female. Colonel, there’s a woman on her knees begging for your cock, shall we permit her access?

That last one was probably what William had chosen to hear.

Left Man guided you through the house, through the dancing light that decorated the halls, your pulse bouncing with your footsteps. It was nearly humiliating to be this thrilled about the possibility of seeing a man—but you’d long admitted that William was no ordinary man. Not to you.

Your escort stopped in front of a door, rapped it with his fist. “Sir,” he said. “You requested—”

“Enter.” That was his voice, as clipped and arrogant as ever. You swallowed.

The door opened, and you stepped inside. There, at his desk, embossed gold in the candlelight, was William Tavington. His eyes, paler than the moon, met yours, and the corner of his lip twitched.

You cocked your head, unable to stop the grin that swept your face. “Good evening, Colonel.”

#william tavington #colonel tavington #colonel william tavington #the patriot #jason isaacs #playing soldier #fanfiction problems #omg wow :)

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spicyseal · 1 year ago

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People don't talk enough about how our public spaces aren't designed with fat people in mind. I live in the US, and for how much of America's population is plus-sized, public areas are really not built with people like me in mind. I shouldn't be unable to find a chair I fit in in public, but that's happened more times than I can count. I mean I understand, I'm very fat, I won't say my weight but I will say that by medical standards I'm considered morbidly obese. I recognize that not all chairs can necessarily be designed to fit everyone. I do however think it's absolutely unreasonable that there aren't any chairs that fit me at some places. It's absolutely unreasonable that my only option is discomfort, that my only option is to try to squeeze into a chair and have the arms of the chair dig into my sides

On the rare occasion I do see people discuss the inherent size discrimination in the design of public spaces, often the majority of people simply shift the blame to the fat people discussing it. "Just lose weight." Just lose weight? Sure, I could go through the effort of doing that. Sure, that would solve the issue for me. But I shouldn't have to go through that, I shouldn't have to change myself when I don't necessarily want to. It would solve the issue for me, but what about all the other fat people out there? It's ridiculous to pin the blame on fat people and say we should just change ourselves, public spaces are meant to serve the public and so accommodations should be made to serve all of the public

I don't find it unreasonable to ask for some kind of regulations requiring public spaces to provide accommodations for fat people. It'd be nothing new either, obviously we change spaces to upgrade them and accommodate more people with things like ramps for example. Widen doors, provide bigger chairs, etc. If America could spend 740 billion dollars on the military last year, it can afford to spend a tiny fraction of that amount on upgrading public areas. In fact, some local governments in the US have passed antidiscrimination laws to protect fat people, so if that can happen I see no reason we can't address the discrimination in how public areas are designed

Comfort should not be a privilege for the thin alone. I should be able to be a fat person and be comfortable in public. End of story

#fat politics #fat positive #fat positivity #fatphobia

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sebry · 10 months ago

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So, I finally managed to get to this point in Scarlet Hollow, and I feel like that gives me a good excuse to compile the tangled mess that is my speculation as to what is going on in Scarlet Hollow

So, there are going to be major spoilers, and I am going to be hopping around willy nilly between the 4 chapters that are out as of the time of me writing this, so, if you haven't played through the game multiple times, I'm going to be giving out some pretty hefty spoilers. There's your warning as to what is below the cut.

Furthermore, I want to say that this is going to be a whole lot of rambling and a massive amount of tinfoil hat levels of speculation.

Let's talk about what I think are some of the major players.

Stella

As much as I love the objectively best girl in the game, I can't deny that there is a pattern of flakiness. When the going gets tough, Stella likes to get going, be that in the ditchling nest in chapter 1 even when you insist that they're not attacking, to just running off at the end of chapter 3. Yes, a lot of it can be explained by what happened to her parents, and the final choices that you get to make (if you find her) revolve around finding out more about that whole thing and her coming to terms with the death of her parents, so she may be turning over a new leaf there. Still, sources say that that is not the case. Those sources, of course, being possibly the centrepiece of the most insane rambling rant I have in me about this game, so buckle up, because I'm talking about...

Wayne

I want to clarify, when I say Wayne, I don't mean the human. When I'm talking about the human, I shall refer to him as Sam. Wayne, is the thing that follows you around, protecting you. They are completely separate entities.

So, after Sam's death, Wayne picked up Sam's rotting corpse and started to puppet it around. It is his way of interacting with the world. I think that he is the main point of the story. He is your father, he is Tabitha's father, he is Sybil's patron (I'll get to that in Sybil's section), he is the reason why the ditchlings are everywhere.

So, let's start with the reason why I think the ditchlings are there. Scarlet Hollow has something going on. Something that is very much tied to, at least in my theory so far, to Sybil and Wayne. Wayne isn't fully in our world, he is interacting with it as much as he can, but I believe that the Wayne we see is less than a finger puppet compared to the actual being he represents. I believe that he is going to be making his way to the world of the game, in his full power, right around the time of the funeral. Such a thing will be an apocalyptic event, and Scarlet Hollow is days away from being the eye of that worldwide storm, so of course the harbingers of doom that are the ditchlings would be appearing there en masse.

Wayne is far more than what we've seen of him, right now, he is confined to the deceased body of Sam, and he has to adhere to some of the laws of the world while at such a tiny fraction of his true power. Even still, we've seen him appear and disappear at will, effortlessly dodge the powerful build, even when also fighting Reese, and obviously, the fight against Reese himself.

Now, we get to some of the weirder stuff. I believe that Wayne still needs a vessel that can hold him. People with such capacity aren't easy to come by, so, over the course of years and years, he made some. It's why the Scarlets, as pointed out in the tea room with Sybil, tend to not really have many men in the family. It's all Wayne, through some eldritch ritual, bringing about Scarlet after Scarlet, until you, finally, the human who has the capacity to serve as his true vessel. That's why Vivian left Scarlet Hollow, she was forced to partake in the ritual, and you were the result of that. The child growing inside of her was going to be possessed by an eldritch abomination and bring about the end of the world, but his followers only really had reach within Scarlet Hollow.

It's why he cares so much about you. The simple answer is that he doesn't care so much about you, he cares about your body being kept safe until he is able to make his way through the veil and take it over. It's why he will threaten Sybil about there being hell to pay if anything else happens to you should you give up the decade of your life to the ghost of Charles Shaw Jr. It's why he wants you to just stay put in the estate when he finds you poking around the mines on Tuesday. Speaking of Sybil...

Sybil

Goes without saying, she's a witch. But, in modern media, a witch is not simply a female wizard (unless you're talking about the Harry Potter universe). A male witch is a warlock, and in modern media, they don't do the whole studious study in order to earnt their magical/mystical prowess, that's a wizard thing. Witches, like Sybil, skip the whole studying thing and go straight to being masters of the arcane by striking deals with supernatural (almost always evil and demonic) beings. The witch serves the patron and the patron allows the witch to have great magical power.

With that established, I already mentioned who her patron is (Wayne), but, with that being the case, she is the one who takes the orders in the relationship. On the magical hierarchy, Wayne is Sybil's direct boss, and if she wants to have the massive power that we sense when we first meet her with the mystical trait, she will do as Wayne tells her, when he tells her. That said, she doesn't want to scare us off by saying anything about Wayne. She knows what he is, she knows his true nature, and I believe that Wayne offered her a seat at the table in his new kingdom if she pulls off summoning him.

The problem is, as you keep asking questions about Wayne, she doesn't know how to calm you down about him other than brushing you off. If you are not in Scarlet Hollow when Wayne is summoned, he won't have a body to possess and his time in that world will be short lived. She knows that he is an eldritch being piloting a corpse like a finger puppet, but it's easier to brush you off when you ask about that than it is to risk scaring you off and away from Wayne and away from Scarlet Hollow. Besides, as long as you're running around playing detective, you're staying in Scarlet Hollow. You want to try and get some kids out of a mine? You want to go have dinner with the jersey devil and his mum? You want to go ghost hunting? You want to go look for Stella after she runs off? Sure. Fine. Not the safest use of your time, and it somewhat puts the body on the line here, but it is better than you digging into and using that energy to figure out what Wayne is and then leave his area of influence before you can become his vessel, since you're obviously not going to listen to him when he tells you to just stay put in the estate. You need breadcrumbs to keep you interested, sure, but the real leads need to be withheld from you until the ritual happens for their plan to have the best shot at bearing fruit.

Sybil gets more complicated though, this is where it gets really dark with her, but I think that she needs to sacrifice her firstborn for the ritual to summon Wayne. It's why she is working so hard to keep Kaneeka in place. I think she killed her husband, probably through poisoning to bring Kaneeka back from veterinary school, then has been using her mind controlling tea on her ever since. And yes, it is certainly the tea. There is a lot that changes depending on whether you drink the tea or not, including whether you can hear dr. Kelly badmouth her in the old x-ray room.

At this point Kaneeka is basically a puppet of Sybil, and I think that part of the ritual to summon Wayne she's going to have to sacrifice Kaneeka. Given how she apparently responds to the knowledge that Mile was in the mines though, I don't think Sybil really cares whether he lives or dies. I think that he's unimportant to the upcoming ritual and Sybil doesn't expect him to last long after said ritual anyway.

Kaneeka

I said a lot of what I have to say about her in Sybil's section, but she is under Sybil's control, she has not actually been sick, she's just gotten a bit too rowdy for Sybil's liking so Sybil has been using her tea to control her and possibly just hide her away under the guise of being sick until it is time for the ritual. They're in the endgame now and Sybil doesn't want to take the chance of Kaneeka making good on her promises to herself now of all times when there isn't enough time to work on preparations for the ritual and a scheme to get Kaneeka back in time again. It's just far easier if Kaneeka thinks she's too sick to get out of bed until it's time to sacrifice her. Meanwhile, the tea in her is actively pushing against her really taking onboard anything weird about her mum. Their relationship is in the gutter and I think if she were able to, Kaneeka would damn near hate her mother at this point, but the tea makes her quick to forgive her mother when she does something that Kaneeka doesn't like.

Coven/Cult

Stepping away from the character centric format for a bit, I want to talk about the coven, the group responsible for the upcoming ritual. I think that that group is lead by Sybil and the head Scarlet has been the right hand of the coven since the Shaws got driven out. Pearlanne has been hanging onto that role since Eddie died, and for some unspecified amount of time has been teaching Tabitha the ropes of what needs to be done. The group is dedicated to and ultimately takes its orders from Wayne, his witch making the more day-to-day decisions, the Scarlets using their power within the town to enact what needs enacting (such as purposefully hiring a bunch of incompetent and lazy individuals who prioritise a bowling night over a murder inquiry for a police force). If you mention the mayor to Tabitha at her hideout house, she even says the quiet part out loud and tells you about him being a dog, saying that the Scarlets hold all of the power in the town.

Honestly, the coven is probably very small, possibly only currently consisting of Tabitha and Sybil at this moment in time, now that Pearlanne is gone.

Pearlanne/Sam

This one is a doozy, but I think that the Scarlet women are forbidden from getting into romantic relationships with men, and the enforcement of this rule lead to Pearlanne's death. Simply put, Tabitha starts dating Sam, Pearlanne finds out, enforces the rules by having Sam killed, and in a fit of rage, Tabitha smothers her mother in her sleep after finding out what she did. It's why Tabitha knows that even though Wayne is possessing Sam's body when you see him on Wednesday night, that's not him; it can't be him, since Pearlanne killed him, and had Pearlanne not done that then Tabitha wouldn't have her mother's blood on her hands.

The ultimate cause of death is the same with being smothered and sleep apnoea (suffocation), and it's not too weird for an old woman to have such a condition that Tabitha can blame it on, especially with the lack of doctor visits that doctor Kelly talks about if you ask her about how well she knows your family. All this to say, it's not that weird that, with a decent poker face, Tabitha can play off her mother's murder as a death by natural causes without raising enough suspicion to warrant anyone looking into it, and while playing with the mystical trait allows you to see her corpse, none of the other traits (I specifically went into my book smarts/mystical playthrough to look for this option) seem to be able to check for signs of foul play, all you can do is ask Reese if he knows how to check that (he doesn't).

At the end of the day though, if my crackpot theories are somehow on point, then all the Scarlet women basically belong to Wayne, he's the only one who is allowed to do anything that might impregnate them, and trying to step in the way of that rule will land you in a shallow grave if you're lucky. Hell, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the reason for the landslide that caused the mansion to be leaning over a cliffside was caused by Wayne throwing a fit over and getting retribution for one of the Scarlet girls dating some human guy. Beings like that are not the type who you just tell that they can't have their way. You get a pass because harming you means harming his future vessel.

Tabitha

This one is one that I had a very different opinion about until I realised that I forgot to try something. Originally, I was going to say that Tabitha was for the time being innocent in all of this and was going to be inducted into the cult at or around Pearlanne's funeral, which will probably be when the cat fully comes out of the bag. In fact, I think there may have been some mention of this line of thinking earlier on in the post (this is taking a while to write; I started writing this on 9th March 2024 and it's now the 17th). That changed when I remembered that when Tabitha goes to get the special tea from Sybil, street smart can find a spot to listen to them that is subtle but can't make out more than a few syllables at a time, but keen senses can make out some of the conversation while standing in a very obvious spot until they notice you and switch to whispering. Point is, by using both of those traits on a single character, you can listen to that full conversation. Bottom line is that Tabitha lies to you when she talks about it being tea to help her sleep. If you have played through the game before, specifically with the speak with animals trait, and followed the sidequest on that one, you can piece together (out of game) that they're talking about the goat.

This put a bit of a wrench in what I had in mind, but okay. Turns out that Tabitha was the one who brought the goat over to the greenhouse (I thought that it was pastor Daniel since he also matches the description given by the goat, he can speak to animals and he owns a farm; my line of reasoning was that the good pastor heard the goat say something that disturbed him so he took it off of his farm and locked it away in the greenhouse so that it wouldn't just wander right back, or something, I couldn't figure out his long term plan on that, but maybe he was just stalling while he figured out what to do with Goat). With this new information about Tabitha being responsible for Goat being in the greenhouse though, it makes it seem more like Tabitha has been doing some ritualistic things already. This conversation alone, in my mind, shifts the blame of pastor Daniel's curse (the reason why everyone in town outside of his family, even the friendliest of people just instinctively hates him without an actual reason that they can state) from Sybil to Tabitha. Perhaps religion is seen as an annoying distraction by Tabitha, perhaps Wayne doesn't want the competition.

This does beg the question of why Tabitha would insist on fleeing from Wayne when you're in the ghost's visions on Wednesday together. I think that it's a mix of a few factors; the first being that he's using Sam's body whenever he interacts with you in physical form, which she can't stand to look at given the history, the second is that she doesn't recognise him for who he is when you see him in there, the third is that even if she knew who he was off the bat, she's in a similar position as Sybil and doesn't want to accidentally end up telling you more than she's meant to about him while you can still potentially flee town, and finally, the fact that this is a relatively new form of his and that he may have been showing up to Tabitha and Sybil in a very different manner up until now.

Wrap up

This whole post is a mess, I thought that splitting it up based on characters would help keep things clear, but given how intertwined the characters all are with one another in a game like this, the threads are still criss-crossing with one another all over the place, since I couldn't get into the weeds of talking about one character without some serious establishment of the ideas that I have surrounding a completely different character.

I have a strong feeling that I missed some things, hell, there are even some other points that I wanted to address in detail but I've had enough of writing this for now, and I'm starting to lose track of what I've written and what I haven't written, which really isn't helping. I know that I didn't address my thoughts on:

I think Avery might possibly be some kind of angel or opposite of whatever Wayne is

Avery hasn't been in human form for very long and the novelty of human experiences hasn't worn off for them yet, hence the weird things that they want to experience

Gretchen would often be taken with Stella to the estate when Tabitha and Stella were dating, but the very different personalities led to Gretchen trying to befriend Frou-Frou, who hates being approached, leading to her possibly attacking Gretchen on multiple occasions, hence their distain for one another

Tulip has a stronger version of the talk with animals trait (like how Sybil has a stronger version of the mystical trait) that allows her to talk with ditchlings and/or plants, and that's who's been leading her to tetanus lake

Anyway, thanks for coming to my PepeSilvie Talk

#Scarlet Hollow #black tabby games #visual novel #video games #text post

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glasshalftrue · 9 months ago

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youtube

i think i fundamentally disagree with the thesis of the latest GMTK video about balatro. mark compares balatro's "cursed design problem" (the fact that the exact score of your hand isn't shown but can technically be calculated if you're determined enough to do it) with the binding of isaac's lack of item descriptions, as a case study of what happens when players "optimize the fun" out of a game and go against a developer's intended design choices. mark acknowledges that the comparison isn't perfect, but i think the comparison is just straight up not applicable. as someone who's played both games and is generally a big roguelite fan, the lack of a score preview in balatro is fundamental to the game's core experience, whereas the lack of item descriptions in isaac can actually be downright frustrating at times. sometimes items' effects can be obscure and very difficult to figure out, and there are so many items in the game at this point that it'd take a lot of time and effort to properly remember them all, and especially since some items can have detrimental effects, not remembering what an item does can actively hamper your ability to play the game well. with item descriptions, the game does not feel fundamentally different or worse; there's still a sense of discovery when you first encounter an item, because you won't know what it does until you pick it up, and there are still surprises to be had even if you know what the item's effect is (e.g. interesting and unexpected ways to use the item, or how it might synergize with another item). apparently, according to the video edmund mcmillen (creator of tboi) did consider the lack of item descriptions an important part of the game, and was dismayed that most players opted to deliberately circumvent it. and as much as i love the guy, unfortunately i think he's just wrong. he's wrong in that most players don't find the mechanic fun, or at least not fun enough to compensate for the downsides. the primary fun of isaac is derived from the moment-to-moment combat, the meta-progression of unlocking new items and characters, the rng of what items and crazy synergies you'll get this run, and the strategic choices you make on, e.g., which deal with the devil items to pick. learning what exactly items do is not on that list; most items are simple enough that their short in-game description (damage up, triple shot, homing shots) make them instantly graspable anyways, and hiding the exact numbers doesn't really enhance anything (i doubt players are experiencing a sense of wonder when trying to deduce exactly how much damage their tears have increased by). it's true that the most optimal way to play balatro is by painstakingly calculating the point value of every possible hand and then choosing the highest one. but it's such a tedious experience that i doubt that any more than a tiny fraction of players will ever start playing the game like that regularly. players will certainly "optimize the fun" out of a game; if you offer players different weapons and one weapon is boring but by far the most powerful, then yeah, players will tend to pick that one. but the vast majority of players will only do it if doing so is the path of least resistance; optimizing balatro to that extent is so time-consuming and obviously anti-fun that most people simply won't ever do it. the players who do opt to do it are like speedrunners - a niche, outlier group of players who are extracting fun out of the game in an entirely different way from most players. but they will never be more than that: a niche, outlier group. anyways balatro is fucking amazing and i highly recommend it unless you value your time for some reason

#game design #balatro #effortpost #long #Youtube

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the-heart-of-a-monster · 1 year ago

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Once again, I’m typing this out just minutes after seeing the new pages. Because I saw this singular sliver of pink on Sonic’s chest behind the text bubble and now I’m going g full Game Theory Mode.

(Don’t know how messy this is gonna be so bear with me please)

ALSO HAPPY NEW YEAR HOPE 2024 IS GOING WELL FOR YOU SO FAR!!!!

So! It’s uh… It’s been a while since Sonic last slept. I think the last time we saw him get any proper rest was before him and Shadow left for Holoska. We don’t know exactly how much time had past for them when they were in the cavern, but we can safely assume it was more than just 2 or 3 hours. They were most likely there for nearly ten, given the villager’s reaction to them returning. And then they immediately had to go fight Omega, or at least Sonic did, and that was a whole battle full of adrenaline and anger fueled by the previous fight between Sonic and Shadow. So by this point, I’m not surprised to see Sonic knocked out cold.

What I am shocked to see however, is that little teeny-tiny sliver of pink that I mentioned on Sonic’s chest… What’s even more intriguing is the fact that Sonic’s entire face is obscured by either the panel borders, or the text bubbles. This obviously and unfortunately means that Dark Gaia’s influence on Sonic is getting stronger and stronger by the day, and the hedgehog’s recent fights have had a huge impact. This also means Sonic can’t hide from his friends anymore, and he’ll likely be avoidant towards them altogether if he can.

Obviously though, this will only make things worse for him and Shadow since Sonic’s negative emotions are what is making the influence stronger. In this sense, Sonic is making himself dangerous, he’s turning himself into a weapon. This is actually making me think: What if Omega being influenced by Dark Gaia was just a test? Just a warning by Dark Gaia that showed Sonic what would happen if he fell too deep, if he succumbed too much. Omega lost his autonomy to the God of Sadness himself, so why can’t Sonic…?

ALSO OMEGA ISN’T DEAD YET LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YEEEEEAHHAHHAHAHHHHH THIS IS WORTH CELEBRATING I THINK 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

Oki ignoring that terrible yet seamless transition, let’s talk about Team Dark because they deserve some love right now in these trying times. (Istg you and 2 whole other people are keeping the Team Dark fans afloat) First up, Shadow because he’s been in more panels than I can count lmao

Shadow, as someone who can relate to Sonic to some extent, feels this giant weight whenever something bad happens to him. He feels all the pressure build up into one giant boulder that he’s struggling to carry, and if he doesn’t get help soon, that boulder will crush him. Of course, the Ultimate Lifeform doesn’t care about that, doesn’t care about anything but Sonic right now, because he’s going through something similar and it’s just too much for Shadow to see a reflection of himself in the very person he sought to destroy just a couple years prior-

But then the weight gets lifted. Just a little bit, just so much to make it only a little lighter. But it’s lifted regardless, and when Shadow turns he sees Rouge. The brains of the group. The one who brought Team Dark together in the first place. The one who only knew a fraction about Shadow’s past and yet stuck by his side anyway.

The only one who hasn’t been directly affected by Dark Gaia until now. (Except for Tails and Knuckles but we don’t care about them right now)

Sonic is not gonna be the same when he wakes up. He’s gonna look and feel completely different and he’s gonna be so confused and hurt and scared. But Shadow and Rouge and all his other friends are gonna be there for him when he needs them most, and that will be enough.

I wish I could say more on these pages because OMG THREE PAGES IN ONE UPDATE HUH EMERALD ARE YOU TRYING TO SPOIL US ARE YOU TRYING TO BUTTER UP TO US BECAUSE IT IS FRIGGIN WORKING. But with the new year comes a bunch of other thoughts that cloud your brain and there’s suddenly no more room for the really important things. Like anthropomorphic little animals that turn into bigger furries somehow and then harness the power of life itself to defeat villainy and then eat chili dogs for their every meal. Totally important, 100%.

Hope 2024 treats you well, and I personally cannot wAIT TO SEE SONIC IN HIS NEW GAIA FORM OMG OMG HE GONNA LOOK SO SPOOPY AND AWESOME AND HE’S GONNA BE SO INSECURE OOOOOOOOOOOOOO IM SO EXITED

YEEHAW wait until u see the other 3 new pages lol

#fan lore #long post #text heavy #fan theories #not really a theory but your analysis deserves to be showcased

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eisforeidolon · 1 year ago

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So this post about someone becoming totally convinced SPN is the D/C show from a 20 minute best ship moments compilation has been circling in my head all day like

They very effectively demonstrate how completely out of context all those moments are by how they describe them in their post. I mean, it should be obvious that thinking a shipper fanvid is giving you an accurate picture of canon is "Uh, have you actually been in any fandom for more than five minutes?" levels of clueless, and yet ...

I mean, I maybe get that when your friend is pushing 'OMG, THIS IS TOTALLY A THING!!!' you probably don't engage your brain too much in contradiction. But to just like, go around declaring to all sundry that you totes understand a show that is fifteen fucking seasons long because you watched a 20 minute, pointedly curated fanvid devoid of all context... I can't. No idea what the characters' interactions in the show are like in general - like if those types of references/jokes happen all the time between various male characters, not just Dean and Castiel. (Not even to mention all relationships in the show are built on top of how baseline insane Dean and Sam are with each other.) No idea what the context of those individual moments in the clips are - if Dean is talking up Cas to get him a date with someone else, the ship is pointedly included in the musical off-screen along with spaceships and robots in the non-canon fanfic act two, or if Cas only has a tape to return as a pretext to get into his room and steal something very important from Dean. Even if you don't consider any of that? The part where it still doesn't occur to you what a tiny fraction of fifteen years of canon it is for that load of vague implications-by-lack-of-context to be the "best" moments a shipper fanvid can scrape together? Oof.

Again, the problem isn't shipping the ship or seeing shippiness in random moments, shipping is a very personal taste kind of thing. It's this really fucking obtuse insistence this is Obviously Totally An Undeniable Thing In The Show ... when it only remotely looks that way if you remove all context and understanding of the entire rest of the show and pretend it isn't really really fucking obvious you've done so. It is.

#destihellers #fandom issues #secondhand embarrassment meter: off the charts

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desertfangs · 1 year ago

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Anne's mind is so fascinating to me. She really had a whole plan for Daniel and Armand (which as wacky as it was, was a plan of sorts), and instead of even alluding to it in the books, she was like: "yeahh Daniel... that guy. He lost his mind for a while, lived in Marius' house, built some train models, then got back together with Armand and then moved to his house... any q's? No? Thought so. So, about that mural...", I unironically love her so much lmaooo

Oh my gosh, me too! I unironically want one of those t-shirts with the scan of her brain on it. Her mind was fascinating.

I’ve been in and out of this fandom since the 90s and I think one that keeps me coming back is that there’s just so much in this world that’s left unexplored. So many throw away lines you could write half a book about (DM is full of these but it’s true of the entire series!), so many scenes that are glossed over or suggested or implied and never fleshed out.

There many conversations and encounters that must have happened that just do not appear on the page—they were in the Sonoma Compound together for a while, and on Night Island together for a while, then at Court! All of them have talked and interacted and what we get in the books is just a tiny fraction of it. Which makes sense mostly-- I mean, somethings arguably should have been included, like Louis' reaction to Daniel as a vampire for example!!--but obviously a lot is happening in every book and there just isn't space. Louis had to condense the entire story of his life into one night, he couldn't go night by night for hundreds of years. No one is going to spill every detail or every moment. It all comes down to the pieces that build the main picture, and then we can then take it and infer the rest from that.

Anne was masterful at leaving little breadcrumbs you can follow if you want to. And of course, she was such a talented, skilled writer, who created these characters that just feel real and alive. She had her quirks and she was human. She wasn’t always right about things and sometimes she was more willing to admit that than others. She was just a person who told amazing stories and those stories have stuck with me since I was far too young to be reading those books, and now here I am, almost 30 years later, still writing fic, still rereading the books and finding new little nuggets I’d never noticed, still so excited to hear other people’s interpretations of scenes or characters, and to read other people’s fic that explore all these little crumbs and flesh them out.

When I say I love this fandom, I mean it from the very bottom of my heart, and we owe Anne so much for building a world that we have so much room to play in. It really is incredible. It blows my mind sometimes how real and visceral and powerful the world of the VC feels. But I digress!! I completely agree, anon. Even if we don't get a lot of Armand and Daniel in the later books together, we do get a satisfying story for them as a couple, and we get the joy of filling in those missing pieces ourselves. 💖

#thank you again for the ask #hot damn i'm emotional about this #anne rice #the vampire chronicles #armand/daniel #vc #vc meta #vampire chronicles #answers in the desert #anonymous #vc fandom #daniel molloy #armand

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madam-whim · 1 year ago

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Nightshade and Fire Salts

Jeelius knew he was going to die. He had known, really, from the moment he’d woken up with his hands and feet bound, locked inside a tiny room in what appeared to be a dead end within a cave, or perhaps it was an old mine.

At first, based on his new surroundings, he’d thought he’d been taken by bandits – he hadn’t seen his attackers when they’d hit him over the head from behind. But what bandit would undertake the effort of dragging a priest out of the Imperial City? And when the red-robed cultists had walked into his makeshift cell, it had all become clear to him.

They were the Mythic Dawn, and they reveled in the slaughter of Mehrunes Dagon’s enemies. It made sense, then, that they’d picked him, a servant of Akatosh. Surely their overlord would delight in his death, if he was even capable of that.

They’d at least cut the rope around his ankles, obviously hoping he’d quietly walk to his death when they’d come to collect him after several days of him waiting in the dark. In the end, they’d had to drag him all the way to the stone altar he was now lying on. He’d never been much of a fighter, and he didn’t fear death, but if Oblivion awaited him instead of the Deadlands, he would not go willingly. Still, all his struggling had been for nothing, and found himself on the altar, with the cold stone pressed to his scales and the cultist who was about to become his murderer looming above him. From what Jeelius had gathered, she was supposed to slay him in some sort of ritual that would make her a member of the Mythic Dawn. It would serve as proof of her ability and her willingness to kill in Dagon’s name, he supposed.

There was another one next to her, some high-ranking member of the Dawn who appeared to be an Altmer, handing her a blade and telling her to offer his blood to Dagon. By the sound of it, the one who would end his life accepted the dagger, even if she did so with a certain amount of hesitation, and stepped close to him. It was almost funny, Jeelius thought, that the first thing he really noticed about her was her smell, because it reminded him of home, of all things. Back in the Imperial City, he’d spent countless hours at the Gilded Carafe, an alchemy store in the market district. For some reason, this woman smelled just like the inside of the store – like herbs and healing potions.

It was comforting, in a way, to have something at least a little familiar when death was so near, even more so when the cultists started chanting, reminding him of where he would be going once the life had been drained out of him. Jeelius wondered how many of them there were, if this was most of the cult or just a small fraction, and how many of them it would take to bring Dagon to Tamriel. Not that many, he supposed, with the Amulet of Kings in their leader’s possession and the Emperor and his heirs dead, and for but a moment, through the haze of fear clouding his mind, Jeelius thought that perhaps he was better off, dying early on. He hadn’t caught much of what had happened before, too lost in his own fear, but he had realized that the Mythic Dawn’s leader had somehow managed to steal the Amzlet, and now he’d taken it Gods knew where, and he knew very well that this meant all hope was now lost. Even if the rumors of a living heir were true, there was nothing more to be done.

Yes, it seemed rather like getting his death over with was his best option. Perhaps the cultist would even make it quick, if she could manage to do it at all. If she could not, someone else would. There was no escape for him.

Jeelius forced himself to look up at her, wondering what kind of person she was, and what had led to her being here. It helped, to think of other things, like a stranger’s life – it was almost as if he could detach himself from the reality of his impending death. Was his killer one of those people who would join a cult out of fear, hoping to be spared in the end? It wouldn’t do them any good, he knew, but mortals had a tendency to cling to false hope. Or was she a killer at heart, simply taking the opportunity that was presented to her?

When he looked at her, though … well, she did not look half as confident as her fellow Daedra worshippers. One of the desperate ones, then? Jeelius could not see much of her face, covered as it still was by the hood she was wearing. A few tangled strands of red hair had slipped out from under it, framing a too-pale, too-thin face. She looked haggard, exhausted to the point of collapsing at any moment. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she held the dagger as if she was still contemplating her options instead of assessing where to strike.

“Do it already,” the other cultist hissed, clearly impatient. “Give our Lord Dagon the red-drink he craves, or are you too cowardly even for that? Mehrunes Dagon has no use for weaklings!”

The woman’s features twisted into a grimace for just a moment, only visible to Jeelius.

And then, seemingly having come to a decision, she muttered a low “Ah, shit,” spun around and slid the blade neatly between the Altmer’s ribs.

Time seemed to stand still for but a moment, and then chaos erupted. Before the Altmer even hit the ground, the other woman had already shoved Jeelius off the altar, leaping over it to join him on the side hidden from the other cultists, cursing all the while.

He landed hard on the ground, with the woman crouching next to him. She’d lost her hood during her maneuver, revealing red hair haphazardly tied into a ponytail. Bits of it seemed to have been chopped off recently, and there were marks on her face that indicated she’d been injured not long ago. She still had the dagger clutched in her hand, and Jeelius stared at her in utter disbelief. Mere seconds ago he’d though her an aspiring cultist, but now, it seemed like she was something entirely different, though he had no idea what. Her attempting to save him was the last thing he’d expected – he’d ruled out the possibility of anyone coming to his aid days ago.

“What now?” he asked, wide-eyed, voice trembling even as she easily cut the rope binding his hands. He doubted they had more than a few seconds left before the remaining cultists were upon them, and they were clearly outnumbered.

“Now, you shut up and let me work,” she snarled, pulling a small glass vial from her boot and lobbing it over the altar into the crowd of cultists racing towards them, keen on avenging their superior’s death. Jeelius heard glass shatter, and the woman nodded, more to herself than to him. “Get up, run for that door over there, don’t breathe in.”

The words had barely left her mouth before she was on her feet, darting forward to grab some kind of tome from a nearby pedestal before sprinting for the door she’d pointed out. Jeelius, shaking and scared as he was, could do nothing but follow and hope that somehow, he would not trip over his own feet.

“What was in that vial?” he gasped, hurrying to catch up to her and skidding through the door before she kicked it shut behind them.

“Nightshade extract and fire salts. Turns out those do nothing but create toxic fumes when mixed. Hence the no breathing rule.”

Jeelius gaped at her. “You killed however many cultists there were with a flower and some fire salts?”

For some reason, his reaction made her cackle just the slightest bit. “No. They’ll live, but they’ll be busy with their stomachs turning inside out for a few days. Now let’s get going before the rest of them show up all at once.”

Jellius nodded, and they both took off running.

The woman, as it turned out, was not easy to keep up with despite her appearance suggesting she was close to simply collapsing. He wasn’t sure what it was that kept her on her feet, but Jeelius could barely keep up with her as she navigated the maze that was this cave system, taking out lone cultists they encountered as they went. He did try to help, in his own way, casting a ward whenever a spell was thrown in their direction. It did little in terms of killing anyone, but it did prevent injuries and kept his unlikely ally safe from magical injuries until they reached what appeared to be an exit.

Opening the door took what felt like a very long time, the woman fumbling with the lock for far longer than she was comfortable with, judging by her quiet curses. Jeelius even had the time – on the woman’s orders, of course – to take the boots from one of the dead cultists, stating that he’d not get far barefoot once they left the cave. But then she finally managed to get the door open, and the two of them stumbled out into the night.

“There will be a few more of them following us out,” the woman stated while they jogged down the hill towards a nearby lake, nearly tripping over loose rocks several times. The boots really were useful. Neither of them took the time to catch their breath; they could not afford to. “They don’t give up lightly, and they’ll want that book back. They’re not stupid enough not to know what I’m planning with it, so I’ll need to draw them away from here. You hold on to this.” She handed the surprisingly heavy tome off to Jeelius. “And now you get in the lake, and stay at the bottom of it. I’ll signal you with a magelight when it’s safe to come out.”

Jeelius frowned. Not so much at the staying down part of her plan – he could easily spend a whole day underwater if need be, one of the benefits of being Argonian – but at being given a seemingly valuable book and being told to get it wet of all things. “Won’t I damage that thing?”

“That thing is the Mysterium Xarxes,” she replied, shaking her head. “Water’s about the last thing that’ll harm it. Just … better not open it.”

They’d reached the lake by now, and there were shouts coming from some distance away, up the hill. Not close enough that they could have been detected yet, but cause for concern nonetheless.

“Go,” the woman instructed. “Wait for an hour. If I’m not back by then, dive through the lake to the other side. Then you get to Bruma, whatever it takes, and bring the book to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

With that, she took off running again, and Jeelius only allowed himself another second to breathe in the cool night air before diving into the lake as smoothly as he could, causing as few ripples as possible. It would not to to be found because of his clumsiness, after all, and if that book was truly what the woman said it was, it was incredibly important – he knew enough about Dagon to understand this.

And so there he sat at the bottom of a lake, counting the minutes and waiting for a magelight that might or might not appear, clutching a Daedric volume to his chest. His heart was still racing, out of fear to be sure, but also because the woman going after the book likely meant there was someone out there who knew what to do with it, and that there was a chance to stop the Mythic Dawn after all, however small it might have been. But it would only work if he didn’t lose the Xarxes. He could not fail at this, so he remained tense, ready to flee at the smallest sign of danger.

He had no idea if his perception of time was accurate – and wasn’t that ironic – but he felt that his hour had to be almost up when the magelight, cast into the water from above, began to glow. His first instinct was to dart to the surface immediately, but he could not allow himself to be that naive, not now. Instead, he swam closer to the shore and cast a detect life spell, and only when it revealed no more than a single person did he drag himself out of the water.

The woman was already waiting for him, still clad in the red robes of the Mythic Dawn, but now she had a horse next to her. Jeelius simply assumed it was hers, and she’d likely gone to get it after losing the cultists following her. He immediately handed the book back to his strange savior. There was no need for him to hold onto it now – it was much safer with her, and who knew if there were still cultists around, searching for them.

“Good, you’re alive,” she greeted him as she took the volume and wrapped it in a piece of cloth before stowing it in her saddlebag.

“About that,” Jeelius began, because the question had occurred to him while he’d sat underwater with only his thoughts for company. “Why did you spare me? Surely it would have been easier to kill me and steal the book after gaining the cult’s trust.”

“I considered it,” she sighed, “because you’re right, it would have been easier, but the man I’m doing all of this for … well, he would have wanted to save your life, and he would hate for anyone else to die for him. Not me, and not a stranger either.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Jeelius observed, and the woman nodded.

“He is that,” she agreed, tossing a blanket from her saddlebag at him before turning to grab her horse’s reins. “Use that to stay warm. But we should get going. I can accompany you as far as Cheydinhal, after that, you’re on your own. Think you can make it back to where you need to be?”

“I think so,” he said. “And where will you go?”

“I’ll get get the book to where it needs to be, and hope we can figure something out. Not so much me, but...” She smiled, then. “He… always does, he’s smart like that. I did come here to get the Amulet of Kings back, but that’s gone, and now we’ve got to work with what we got. Better than nothing. Still think I should have tried to get through that portal, though.”

“And ended up in Oblivion with no help?” Jeelius asked. “Somehow I doubt your friend would like that very much, either.”

The woman shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been the first time. He’s used to it by now.”

At that, somehow, everything clicked into place, and Jeelius suddenly understood who he was speaking to, and who the friend she was referring to was. Gods, he should have realized earlier! “You’re the Hero of Kvatch!” he blurted out, louder than he’d intended, and the woman – the Hero – pulled a face at the mention of that moniker.

“That’s what they’re calling me? Seriously?”

“Word is you saved the trapped survivors back in Kvatch. Is that not heroic in your eyes?” Jeelius questioned.

“I did it to get to one particular person,” she huffed, “and trust me when I say the people of Kvatch have no reason to like me.”

“You are still the one who saved them and closed the Oblivion Gate,” Jeelius countered, “and that means you’ve saved many lives that day. You also spared me, at great risk to yourself. Still, I won’t call you a hero if you’d prefer I didn’t.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “It’s just – it doesn’t suit me. Call me Arri instead.”

“Jeelius, priest of Akatosh, at your service.”

“Huh,” Arri said. “I don’t recognize you from Kvatch.”

“I serve at the Temple of the One,” Jeelius explained, “though it would appear that it does not matter. The Mythic Dawn simply seem to have taken a particular liking to us.”

Arri have an inelegant snort. “That’s one way to put it.”

They fell silent after that, trudging towards the city. They didn’t move as quickly as they would have liked, exhausted as they both were. Arri could have just gotten on her horse, Jeelius mused, and yet she did not, and instead kept staring straight ahead, apparently needing all her focus to prevent falling asleep on her feet. She was a strange one to be sure, Jeelius thought. But then again, he’d known her for mere hours, and unless something went seriously wrong before they made it to Cheydinhal, he would not be spending much more time in her company.

They reached the city gates by dawn, and Arri pressed a handful of coins into Jeelius’ hand before she finally pulled herself up onto her horse. “Get some food and a room, and sleep,” she said, “and then go back to your temple. Oh, and maybe tell the city guard about where the cult’s hiding. With any luck, they’ll be willing to clear out the rest of them before the poison stops working.”

“I will, thank you,” Jeelius nodded. “I wish you all the luck in the world, and the blessing of the Divines. You will need it, I assume.” They all would, if they wanted to live, but she most of all.

Her lips twitched into what could, perhaps, be called a smile, and then she turned her horse around, heading west. “Take care of yourself. And keep those Dragonfires ready, yeah?” she called over her shoulder. “I’m going to get that stupid necklace back if it’s the last thing I do, and next time we meet, I’m bringing you an Emperor.”

And then she was gone, taking the smell of potions with her. Jeelius found he was rather looking forward to their next meeting.

@tes-summer-fest Day 2: Ritual

#tesfest23 #my writing #oblivion #oc: arri #jeelius #ruma camoran #ritual

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forgottenyear · 10 months ago

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The things I write about, here, are things I do not necessarily think about, elsewhere. When we do projects, I am not aware that I am a part and that the unfused part is another – I just do projects. I have DID only when I think about it, and the rest of the time I am just me being me, same as I ever have been.

I first learned about our system when Angela stopped being a half-forgotten memory that I could successfully avoid thinking about. When she stopped being a disembodied someone from the past, and her first-hand memories overwrote a large portion of “my” past. (This is only an expressible impression of what happened, because I do not know how to describe the actual experience.) I call it a “large” portion of my past, only because even a tiny portion is too much. Former acquaintances do not just move into one’s head that way. It is not nice.

It was a few years later before I recognized the unfused part for a distinct part. They always have been, and always will be, just an odd quirk of an odd quirk. My way of thinking and of perceiving is an odd quirk of its own, for better or for worse, and so I could not see the unfused part for the trees. The unfused part does not really have a name, let alone a name that they emblazon on everything they touch (seriously, what excessively fragile ego needs to overcompensate in that way? Oh yeah.). I think I wrote recently about how some of the things that I do are just too much like those of the unfused part for me not to misattribute like with like. “There is no system, but thinking makes it so,” so I and I (not the Rastafarian one, obviously) are just me being me.

[This post is touching on something meaningful, apparently. I have lost the thread so many times, and this has been going on for hours. When I am distracted this strongly, I know there is something amnesia would prefer I never know.]

So, there is a vast difference between the system of the unfused part, and the system of Angela. And of the boys. [This is getting more confusing and complicated.]

I forget the boys, except as an entry on a list. “A part more honour’d in the forgetting than the observance” (to observe a recent element of what I laughingly call a thread).

The boys are like the unfused part, except where the unfused part is nearly omnipresent, the boys are nearly not (“impresent?”). I feel no real distinction between the boys and me, but mostly because their past does not conflict with “my” past. Except when their past directly conflicts with my own. But since the events that conflict with my past also conflict with their own, this is not a real problem. Unless I want to understand their past, in which case, it is a very real conflict.

What I have of a past from the unfused part is either tangible creations left in their wake, or second-hand anecdotes. Since people feel it is unnecessary to tell these stories to their main character, I likely know less than a fraction of the whole, and certainly not with the understanding of someone who was there in person at the time. Since I only relatively recently learned of the unfused part, I made no point of cataloging the stories. I just assumed I had a terrible memory and I wished I would pay better attention to the things I say.

We are one system. I have no need for the complication of subsystems. We are one system, but there are strong differences in the interpretations and experiences of systemhood, from part to part.

[There is something here, but I have no idea what that something could be. I know I have written many of these words before, and I will likely write them again.]

#did #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative amnesia

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dankovskaya · 2 years ago

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Compassionately read moreing this yet unnamed twi'lek oc ramble I am using to avoid screaming in my house rn literally don't click on it unless you love words so so much

Anyway basically it's turning out way easier than I actually expected it to be to have this character I am conceptualizing and Maul manage to associate with each other frequently and closely during the clone wars and without it even being purely strategic and otherwise reluctant I mean. "They" definitely would have severe reservations with working together with a Sith especially when up to this point their philosophy in that regard has been "we need to cut their fucking heads off" but the clone wars overall is sort of an enworsening period for them and a "I don't actually give a fuck what the order says that much and they do not have the final say on what is and isn't morally acceptable" perspective shift era so like. If allying themselves with a FORMERRR Sith is what it takes to arrange for much needed aid on Ryloth they're going to be willing to go that far even if it requires having some part in his dumbass power plays and revenge fantasies in order for him to agree to it AND even if it ends up with them getting branded as 5x the traitor for being rumored or known to be working with Maul.

And Maul obviously has been shown to straight up not actually give a single shit about any of the actual resources that he has and what is done with them he's very practical about it and knows that it's necessary to maintain his position without feeling any sort of material greed over it all so he'd absolutely be willing to give their beloved Ryloth the support they are so desperate to find for it IN EXCHANGE for Become my apprentice. No. Become my apprentice. No. Become my apprentice. I said no. You will. No I won't kill yourself. All in due time...take part in my evil schemes. Fucking fine. But like really he so clearly believes if he finds someone else willing to Embrace the Dark and can train them up to his level he will be able to beat Sidious and take his place and overcome his humiliations once and for all that I feel like it really would not take much for him to entertain their demands and he is so borderline delusionally self assured that I just know he'd be certain that his male manipulator tactics will wear them down eventually (especially since it's not like they're outright trying to kill him or foil his plans otherwise.) Which they literally won't but like good luck telling him that.

Anyway I also not even necessarily intentionally gave them enough shit in common (and Maul is very clearly willing to at least broadly recount his tragic backstory) that even with their natural severe distrust and dislike for him I can also rationalize them having SOME sympathy in their too even if it doesn't materially change how they interact with him or anything lmao. Like not insignificant to their interactions would be the fact that they both come from a people that have been historically enslaved and were both I guess deprived of their own cultural identities by virtue of being taken away from their families as tiny babies and having no living relatives anymore (well savage might still be around at first but still) and I guess. Recent invasion of home planets? NOT that I think Maul would particularly care abt how that affects them or even like give a fraction of a shit about the nightsisters getting massacred Lmfao but I do definitely think he would lean into anything they happen to have in common with like. "Look how similar we are. Become evil NOW." intentions.

And also literally from the second they're caught even breathing in his direction its over for them there's no going back to "Jedihood" and they'd be essentially stuck with him (I mean look how crazy they went over Ahsoka without any real evidence) lmao BUT I feel like the inevitable appeals from any fellow Jedi they would happen to encounter asking them How They Could've Possibly Betrayed The Order And Fallen To The Dark Side (they didn't) And Become Maul's New Apprentice (ABSOLUTELY fucking didnt) would piss them off so bad that they wouldn't even care like Fuck you guys y'all have no idea what the fuck I got going on and you know what Maul actually makes sense sometimes . WHO said that.

#sw #I was abt to be like um i should tag tbis but then i remembered i literally can't cause I haven't even named the fucking character yet 💀

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incaseyouwanttoreadme · 2 years ago

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In case you want to read me

I am a mess. What is going on with me? I know something is not right, even my body feels different. Since when my life got so difficult? Since when I convinced myself that I wasn't capable of exploiting my potential? I remember in my childhood when I was a kid, I was a capable and determined girl. Unstoppable. Not even the overprotective father I have was able to deal with my spirit. I was untamable. And now? In what have I turned into? When did it happen and why? More than finding the cause of my disgrace what breaks me the most is that I suspect there's no turning back. That little girl that I was is now gone. I lost her. Now, I wander through the world shifting accordingly to the situation or the person that is in front of me. That's not me. I miss you. I lost myself. I could never imagine such a thing to be possible and even if it was, never I thought it would happen to me. So much chaos and destruction your departure left behind little girl. An insatiable ocean of overthinking that steals my peace and it's ridiculous because I related overthinking with perfection but this clearly does more harm than good. I know everything but nothing at the same time. Doubt, anxiety, a vicious circle that threats to dominate me everyday. There's no peace. I don't know how to fight this mental battle that wears me out and exhausts me. Somedays I am perfectly fine, somedays I am not. I feel like I don't belong. I miss so much having my own place. A place where I could by myself with my emotions and cry for days if I needed to. Nonchalant of the world outside that expects so much from me. I'm not crazy, I'm just lost. A place where I could express myself freely with my own personal touch. My safe space. I feel vulnerable and exposed as if I cannot heal at my own rhythm. It's like everything is against me. My job that comes with many responsibilities and demands so much of me, the food I eat is poison charged with chemicals that just makes me feel worse, no love partner and that is a good thing since I believe no one deserves this version of me, no money but many debts, my health obviously declining in result from my spirit suffering, my goals looking further and further throwing away all my effort and putting at risk ,betting and losing in this what we call life. Feeling like I don't want to do nothing but hug my bed and stay right there for days as if it would give me an instant cure that I seek so badly. So much work comes to fix oneself and I understand exactly what I have to do . At the end , the body talks and you know exactly what it needs. But it's easier preaching than doing. So much potential going to waste only because I can't seem to find the strength to exploit it. Sometimes I feel stupid around people. If only they knew that the person the "know" is only a small, very tiny fraction of me or better say "who I was". I'm going through life admiring the people around me that are able to go through their day as if it was simple instinct and do not allow negative talk to affect their essence. At best, that's how it is. That's what I would like to think or probably they just hide it as good as me.

---------

For the reader: I am not the best at writing in my second language (my first language is Spanish and I wrote this personal letter to myself in Spanish) I am conscious that this is just a phase in my life. I am human and a very sensitive one. I have an amazing support system and I am not alone. But your mind is a powerful tool that plays tricks on us and since this is new to me I'm doing my best everyday to master it and overcome it.

I just wanted to share this message because I am surrounded by a lot of positivity but I have found that sometimes reading or listening to a not so positive message can bring a lot of healing and perspective. Overall, that's life. Positive/Negative. Electron /Photon. Yin and Yang.

The trick is in the balance.

#letter to myself #my diary

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linuxlife · 1 year ago

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Linux Life Episode 82

Hello ladies and gentlemen. Yes the return of the Linux blog written by me. don’t know whether that’s a good thing but here we are.

I admit its been a long time since my last episode that’s because I went an absolute age without Linux in any machines for quite a while. In the last episode I admitted I had just installed EndeavourOS Cassini Nova R2 (Arch-based) in my Dell i7 laptop (Mangelwurzel)

Now I have been running it for several months and I admit continues to work well. I admit i am not trying to play Windows games on it as the Quadro K3100 is not supported buy the current Nvidia drivers. However running just the nouveau drivers allows me to do anything else providing you don’t need Vulkan.

Which I only use Vulkan when I was using Lutris to play games such as Path of Exile. That can’t be done with the nouveau driver. Apparently there is a version of the Nouveau setup called NVK coming which will allow Vulkan to work but as of yet its in very early beta stages and my card is not even on the list for support just yet.

Mind you considering the guy who maintained Nouveau for the last 10 years has just left the Linux industry I don’t know when any new updates to the nouveau project will even be. I assume its a team of people I doubt one man alone is writing such.

However I have been using EndeavourOS as my daily driver and it has been no problems whatsoever. Even the internet which used to keep dropping out they seem to be using a broadcom wl driver that works fine and is updated and moved every time the kernel gets updated.

So to be honest it can web browse, I can do email, word process, emulate stuff, even video edit and more if I felt like it so to be honest at the moment I can’t complain regarding how well it is working.

As for playing modern Windows games well I don’t really do that any more so not going to lose much sleep there. To be honest when I had my i7 desktop with the Nvidia 1030 I only did it to prove it worked. Sadly that machine is long gone.

So as Mangelwurzel is working well and I have no major complaints what else have I be doing in the meantime.

Well I had been using an Apple iBook G4 to start writing a book as it was a lot less distracting of a machine. However the guy who attempted repair it before I rescued it made a right hash and removed most of the screws in the machine.

So the hard drive would move on a regular basis if you moved it across the desk. Sometimes it wouldn’t start until you reconnected the pins which had moved a fraction of a millimetre.

So I had to lift the keyboard panel regularly. All was fine until one day the keyboard came undone then I had to put it back in. It was a fiddle. Then the power connector on the board came out of its socket.

I managed to get everything back in or so I thought. But moving the keyboard had now unseated the wireless card. I struggled to get that back in but when I put it back together the power connector came out but this time it took the actual socket connector with it from the board.

Guess what now the machine won’t power up. So I took out the hard drive and the iBook G4 is now dead as the connector is tiny and will require soldering I know I am not capable of.

Obviously I was not amused by this but I did happen to have a USB 2.0 to IDE adaptor which has a side for 2.5” drives.

So I connected the drive up to Mangelwurzel and using qemu-img which is one of the tools of QEMU. I set about copying the image to my i7 hard drive. I had enough space as it was only an 80Gb HDD (Yes my Hard drive was called Braeburn it’s an Apple) and I had 150GB space on the SSD.

When I did it I really didn’t think it would work. It sat there doing nothing at the command line. No percentage meter no nothing but when I looked at the file in caja it was going up slowly so I left it to get on with it.

Four and a half hours later the files had copied to the hard drive and it was done.

OK so now I had this copy of this hard drive but no Mac OS X to run it on. So using QEMU (a Level 1 VM hypervisor) basically it can create a virtual G4 machine and run Mac OS X 10.4.11 which was on the old hard drive.

It took a few attempts at getting the right QEMU commands but sure enough I managed to get QEMU running Mac OS X using the image of the hard drive i had made. It can connect to the internet and run everything i had installed including the Mac OS 9 Classic stuff on there.

I was impressed and because it was a direct conversion I didn’t have to change passwords or anything as it was the ones from the hard drive.

Amazing stuff I had saved the drive and its contents and it was usable. However QEMU unless you use it a certain way doesn’t supply sound for G4 emulation in the basic version.

Nope for that you need the Screamer version luckily there is a QEMU Screamer build in the AUR but it’s not as recent as QEMU standard.

So after a bit of fighting with QEMU commands as sound is a bit odd the way they do it. So I now have two boot scripts one without sound and one with.

Sound sort of works it crackles and slows things down a little but it does work. Its not perfect but considering its an i7 on Linux running Mac OS X 10.4.11 as a G4 using my hard drive image.

That in itself is quite amazing I can’t complain.

Having just completed that I was given a Raspberry Pi 4B (2 GB model) to play with. Now I have played with Pi machines before.

Last time I was messing around with a Pi 3B and a Pi 4B (4GB Model) and I remember playing with thongs like Twister OS, RiscOS, and having to build a micro SD a certain way to get EndeavourOS to work.

However I had to give them back to their owner so it has been a while since I have played with a Raspberry Pi.

So now I have the current 2GB model which obviously is a not got as much memory since the last Pi 4B I used.

Well I knew who owned it last so I had to set up a new download of the OS. If anyone is aware that the Raspberry Pi Foundation has announced to new Pi 5 which is twice as fast as the 4B apparently.

As I don’t have one for testing I can’t say and the likelihood of me getting one any time soon is probably none existent.

However they have updated the Raspbian OS to the latest Debian (Bookworm) which does work with the Pi 4B

I got it down and wrote it to the Micro SD all nice and ready.

Now comes the fun bit. i don’t own a monitor or TV with a HDMI port so now i had to figure how to connect it to the only monitor I still have which an old Belinea 22” monitor (which works fine considering its age).

The previous time i was using a Dell 19” monitor but it had a DVI connection so I had this HDMI to DVI lead which I knew worked as I had used it when I last used the Pi I used previously. Unfortunately the Belinea is VGA connection only… problem.

Also the connection lead I used last time to link the two HDMI leads I had to return so I had to buy a coupling link to connect the two leads together. So as I was buying leads I decided to buy a connector lead which now had a Female DVI to Male VGA creating on hell of a stupid Frankenstein type lead

So the lead is now Micro HDMI to HDMI - Coupling link - HDMI to DVI Male - DVI Female to Male VGA. Strangely enough this stupid lead didn’t work.

After a lot of failing I ordered a Female HDMI to Male VGA adapter making the cable be much shorter and it actually works. Tada… however don’t ask me to remove the adapter from the monitor as it was a bitch to screw in and I am not taking it off in any hurry.

OK now I have a working screen connection lets test some software.

New RaspianOS being a recent version of Debian (Bookworm) it is using Wayland as a compositor rather than the old X11 setup. which I am sure on the Pi 5 works wonderfully or an 8GB Pi 4B. On the 2Gb model it works but runs like treacle.

So slow it was painful to watch. After about a hour of faffing I gave up and reinserted the MicroSD to my i7 and installed EndeavourOS which strangely enough is based on the same Cassini Nova R2 build as the i7 but ARM.

I set it to run and it kept dropping out due to not being able to find a mirror. Quick edit to use the London mirror which was hashed out once put back in the installer worked.

Now lets be straight here it was not fast and jumped in stages so many a time I thought it had given up for it to suddenly jump to the next stage. It took about 3 attempts but now I have a working edition of EndeavourOS working on the Pi4.

It still uses X11 instead of Wayland but it seems to work fine. It is never going to win Olympic medals as the 2GB model is the inferior one. However I was able to watch YouTube admittedly at 360p and 480p respectively but it works fine.

The ironic factor is the Micro SD is 16Gb then i found an unused 32Gb one but I am damned if I am going through that again in a hurry. Basically when it installs it extends to ensure the full space is used meaning I would have more space for installing programs etc.. Oh well I may get around to it but not for a little while.

So far I have installed Libre Office and Focuswriter. I installed a few emulators after all isn’t that what the Pi is famous for…

Well lets say Dosbox I ran MAME 0.37b5 with full romset as I have them and running Mr Do. not an immensely taxing ROM it achieved 3.57 frames per second and was rather choppy

At that point I tried installing a few things only to discover they were not available for the aarch64 version such as Hedgewars or TuxRacer.

I didn’t try TwisterOS as it looks like it hasn’t updated since I last looked at it neither has RiscOS.

So EndeavourOS is now working on both my i7 and the Pi 4B. It seems Debian just doesn’t like me.

Off to find an arcade image to stick on that 32GB Micro SD but I will report on that next time as I think this has gone on long enough.

Until next time when ever that may be… Take care.

#linux life #emulation #waffle #dell m6800 laptop #linux endeavouros #raspberry pi 4B

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whyissupernaturaltrending · 4 years ago

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March 17, 2021 - Supernatural continues to trend after yesterday's events, but now the Saileen wedding is taking over and keeping the tag up.

In the morning, Supernatural trended because of the chaos caused by Misha's cameos and the Twitter’s descriptions (here). A short recap of the events can be found in my previous post and here. The cameos are described here in detail.

But let's forget about the celebrities. The main reason for today's trending is the fact that a large part of the fandom is celebrating Sam Winchester and Eileen Leahy's wedding. Congrats to the newlyweds!

First things first, the fandom has been sharing links and donating to organizations supporting Deaf and hard of hearing people in honor of Eileen, who’s Deaf and one of the most badass hunters in the show. One list can be found here, but there are other lists circulating as well.

No one's sure when and how they got engaged, but it was most likely in the middle of a fight with monsters/ghosts/demons during a hunt. The bachelorette party was a blast and wild, the bachelor party ended up with at least one person injured or under some nasty spell (Sam and Cas should never be left unsupervised).

And now the wedding. It takes place on St Patrick’s Day, as the bride is Irish. She looks like the girlboss she is, absolutely rocking her wedding suit/dress (with pockets). Sam does NOT wear white (when Lucifer was possessing him in 5x04, he was wearing a white suit, so Dean, without getting into details, asked his brother to wear a different color). There’s a lot of green and purple. Sam’s vows are in ASL, he starts with ‘so get this,’ and he might or might not have ended them with 'fuck you', as this had been the first thing he’d signed to Eileen during their first meeting instead of 'thank you' (she tried to stab him though, so it’s all good; plus she’s super chill). He also takes Eileen's last name - Leahy. Eileen dips Sam during the ‘you can kiss the groom’ moment.

The party is great and at one point a shapeshifter crashes it. It's a mistake, but before everyone realizes it happened, a lot of shenanigans ensue. You can find some memes here and here (so far without IDs). Jack is the flower girl and he loves weddings, so much so that the next ones are being planned. Rowena is the best dressed guest again and she mercilessly flirts with both the bride and the groom. The first dance is possibly a Celine Dion song (bass-heavy) and they dance barefoot. Mildred Baker is present and everyone absolutely loves her. The party’s not over yet, so a lot more can happen.

#it's obviously just a tiny fraction of what's happening. there's much more going on if you go into the trending tag #if the tag keeps trending tomorrow then i'll probably add more info and new hivemind headcanons to the tomorrow's post but that's it for no #just one thing - if you don't participate in the event that's valid! if you participate - it's valid too!#honestly. let's just vibe #why is supernatural trending #saileen wedding #sameileen wedding #saileen #eileen leahy #sam winchester

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dailytatsu · 3 years ago

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Heya! Can I request an Aether/Lumine & reader?

So reader is basically an immortal half-elf who've lived for centuries and a well refined fighter. Well at the beginning even tho they volunteered to tag along on traveler's journey to find their sibling, reader is rather obnoxious and a lazy-dork who only help when actually needed. But as the journey continues, they began to act like traveler's bodyguard after witnessing (archon quest spoiler!) traveler almost getting killed by the Shogun? And maybe random shenanigans happen between them (ft.Paimon). I don't mind if you do either Aether or Lumine if you feel pressured 🙏

Hi! This kind are my favorites! Tysm for requesting! (๑>◡<๑)

I did this with Aether since he is my favorite is who I chose, and I feel more comfortable writing with guys than with girls.

I know they have some different personalities but I can help but see Lumine as the all mighty abyss princess.

Hope you enjoy!

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Aether & Half-elf! Reader

GN! Reader

Inazuma Archon Quest Spoilers!

Request are open; sorry for any mistakes!

Genshin Impact Masterlist

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Aether always thought that immortality brought with it wisdom, beings who live for much longer than an ordinary human tend to gain an understanding of life and changes in the world after years of appreciating the passing of the ages.

But when he met you he couldn't help but feel that all his beliefs were based on fiction and old rumors from other worlds. You were anything but wise, not even his first choice to be the voice of reason.

Even Paimon takes her role as his guide seriously.

But what was so wrong about you that get him on his nerves all the time? And most important, why does is he still dealing with you?

To be fair, maybe he was waiting a little too much from you. After all, he always forget that you still have half of a human’s nature.

“Mmh? What are you doing?” You asked Aether the first time he removed your hair from your ears to see if they were pointy. They were, and Paimon yelled kind of a objection when she realize she had to pay for losing their bet.

Not a human, not a elf, but a hybrid between them.

The first encounter was really something he would never forget. Rumors about treasures and requests from the guild made them follow some clues to find a cave that was marked as lost, impossible to enter and explore.

But “impossible” is a word that doesn’t exist their vocabulary. Yet is common that regretting comes along when you’re that bold and risky.

At the very end of that strange cave there wasn’t a treasure waiting, not even a new clue to keep going with the mystery. Instead, was a humanoid silhouette, they seemed to be meditating, not showing a single interest in their voices neither getting nervous because of Aether and Paimon taking some steps forward to have a better look.

But they were breathing, and both could see the pupils moving slightly under their eyelids. Eyebrows twitching now and then, like they were having a nightmare, one of which they couldn’t wake up.

Paimon encouraged him to get even closer to shake that person's shoulder, while she was hiding behind some rocks, obviously.

Aether summoned his sword and then he approached slowly until touching them with his fingertips, waiting for some kind of jumpscare.

The stranger raised their arm, carefully but also in a robotic way. Their fingers were tense, as much that it was painful just looking at them. Like a quiet call, like a order that couldn’t be heard, from the pile of rocks where Paimon was hiding something emerge, breaking through the stone and letting a rusty polearm to be seen.

Their fingers closed around the weapon, bringing them back to reality.

“Master and weapon, reunited again, rise so the world can meet their end!”

Or at least that's what he would have preferred to find. A servant guarding a lost relic, a soulless body moving by a curse, perhaps even a fate that death could not prevent.

But instead it was something really underwhelming, something that broke the mystical and strange atmosphere. That person opened their eyes, annoyed by the light of the torches and disoriented by the situation.

With their body in pain and numb at the same time, how long have they slept in that position?

The first thing they did after waking up was sneezing.

‘So much dust…’

Never accepting missions for exploring legendary caves ever again. Nope. Negative. He refuse to.

What if they find another (Y/N)? Thanks, but no. One is more than enough.

“So what you mean is that your parents' families exiled you and locked you up in the cave for being an ‘abomination’ to both species?” Paimon confirmed once the three of you were back in the surface again. Her hands moving side to side to explain -in a very expressive way- everything you told them.

“It seems that we found the remains of an ancient race that used to exist in Teyvat.” Aether said, still surprised by the way you roamed to feel the wood of the trees and the grass under your bare feet. Kind of heartbreaking.

“Like the boar we found with Xiangling!”

He wasn’t sure if it was okay to compare both encounters but he could see her point.

“… ‘Wait for us’, they told me, ‘think about your existence and find the answer to why your conception is not the atrocity that everyone says you are. May their words not reach you, because we have long ears to hear the words of the gods and not the ones of those who defile earth’… ” You pronounced after decades of not needing to use the language you were taught, with one hand on your chin and eyes closed to concentrate. All you had left was the few memories you preserved inside your mind and heart.

“With ‘they’ you mean your parents?”

You nodded.

“And what happened next?… ” Asked back the tiny companion of the blond guy that rescued you.

“I got bored and I fell asleep.” You admitted, carefree about it, shrugging your shoulders and sighing.

A total waste of your youth.

“Eh!? Then you didn’t thought about those things? That sounded important!” Paimon seemed disappointed for your answer, while Aether held his forehead, without having a clue of how he was supposed to react.

That was the day you joined their party! New team member, (Y/N) strikes in!

Or something like that,,

“H-Hey! We could use a hand over here!… woah!” The little white girl scold you but from your high sit on the top of a big rock only a exaggerated yawning can be heard. Paimon crossed her arms to almost immediately duck down to dodge a fire bullet from the Fatui. Aether didn’t say anything, he was concentrated fighting.

“Oh, yeah… You’re doing great. Go, Aether, go…”

“Was that supposed to be a cheering?!”

“Hey, calm down” You said “He doesn’t need my help. Just take a look, he’s an adventurer. If I meddle it will be really boring for him.”

“Hmp! Now Paimon believes that you were lying when you said that you were a well refined fighter!” She was floating around you, ignoring the battle of his blond friend. Like a pesky bee, the only thing you did was avoiding her furious gaze. “Don’t ignore Paimon! How can you not hear with those ears!? That’s it! Paimon will give you a ugly nickname!”

“What about ‘extinct deaf elf-der’?”

“Yeah, that’s a good one!” She agreed immediately, then she shook her head, pointing at you like a guilty criminal. “Wait, Paimon doesn’t need your suggestions!”

When the last Fatui was defeated Aether turned back to face both of you, sighing because of the new arguing between you two. His sword disappeared and some steps were took to get closer.

Your eyes met each other, a slight smile in your face after looking him safe and sound. So confident but so unaware of the remain danger hiding. Your expression became a surprised one, then your gaze sharped like a killer sight.

You left Paimon on top of the rock when you jumped down, summoning your own weapon you ran straight to where Aether was. The traveler panicked just a fraction of second before loosing sight of you.

Next thing they know was that a you were behind him, facing at the nothing with a defensive pose, just a second of silence before a impact could be heard. Some dirt and dust was lift as the pair of Fatui Pyro Agents became visible again. They stayed there, defeated in one hit.

“Like I said. It would be pretty boring if I meddle...” Aether and Paimon were shocked, none of them felt their presence, not even the heat of the pyro delusion. Your weapon disappeared in the air, and your hands rested on your waist. “Dear Seven, that was intense.” Looking at your friends you sighed, with the laziness on your body language. “It was my turn to cook dinner, right? What a pain having to eat again… ”

Acting that relaxed after that really made them went Ô_Ô and Ö

A silent speech, where devotion and gratitude are the best topics of conversation. The message that is heard even if there’s no words in between. Just a exchange of gazes. Little signs of affection that are shown when it’s necessary.

Your family was gone. No clues about their whereabouts could’ve found in that cave of where you came. Not even the skeletons of a couple holding their hands and petrified in a sobbing position. Not even ashes.

When you have been thinking about the most unimportant things in the universe for so long you can deal with the lost faster than anyone else. Getting the idea of no remain evidence of your parents and feeling that it wasn’t that heartbreaking.

Maybe because you gained a new family almost immediately.

Still you could empathize with Aether, he still had his precious memories with his sister, still remember her face and her voice. And most important was that he knew that she was still roaming Teyvat, waiting for him.

Even if they leave behind Paimon and you at the end of the trip.

Or even if they just leave you behind.

‘I’m okay with that.’

You thought, stroking Paimon’s hair when her head found a comfortable place to rest in your lap. You thought, moving your shoulder so Aether wouldn’t have neck pain. Both sleeping peacefully and you staying awake night by night.

You’ve slept enough, for so long besides.

Somehow the flames of the campfire are warmer now that you have someone to look how the fire dance in the night.

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“I see, so you were serious when you told me that your companion was a mystical extinct creature, weren’t you?” Albedo’s hand went up to hold his chin, analyzing you from distance.

“They are half of it, actually.” Aether answered back, notice how Sucrose was asking you permission to check your features. The sparkle in her eyes made you accept her petition after feeling with the back against the wall.

“Your ears are like mine! Look, look!” Klee pulled your shirt, then she pointed at the side of her head.

“… Still the shape of both are quite different, the length too.”

Years of isolation really are hitting hard right now. You felt overwhelmed and somehow shy when Sucrose hold your face to have a better look.

You follow the traveler to everywhere, no matter the place, you were there. Like a shadow, sometimes just a spectator, other times like an actual active team member.

“Who would’ve tell that our Honorary Knight also has his own knight watching his back.” Kaeya’s voice has that joke but charming tone, as always.

Day after day, it’s the same, everyone talking you through Aether. Like some kind of translator.

“More like a human shield.” Your hand landed on top of Aether’s head, not agreeing with his explanation.

Bonk.

“I guess everything’s better than being Emergency Food.”

“Hey!”

“Haha! You three are quite a team, aren’t you?”

Of course you were. Mondstadt, Liyue, you name it. You could assure that every place in this two nations have at least one story about the team.

You knew that the most brave and magnificent outlander in Teyvat didn’t need a guardian, he can defend himself (somehow even if he’s still using that dull blade).

Bodyguarding also sounds like such a hassle…

You only provide a last resource help when was needed, sometimes also helping with some puzzles and mysteries.

The long eared people was known to be wise and smart people that searched for the full comprehension of the world. Also such a nerds and fans of knowledge. So, even if you considered yourself dumb, in your blood was the instinct of looking for the truth, and sometimes that impulse could be really annoying.

You were always near enough to reach him. Pulling his scarf from behind to move him away from danger. Countering after he gets hit.

Always in a place where you could reach him.

You just needed to extend your arm and you would catch Aether. It was always like this. Always with you jumping in the middle of the crossfire to shield them if it was necessary.

It’s always like this.

Until the day you three set a foot in Inazuma’s land. And a bad feeling of a imminent catastrophe made your shiver.

A new nation, a new problem to solve. But a war? Boldness and stupidity sometimes looks like the same thing, but no matter how many times you repeat this to Aether, he would still ran into problems.

And you would follow him, until your debt is paid, until his travel is done.

It used to be like this.

But then you failed him after being unable to move because of the fear that paralyzed your body. The day Aether faced Shogun Raiden in the ceremony. The day you heard the broken voice of a god inside the Shogun you also fell apart. It was painful, cruel, a void of anger and sadness.

Jumping into danger, without you behind.

You tried to ran between the goddess and your savior, you tried to get closer to at least be useful one last time as the shield you promised to be.

You tried.

But, for the first time, your hand didn’t reach him.

The void of despair and darkness that could be heard inside the Shogun devoured him.

The tears of panic and fear in Paimon’s eyes. The way the Shogun lifted her sword to end his life. The way you were paralyzed because of her presence, forced to be part of the crowd and presence his execution.

That day your facade of laziness faded away, the real feeling of being a knight burnt along your proud. It was so annoying, it was so unnecessary, but still you couldn’t ignore it.

“Are you… are you sure that you’re okay? We don’t have to find the Sangonomiya resistance today. If you need to rest then-” Your hands were shaking when you placed them in Aether’s shoulders, holding yourself for tearing up.

“We have to keep going. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides, if we stay near Inazuma this night they could find us! Paimon won’t be able to sleep like that!” Your mouth opened to counter their arguments, but not a single word dared to go against Aether’s plans.

They could see it in your face. The worry, the remains of shock and fear, the guilty.

“Don’t try to look strong then. If you get tired, tell us. I can carry you in my back.” Even if you were offering help your voice was serious, so cold but so hurt at the same time that nor Aether or Paimon knew what to said to bring the old you back.

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“… Aren’t you coming?” You could hear how the door was slid to let him saw you. The lighted spots on Aether’s clothes were purple, just as the lighting that almost end him. Your lips made a concerned and stressed grimace.

The young traveler took a seat next to you, outside the structure, sitting on the wooden steps and looking at the starry sky. The wind was cold but still the soldiers of the resistance were talking normally and the slight feeling of discommodity because of the excessive presence of other people was climbing up your back.

“(Y/N), there’s no need of guard us every night. You also need to sleep.”

“I'm not tired, I think I've gotten enough sleep, at least not to need it until the next century.”

Aether’s expressions went into a sarcastic one, asking if you were serious with just his gaze.

“That’s not how it works.” He said, trying to change the mood. “And if it does, then why are you always snoozing during the day in every chance you get?”

You had the answer to that, but you weren’t sure about telling him.

“Because everything supposed to be boring. Nothing really changed a lot and… looking at the familiar places was depressing.” So easy, so simple, but still enjoying the company, still enjoying the sound of theirs laughs and their own shenanigans. “… Lately, I’ve been thinking that I should not had left the cave. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that you two helped me to be back at the surface, and I really want to help you on your journey, but if you still run into the chaos by own decision I think I could not follow you any longer before being a burden in your adventures.”

Overprotection, an unbreakable shield, frequently avoiding fights, always being pulled back to not be part of the battle. Enemies of the braveness of the traveler.

Worry, panic, an overreaction due to fear of loosing everything again.

‘let me do it’, ‘I got it’, ‘wait here’, ‘don’t get close’.

These day could be described like that.

“So, before I do something worse as an excuse of defend you, please let me find a cave to await. You do what’s is needed and… call me back, or leave me there, anything you think it’s better… ”

You could be pronouncing the words from the very bottom of your heart, but still your face was the same seriousness as the accident almost happened.

And even with that you felt his gloved hand removing the hair that was covering your right ear, revealing how it slightly leaned down, showing sadness unwittingly.

“Hey, cut it out… I’m serious about this… ”

“It doesn’t matter if you think that it’s the best option, you’re still sad about leaving.”

“… That’s cheating.” Removing his hand away from your hair you tried to act indifferent.

“You know the reason why we invited you to came along?”

‘You felt sorry for me.’

“I can’t totally tell the exact reason, but it wasn’t for you to pay us some kind of debt because of saving you.” He crossed his arms, looking at the stars, wondering if his sisters was doing the same. “We don’t need a guardian, we need our friend back. And I know you care about Paimon and me, but still you must enjoy the journey. It’s not fair that you are always aware of every potential danger while we mess around lately.”

An eternal silence, your response is late to appear but somehow Aether can tell that you already have something on your mind.

“Then apologize.”

“… Why?”

“For believing that playing as the hero and jumping to face the Shogun was something you had to do.”

“… but-”

Neither Aether nor you slept that night, the blonde had to listen for hours to all the things that you ever wanted to complain about since you arrived in Inazuma.

You made your position on joining the army of the rebellion very clear, you had no intention of fighting to seek "justice" or "peace". Because after all, that fight did not correspond to you, but if he asked you to, you would protect some soldiers or help to guard the barracks, if he asked you to, you wouldn’t complain about it (at least not that much).

Both had enough of each other’s attitude, but it was okay. Because that was what all of you chose in first place.

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peralta-guaranteed · 4 years ago

Note

After that Jake-Mac-Rosa fic, you dropped this queen: 👑 Next time, a Jake-Mac-Holt piece?

Oh dang, THAT's where I left it. Thank you for that. 🤪

Grandpa Holt is always a pleasure to write, but let's try for some Dad Holt too...

"Is everything alright, Peralta?"

Jake has been sitting off to the side of the group for a while now, so Holt finds it necessary to inquire. He's not used to the eager detective being so closed off and quiet unless something is wrong, and nothing he can think of right now strikes him as 'wrong': they have been celebrating the end of a rather arduous case for Diaz and Boyle, and Peralta had been as helpful as he could be as a tertiary, which was not his preferred position at all. The first round at Shaw's had been paid by himself as Captain, obviously, and the next by Diaz, so Boyle has promised to shoulder the third, were it to happen. Ergo Peralta could not be thinking about his usual money problems, which have lessened anyway ever since Santiago took over his budgeting.

That means something else entirely must be 'wrong' in order for Jake to keep out of the conversation, only reply when he is mentioned by name, and drift off to a corner of the bar while the other congregate around the various game options of the room.

"I'm good, Captain, thanks." Jake answers with a smile and an obvious lie, so Holt doesn't even bother replying, just raises one of his eyebrows a quarter of an inch, which he knows usually gets him results with Peralta. The ensuing sigh shows that it is still working.

"It's just..." Jake shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, another tell of his discomfort. "This is my first night out alone since the baby."

"Indeed." Holt replies. "I remember your phone call to Amy to inform her you would be back late today."

"Yeah." His hand is still on his neck, the other one clutched around his half empty beer bottle. "She told me to have fun. But..uh... I still kinda feel like I shouldn't be here."

"Do you think having a child robs you of autonomity? I know I am not speaking from experience, here, but it does seem to me like you are allowed to enjoy time away from your family, especially if your spouse insists you do."

"Getting drunk at a bar while my kid might be crying at home doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do, is all."

"Ah, I see." Holt nods, and he does see - he actually sees a lot more than what Jake might be trying to imply in his statement. He remembers how he used to self-medicate with alcohol in the past, after ending his relationship with that defense attorney, or even before, while feeling heartbroken over Santiago. He also remembers anecdotes about his father's drinking, not from Peralta himself, obviously, but from the rest of the squad, whenever Jake would cancel on a promised night out after Roger Peralta's visits. As much as Holt hates idioms, one of his most despised is probably 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree', and Jake seems to fear it as well.

"Here is my solution, then, if you are willing to listen." Jake looks up at Holt as he's standing in front of him, and his hand drops from his neck. "You make the beer you are currently drinking your last for the night, and spend some quality time with your colleagues instead, enjoying a few parlour games, and then you head home at an agreeable time and still see your child before he falls asleep."

Jake grins and takes a sip of his beer.

"Sounds like a plan, Cap." He nods, and Holt doesn't ignore the fact that Jake has been using this shortened nickname for him a lot lately, and how eerily similar it sounds to 'Dad' in his voice.

(An hour later, he receives a picture on his cellphone from Peralta: The man himself, asleep on his couch, with his infant son equally asleep on his chest. Santiago must have commandeered his phone, and Holt is glad for it.)

-*-

"Grampa!"

The sound of that little voice echoes through the hallway as loudly as the ensuing footsteps, and Holt feels something warm and solid wrap around his legs.

"Hello, McClane." He smiles down at the little boy currently clutching his knees, and he smiles back before raising his arms in an obvious demand to be lifted up. Holt obeys it immediately.

He notices Mac looks surprisingly tired for an otherwise very energetic two year old, and Amy, who's now following him to Holt's side, looks equally exhausted.

"Good afternoon, Captain. I'm so sorry, I should've messaged you that I have to bring Mac in for an hour, the babysitter cancelled and the day care couldn't keep him longer than-"

"It is quite alright, Santiago. McClane knows how to behave himself at the precinct, right?" He gives the little boy in his arms a look, and receives a strong and eager nod in reply, the curls on his head bouncing back and forth. If anyone were ever to question Peralta's parentage, that alone would classify them as an imbecile. "I can watch him for the time being, if you have paperwork you need to get in order before leaving for the day."

"God, Captain Holt, would you- that would be so- I was going to ask Rosa, because I know she's at her desk-"

Amy seems far more frazzled than usual, and Holt realises that her regular schedule must be in quite a disarray, considering she has been a single parent for about a week now. Mac must not have been making it easy for her, either, nor must the baby currently growing in her stomach, which has started to show about a month ago, at which point they finally informed the squad about it (when everyone had already figured it out just like last time).

"RoRo!" Mac yells, happily, almost leaning out of Holt's arms, but he quickly hugs him tighter.

"Your aunt Rosa is working, McClane, and we should not interrupt her. We can spend the time in my office, and you can draw if you would like."

"Roro working." He echoes like a little parrot. "Like Daddy."

"That's right." Holt has learned from the parenting homepages he's visited that you are to encourage a child trying to talk and string together a coherent topic, no matter how long it might take.

"Daddy's working away." Mac continues, and out of the corner of his eye Holt sees Amy's forehead wrinkle in worry.

"Yes, your father is in New Jersey for the week to work on a special case." It's not a dangerous case at all, rather a boring standard task that happened to involve some out-of-state suspects, but Jake had still been trying to hand off that trip to anyone who might be willing to help him out. Seeing his son with bags under his eyes and his wife with stresslines around her mouth and her hand on her belly, Holt understands why.

"He comes back." Mac says next, and it is a statement, but the look in his eyes makes it a question, and Holt is quick to answer. He's glad that he has a definite answer to that, instead of the empty promises and assurances he sometimes has to make as the head of a police department.

"Yes, your father will be back soon. In two days, in fact."

Mac holds up two grubby little fingers, and Holt nods with so much fervor it surprises himself.

"Very good, that is two. Only two days and two nights until your father is back home." The worry in Mac's eyes seems to dimish a little at that as he stares at his own fingers. "If we go to my office, we can check on the calendar exactly how long that is." He barely waits for another nod before taking the diaper bag out of Santiago's hands, who whispers a quiet, but relieved "Thank you" to him. He understands again that it means far more than to thank him for taking care of the child for an hour so.

(If he uses that hour to assure Mac several times that no matter what, his father will always find a way back to him with far more emotion in his voice than he'd usually use, well, no one needs to know. Peralta certainly seems happy about the picture he sends him of Mac with his captain's hat behind his desk.)

-*-

"Congratulations." Holt's hand on his shoulder is heavy, but not uncomfortably so, and it gives a quick squeeze before dropping.

They've done the whole customary introduction to the newborn baby, the apparently necessary picture round, and now Kevin is having an amicable chat with Amy in her hospital bed. They've waited two days for their official visit, to give the new parents a chance to get at least a few of their bearings. (Holt was there merely an hour after the birth, of course, with the rest of the squad, but that was a moment of joyful chaos and many voices.) Now the room is filled with an almost serene quiet, Amy's and Kevin's voices low and comfortable in the background as Holt watches the man he truly considers a son hold up his new granddaughter.

"Do you want to hold her again? I know you already did for the photos but-"

Holt only nods and takes the infant out of his hands with perfect ease. He's more used to a wriggling toddler now, but he still clearly remembers the days when Mac was equally quiet and frail in his arms. The little one in them now is asleep amidst all that is happening, her tiny mouth open just a fraction, and he feels her arm bump against his chest while she seems to be having a dream.

"She is as perfect as her older brother, Jake."

"Yeah." Jake smiles, and there's nothing of that boisterous, loud, cocky detective grin left in it that he used to know. It is soft and kind and full of love, and it might be one of Holt's favourite expressions. "Amy did a superb job again."

"As did you."

"I'm sure I don't gotta explain this to you, Cap, but I didn't really do much." Jake jokes, and Holt can tell he's trying to divert the attention to a simpler topic, but sometimes things must be said.

"You do a lot, Jacob." He continues, then. "Far more than a lot of fathers do. Far more than many would expect of you. And you do it all perfectly right, with heart and determination."

Jake nods, swallowing down a lump in his throat, it seems, and it might be a step too far for his already emotional state, but Holt feels like it needs to accompany his accolades.

"I am very proud of you, son."

Jake is very obviously fighting back tears as he replies.

"Thanks, dad."

The little girl in Holt's arms stirs right at this moment, and Jake seems to want to interject immediately in fear that she'll start crying, but she simply stares up at Holt with impossibly big, brown eyes for the first time. And he realises, just as he did two years ago when Mac's little hand tightened around his finger for the first time, that there is a child in this world that he would literally do anything for. There are four of them now, even if two of them have not fallen under the category of a child for several decades.

"Hello, Maya." He says to the little face that seems to be inspecting him. "I'm Captain Raymond Holt. Your grandfather."

He looks up at Kevin and Amy, who've stopped their conversation while Amy is lifting her phone in their direction, and then at Jake, who's looking at Maya as well with shining eyes. Then he looks back down at Maya, stretching her arms out of her swaddle as if she's reaching for him.

"You are a very lucky little girl."

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #mac peralta #maya peralta #raymond holt #captain dad #my writing #ficlet

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