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mwolf0epsilon · 3 years ago

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There are Monsters on Coruscant

Summary: The natborns thought they were monsters. Funnily enough, the Guard thought the same of them...

Warning: Body Horror, again.

[A follow-up piece to 'A Moment of Genetic Reflection', this time following Dogma as he navigates the newfound scrutiny the GAR's commanders are imposing upon the Guard. It's hard to hide one's identity when you're one of the most normal looking members of your crew/family.]

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

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Call him hypocritical but Dogma found all the newfound attention the GAR's commanding officers were giving the Coruscant Guard very self-serving and disingenuous. This coming from a clone who had all but following a wannabe Dar'jetii who fit the criteria of these particular adjectives.

His opinion on the matter of whether or not they were just saving-face mattered little, because at least now he didn't have to watch his brothers suffer their silent but painful plight. But no amount of trying to think of this as a positive helped settle the swell of bitterness that filled his gut and made his skin itch with uncomfortable heat.

Nothing could quell the guilt he felt knowing that his position in the guard was one of true privilege. A privilege that should have fallen upon others who held seniority above him.

Who were more deserving.

The Archives were a highly secure and isolated space. A massive storage area that kept both hundreds of servers and multiple filling cabinets that contained everything from paper-trails, to transcripts of senatorial meetings, to yesterday's reports on on-planet criminal activity.

It was the hub of all confidential information that only the Guard, and those higher up hidden in shadows, were privy to.

A buffet of data and blackmail that, if leaked, could make or break the careers and lives of those the chancellor or his lackeys deemed as enemies of the Republic.

The only written account of just how many clones had lived, served and died for nothing on this Force-forsaken planet.

And Dogma was stationed here. Unable to divulge its contents freely. Hyperaware of just how close his own life could come to an end.

And ultimately safe from further contamination...

The Archives's remoteness meant that Dogma had little contact with natborns and, as such, he hadn't changed since the last time his traitorous genetics had decided to rear their ugly head into his miserable life.

He, like the Medics, was a near blank slate in terms of form. If one could ignore the secondary pair of arms he usually had tucked tightly against his sides, or crossed just in front of his abdomen.

Coruscant was full of a myriad of sentient species. Unless you were a medical officer or the archivist, it was only natural that this level of exposure would greatly affect you and your vode. Dogma had watched many of the brothers who'd taken him in succumb to this abysmal curse of theirs.

Some of them he couldn't remember the original face of.

So like his own, yet different. A unique haircut or hair colour, eyes varying in the full set of hues contained within Jango Fett's DNA, scars that carved pathways and told stories, exclusive expressions that just seemed to fit them specifically, the way they moved their bodies so distinctively...

All of it gone with time and continuous mutations. Mutations he didn't suffer through because commander Fox had shown him mercy.

And Dogma resented himself for it.

Because if anyone deserved to not be rendered a genetic abomination, it was his Corrie brothers who'd suffered needlessly this entire time.

The self-hatred and guilt made his secondary pair of arms feel like they had ants buried deep within the skin. Crawling in his veins and stings burning red hot like branding-irons.

There were monsters on Coruscant. But the clones are not the monsters...

Visiting the medbay is always hard after a shift so full of sorting the kinds of information his eyes skimmed through.

A lot of it wasn't important. The big stuff he always carefully catalogued in his mind. The rest is just frivolous complaints and acts of petty violence and vandalism.

He's always a little emotionally drained when he visits. Knows some of his brothers can smell it on him, now that their senses have been turned up to excruciating capacities. The ones that do reach for him, extending their kindness that's contained within gelatinous blobby bodies with loose bones and other appendages that somehow hadn't melted into the mess.

Dogma lets them touch him. Skin to skin contact comforts them. These brothers are afraid that they're too disgusting to be loved anymore, and he himself is afraid he's an unlovable creature. There's a kinship between them that brings them all some semblance of solace.

The ones that don't want to touch or be touched are still going through the worst of the changes. Those he respectfully keeps away from.

Hound had been like that a week prior. His face twisting into something not quite shistavenan not quite bothan... Apparently the Red Guard had come in and forced the K9 Troopers into a room with two prominent criminals of those specific species. The chancellor wanted his kennel personal to look more the part. None of the Guard had the luxury of holding off attribute acquisition. Not like the clones of the GAR.

Dogma never presses the ones still changing. He knows to be respectful of those boundaries. Many a vod had lost fingers to the pained reactions of vode who's bodies were being contorted to fit things that didn't belong on a human frame.

They always felt bad about it. None of them were inherently violent people, although theirs are lives full of nothing but violence and degradation.

The natborns thought they were monsters. Funnily enough, the Guard thought the same of them...

The Isolation Ward was very much like the Archives. The chief medic had been the one to assign the section as the marshal commander's private recuperation chamber.

Solitary confinement was not something a clone was entirely comfortable with, but when Fox suffered flare-ups it was a necessity. Because their ori'vod absorbed genetic traits more readily than any other clone. Being alone for a few hours, while still being relatively close to medical staff who could provide pain relief, was a must to get Fox's body under control once more.

But today he wasn't alone. Today his batchmates and Dogma's old captain were there. And today the marshal commander had called upon Dogma for a very specific task.

"At ease, Rookie..." The words were soft, almost purred out, as the sedatives had long since kicked in. As of right now his commanding officer and ori'vod was pain free by will of the medics.

"Sir." Dogma kept his secondary set of arms crossed behind his back. His upper right arm lowered as he no longer needed to salute, even if all his instincts told him to stay at attention. He nodded at the commanders and captain. "Sirs."

"Rookie, these are commanders Cody of the 212th battalion, Wolffe of the 104th, Bly of the 327th and captain Rex of the 501st." Fox's voice never betrayed that he knew Dogma was fully aware of who these men were. He was nothing if not good at preserving his troopers's anonymity. "This is Rookie, the Guard's Archivist."

The Change had certainly gone through them all. Even through the relatively unaltered commander of the 212th. But Dogma only had eyes for his former captain.

His montrals and lekku had grown since Dogma had last seen him. His skin a more vivid and darker tone rather than the tan earthy hues that all their basic human forms possessed. The white jaig eyes prominent on his forehead. Dogma wondered briefly if Rex would recognise him, if just because of the very last time they'd been in the same room...

The memory of shooting Krell and then doubling over in agony as his secondary set of arms chose that very opportunity to burst out of his sides... It was one he couldn't quite forget.

Stress changing, the medics had called it. Going through a days-worth process because of emotional instability. Potentially deadly.

Dogma had seen it for what it was. A marker that he was no longer a 501st vod. Not when these arms were a leftover of his loyalty to that demagolka...

The Guard was his family now, and he'd never make the same mistake he'd done back when he'd been so sure that he could trust the system he was decanted and raised to serve and protect. Now he protected his family and only his family.

If Rex had an inkling of who might be under the Corrie red and rather uniform armour, he didn't say anything. He seemed to be preoccupied with other more pressing affairs.

"And he can help us?" The captain asked, his fangs had grown too. They were much sharper than commander Tano's from what Dogma could remember of her.

"Yes. Rookie's position gives him access to some rather sensitive information..." Fox explained. "You've been digging around on your own, and you're starting to garner some unwanted attention."

"And he can get us past prying eyes?" commander Cody sounded skeptical.

"He can make it look like you're filing a complaint, rather than sticking your nose where it shouldn't be..." Fox huffed. The jerky movement was enough to jostle the looser folds of his body. He wasn't quite physically strong enough to pull all that excess in like he usually did when he wasn't so debilitated by pain.

Commander Wolffe made he conscious decision to push the drooping mass back onto the cot without making much of a fuss. Dogma was sure his ori'vod appreciated the discretion. None of the severely mutated vode liked to admit that the looseness of their forms could be quite the unsightly inconvenience.

"No one will think much of a damage report." Dogma nodded to his commanding officer. "Say some of your men got into a dispute with some of the Guard over a night of debauchery that went too far? A typical happenstance between the 501st and the Guard, no less..."

The way Rex flared his nostrils in absolute offence was somewhat comical, if it weren't the tragic truth.

"I'll have you know my boys are perfectly civilised!" The attempt at a save was cute. But Dogma knew better. So did his ori'vod.

"Rex'ika... Your boys are a menace to society..." Fox's lips pulled back, exposing far too many teeth. His singular eye decorated by jovial crow's feet. The accompanying snorts of commanders Cody, Bly and Wolffe filled the archivist with smug satisfaction.

"I... Fine... They're a bit unruly." The Togruta-clone sighed in defeat before looked at Dogma once more. "What do I need to do?"

"Send your more troublesome troopers on a well deserved night off. Preferably with some extra credits and no supervision..." Dogma paused to ponder. "On second thought... Send your Lieutenant and your Arc as well. That should make it more of a ruckus..."

"Are they that infamous that you'd know to ask for Jesse and Fives?" Rex frowned.

"As archivist, it's my duty to review the reports that come in."

"Kriffing hells, I need to talk to those two..."

Usually only Rhythm and Olly got to see what the Archives looked like from the inside. The rest of the Guard only knew their exterior. Out of the brothers he'd become close to, those two were the ones he trusted not to mess with anything. Plus they never really came to see the horrible stuff he had to read through. They just came in to talk about nothing and everything, and sometimes share a pint of Corellian Whiskey. They made his job bearable at times.

Having someone with him as he skimmed through all the incriminating sludge that Palpatine thought was cleverly locked away, was certainly not a new experience.

Having that person be his former captain who was reading all of the dirt with barely contained horror, as they pretended to file a formal complaint against a handful of troopers's less than stellar conduct in public, was completely new.

It sure was an oversight to not set up a camera facing the screen of the computer terminal. All of the things they were saying fit with the parameters of a formal complaint.

"And this has been on-going?" The captain of the 501st looks nothing short of disturbed.

"Yes. Unfortunately it's reached a point where the Guard can only do so much..." To anyone who doesn't have enough of a clear picture, it only seems like Rex is disappointed about acts of delinquency on his men's part. In reality he's staring at chat-logs of some rather sketchy conversations between some high ranking members of the Senate. Some of which mention clones at times, in less than savoury ways.

"I have to do something about this..." Rex grumbled.

"I'd recommend bringing it up with the generals. I'm sure they'll know what to do to correct this misdoing..." Dogma leans back in his seat and cracks his upper hands's knuckles. His secondary set of arms reach over to begin to type. He has to keep up appearances.

"You're right... I'll have to inform General Skywalker of this gross misconduct..."

"If you must sir..."

Once he finishes typing up a cover report to hide their tracks, Dogma and Rex leave the Archives together.

The way back to the medbay is quiet, but the archivist can sense his former captain's eyes on him. He's staring at his arms.

"Is there something else I can help you with, sir?" He tries to not let his voice sound shaky. He doesn't like when people stare at his arms.

"....It's just.... You're the second clone I've met who has that particular attribute..." Rex admits. His voice is soft and somewhat sad.

"Ah.... I take it the other worked closely with a besalisk then?" Keeping the resentment out of his voice is also a struggle. Thinking of Krell either made him angry about the unfairness of Umbara or angry at himself. Sometimes both.

"No... Not usually." The captain definitely sounded sad now. "He's gone now, either way... Good man that Dogma. I wish I'd been a better captain to him..."

A better captain? Oh no, Rex had excelled at that. Done the best he could have in the unjust position he'd been put in. What he should have been was a better brother. Because that's what Dogma had needed. His brothers. Who'd turned their backs on him repeatedly...

He clenched all fists as he bitterly thought of the others, always sidelining him because he wasn't... Because he wasn't like them... And yet at the same time, should he blame them? He hadn't been easy to get along with, he knew this... But then why did the Guard not seem to have the same trouble that the 501st had?

The conflicting feelings were confusing.

"I'm sure you did your best..." He says, after he realises he's gone quiet.

"I don't think I'll ever know, to be honest." Rex shook his head in disagreement. "You know, he had a few faults. Faults I myself had when I was a rookie... But he had heart. And enough courage to do what I couldn't. I think that's what bothers me the most. That he's gone now and I'm... Still here..."

"Hm... I suppose that's one way of seeing it." He doesn't like where this talk is going. He doesn't like the idea that his former ori'vod is thinking along these lines. So he asks him something that Fox asked him back when he'd first joined the Guard "Why Rex?"

"Uh?"

"Why is your name Rex?"

They turn a corner and exit the Archives fully. They're in the walls now, headed towards the medbay through passages that only a select few knew of. Its a route he knows by heart now.

Rex seems to be pondering on his question. Dogma waits patiently.

"My hair... I used to have blond hair..." Rex finally speaks up. "Before the Change that is."

"Hm."

"My bathmates and I used to dye it. To hide it." The Togruta-clone continued to explain as he follows Dogma through the hidden passages. "They were scared I'd be singled out by the Kaminiise. But the commanders... Fox was blond too. He used to say we should be proud because we were both crowned like kings."

Fox was only blond now, if he started growing thick fur all over. Mostly he was that bald mess that pooled over a cot in the medbay. But on his better days? Sometimes he could just... Bring forth some of the stuff he'd assimilated into his DNA. Sometimes he could almost look human... But it never lasted. It took too much energy to keep up a solid enough form.

The thought of a young blond cadet comforting another like him... It certainly felt like Dogma's ori'vod.

"I stopped dying it. There was nothing wrong with my hair and my ori'vode made me feel important." Rex smiled sadly. "So it stuck... Rex, the clone with a crown of blond hair... I kind of miss it."

"Then answer me this, sir..." Dogma stopped in his tracks to look at his former captain. "Would a clone named Dogma ask more of a clone named King, who is only so by name?"

"I..."

"And would that clone named Dogma resent the only person of his battalion who seemed cared for him...? Who still thought of him despite him being gone? Despite his faults?"

"...."

"I don't think he would. But what do I know? I'm just the guy who reads reports all day..." Dogma turned around and kept on walking.

He decides he doesn't hate Rex. There are conflicting thoughts and feelings he still has, but he doesn't hate Rex. And that's progress, if he dares say so himself.

They don't talk for the rest of the walk back. Fox is tired, but greets them with a very toothy smile. It's hard for him to make all that many expressions really. Not when his face lacked many vital muscles to pull it properly.

Dogma informs him that Rex's helmet has caught enough footage to justify a visit from the Jetii. Quinlan Vos will very likely be present on Coruscant for the next couple of days. He promises to bring the marshal commander as much caf as he desires, if just to suffer through any questioning that may come his way. They're both sure that the Jedi will take one look at the medbay and at Fox and finally see what's been hiding under their noses.

The evidence is all there for them to pick through. They couldn't have made it more easy on them.

Rex watches Dogma the entire time. Dogma wonders if he knows.

When it's time for the captain and commanders to part, he decides not to say anything. Even if a part of him wishes that his former ori'vod would look at him and see him.

See how far he's come.

But Dogma isn't a 501st vod anymore. He's a Guardsman. The Archivist.

And he's just blown the whistle on every single monster on Coruscant. And hopefully that was enough.

#Eps Writes #Fanfic #Star Wars #The clone wars #species swap au #clone trooper dogma #captain rex #this one's got an ambiguous sort of ending in terms of where it stands emotionally #it's not quite angst #it's not quite comfort either #but the coruscant guard is getting help and the commanders are sussing out what's been going on #luckily they have a very loyal whistleblower on their side...

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herisms · 2 years ago

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@betraial asked: ❛ what’s out there, that you watch so intently ? ❜

the question lightly startled her out of her hyper focused stare, like she’d forgotten he was carrying wood back to camp along with her. her mind had drifted to dinner naturally as they began settling in, a side effect of moving with the dalish for so many years.

warden blackwall pledged himself to the inquisition but two weeks ago, and already he appears to live up to everything she imagined a grey warden would. he’s a steadfast defender, and a passionate one at that. she recalled the intensity of his gaze when he looked at her, past the bandit’s arrow embedded in his shield but was meant for her, when they’d only just met. it was as if saving lives was but a reflex for him.

yet even moreso than a protector, he was kind. his confession that he’d imagined the herald of andraste to be a human was quickly followed by a sheepish apology, one she accepted with suppressed surprise. clan lavellan was never unkind to humans despite the bloody history, but they always warned of their capacity for cruelty (as if she did not know it firsthand). cassandra had been the first human she’d met in over a decade, their meeting coming when merilin was suffering in chains. in contrast, meeting a human who did not condemn her needlessly was refreshing.

he also did not begrudge her for her quiet aloofness, seeming to recognize that it did not come from a place of arrogance or dislike for others. in truth, she had yet to share critical details of her life with anyone in haven, still unsure of how attached she should become to these people, as she still felt like little more than a hostage. he respected the many boundaries she’d put in place, instead opting for non-invasive questions like what her mood was, or how she felt about a current objective. she couldn’t tell if what she said truly mattered to him, or if making her feel included in banter mattered more.

in either case, if his goal all this time was to gain her trust and coax her out of her self-imposed isolation, it was working.

“...i saw boar tracks when we came,” she admitted quietly as she knelt to place the kindling down by the fledgling fire. “if we wanted to preserve our rations, i could try to hunt for one before nightfall.”

her lack of vallaslin brought her less scrutiny as herald than if she’d undergone the rite, something too sacred and ancient for a born andrastian, and for that she was thankful. part of her worried that her association with so-called ‘heathens’ would damn her in a place like the inquisition, so she kept it hidden. she credited her herbal knowledge to ‘studies’ and little more, not the result of padding barefoot through the woods with the keeper’s first, fingers intertwined, learning the elven names for each plant and their properties. no one had questioned her familiarity with a bow and arrow at the conclave when they fought for their lives, and haven’t since then.

“i would only need someone’s help bringing it back to camp.” she pointedly glanced at the tied up lumber being dragged behind him, too heavy for her but weighing little to a man who wielded a broadsword with power and finesse, then back to his face. it was something of an invitation, one she surprised herself by offering with ease.

#betraial #ic.#( she's poking her head out of that lil shell of hers!!! cries )#ic. ( merilin )

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aspenflower17 · 4 years ago

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Finding You (Part 12 of ??)

Hi hi! I’m hoping this update finds you all well and happy. I have a lot more time this coming week to write, so I hope I can get on top of my WIPs and get the next chapter out not late on a Sunday.

Anyways, for his chapter itself, I wanted to try something a bit different. When Mc was composing her song, I had a very particular one in mind, and so when the song comes up, I’m going to put a YouTube link there that you can click on and listen to the song while you’re reading. For people that have problems reading while listening to music, it is all instrumental and you definitely do not have to click the link. I’m just trying to get more across in my fics than I would otherwise :) I will also have a link at the end of the update that will link you to the original scenes where the two parts of the song are from.

I should also note, there might be spoilers in this for people who haven’t read very far in the main story in game.

For anyone who hasn’t read the rest of the updates, here is the link to Part One if you would be so inclined to read :)

Tags!: @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling @oofthelazyweeb (as always, if you would like to be added to the tags list, just comment down below or send me a message about it!)

Satan / F!Mc

Words: 2,404

Trigger warnings: None that I can think of, though if you had a bad experience with the movie the song is from, that could be a problem...

“Sorry to intrude. I just heard your playing and had to find out who was making such gorgeous music,” Satan was leaning against the doorway, a soft smile on his face, “Is that one of your compositions?”

“Oh,” Mc looked down, a little embarrassed, “Yes, but it isn’t finished yet.”

“It’s still beautiful,” Satan said softly, hoping she would allow him to stay.

“Thank you,” Mc answered softly, matching his smile.

Satan cleared this throat and looked down, blushing, “So, how long have you been working on this piece?”

“Honestly, a while now,” Mc sighed slightly, “It’s something I composed in the Celestial Realm, though it never sounded right. It’s only on the piano’s here in the Devildom that it’s sounded… right,” Mc looked up at Satan at that, and he nodded, his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully, “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to get further in the piece.”

Satan cleared his throat, “Well, if you play it again, I may be able to help. I have done some composing before, though not as much as you… Anyways, only if you want to. I would hate to impose…” he was blushing furiously now, wondering why he’d even offered.

“That would actually be lovely,” Mc admitted, her heart fluttering a bit at the prospect, “A fresh perspective might be just what I need.”

“I’d be happy to assist then,” Satan said, walking over to stand behind her.

Mc looked up and smiled at him, “Thank you.”

Satan’s heart stopped for a moment, fragments of memories flying through his mind of Mc looking up and smiling at him. He swallowed thickly, and gestured for her to play, not trusting his voice.

Mc was a bit confused, watching the sadness well up in his eyes. Despite the sudden emotion, she turned and started playing when he gestured. (This song)

Satan was transfixed by the music from the first note, wondering if this was the loneliness Mc had mentioned to him so long ago, put into the notes ringing through the air. If that was the case, he had to wonder why the Celestial Realm had kept her from him. He would have cured her loneliness, no matter what it took. If she had needed companionship, he would have provided it. If she needed kind words, he would have provided it. Absolutely anything she would have needed would have been provided. She would never have had to know such pain.

In that moment, he wondered what would have happened if Mc had come to the Devildom instead of the Celestial Realm. He knew she would have been grabbed from the upcoming souls, if not by him, then one of his brothers, Diavolo or Barbatos, her ties to the realm more to do with love and friendship, not sin and corruption. Assuming she had still wanted him, he would have followed her in wherever she would have wanted to go and helped her accomplish anything she would have wanted to do. If she had wanted to move out of the House of Lamentation, he would have made it happen, and if she never wanted to leave, he would gladly put up with whatever antics his brothers felt they needed to inflict upon him. He would even have put up with their constant flirting if it made her happy. If she had wanted to become a demon, he would have helped her, making sure any adjustment she would have gone through were as quick and painless as possible.

He imagined they would have been happy together, seeing as how his wrath was more contained and muted with her around. She had shown him what love was, helping him realize not only that he loved her but that he did love his brothers and they him, though they all showed it in very weird ways. She had helped him cut through all his self doubt, making him feel less like a monster on a self inflicted leash, a shadow of the power and man that had created him, and more like an individual with his own thoughts and feelings, valid and special in his own right. No one had ever been able to do that for him, and he doubted anyone ever would again.

When the music changed, calm and desolate, he knew this was her loneliness without a doubt. Some part of his brain also recognized she was nearing where she hadn’t composed yet. Without thinking, he sat on her right, watching her practiced hands play. He felt the inspiration for the rest of the song start to well up inside him. He also felt his anger at the situation they now found themselves in burning behind it all as well. They had been happy together before her mortality had ripped them apart. The angels knew this, and yet they had kept her from him, even though she had obviously been suffering. She hid and dealt with it well, her art a testament to that, but she had suffered needlessly. He wanted to let Mc know she was not alone and he would help her. Even if she never fell in love with him again, this was her plea for help and he would not allow it to go unanswered.

The first couple lines he played were just repeats of hers, an attempt at solidarity.

Mc was surprised by his actions, though they spurred her on, the song actually continuing past the point she had composed. She had never actively composed with someone else, and she found the action calming in a way. It was if he could read her mind on what needed to happen in the song.

Satan suddenly started playing furiously, a bit of a call back to earlier in the song, though with more gusto. Mc couldn’t help but watch as he glared a bit at the keys as if they would provide the answers to the rest of the song. She felt inspired, playing the bottom hand as he played the top. She felt more connected to him than she ever had with anyone, the composition coming together better than she would have thought possible. Their hands even touched a couple times, as they fought for use of the keys they knew would help express the magic that was happening.

Mc started a chromatic scale, lost in the moment, adding flair as she went up. She didn’t realize what she was doing until she was at the top of the keyboard, trilling between two notes. She was leaning a bit into Satan, their legs and shoulders touching as she had scooted over on the bench to reach the notes. He was watching her, their faces extremely close. He was smiling softly again.

She pulled back into her own space, a blush dusting her cheeks though she felt happy, “Pardon my enthusiasm.”

Her blush and smile made him feel like he had accomplished something, “I like your enthusiasm,” he said, his voice only coming out in a whisper.

She smiled at him, “Well, I’m glad,” then, “Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you,” she pulled a letter from the air, Satan’s eyebrows raising in interest, “It’s a reply to the one you gave me.”

He took the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket, “Thank you. That was an interesting trick you just did.”

“Oh, I’ve known it for ages now. I left a particularly embarrassing poem out once, and another angel read it out loud in front of a lot of other angels. It’s safe to say I keep all important things hidden now.”

“Glad to know you think this is important,” Satan half teased, making Mc flush slightly.

“I didn’t realize you were such an accomplished piano player,” Mc said, trying to move the conversation in a direction that wouldn’t make her heart race.

“Oh, well, music has been fundamental in helping to develop and understand new emotions,” Satan admitted, knowing Mc was the only person he’d ever openly admit this to.

“New… emotions?” Mc, remembering the conversation between Michael and Diavolo, she tried to keep the intense curiosity from her voice in an effort not to upset Satan or scare him away from the topic.

“Yes. I… How much do you know about my birth?”

“I… I’ve learned more about it since coming here, but I still don’t know a lot,” Mc admitted, trying to keep her voice as nice but neutral as possible.

“Well, I was born from Lucifer’s wrath. In the beginning, all I could feel was anger, though it wasn’t really directed at anyone. I knew why Lucifer was angry but most of that didn’t seem to matter much. Those acts had not been directed at me; why should I care? I was just angry, because that’s all I was. The first time I think I remember feeling anything besides rage was at Lilith’s memorial.

Huh? Who’s Lilith?

“I remember Lucifer sitting at the piano, pouring his grief into the song he was playing. Though I remember music from Lucifer’s memories, it was my first time experiencing it as an individual. The song had been Lilith’s favorite, though the piano’s of the Devildom and the slow tempo Lucifer played it had made what was usually a very happy song into a funeral march. In that moment, watching all my brothers with tears in their eyes, many openly weeping when the song started, I felt a twinge in my heart, and I teared up. I remember wiping them, staring at the liquid on my finger,” he looked down at his hands at that, completely caught up in the memory.

“I thought about that moment a lot. I rolled it around over and over in my head trying to figure out what it was I had experienced. It was at this time that I asked Lucifer to teach me how to play the piano. I thought the key was in the music itself, and I practiced a lot. Lucifer is not a forgiving teacher, so I was constantly striving for perfection, but from my own expectations of myself and his. Still, even as I became a better piano player, I still couldn’t get the emotion I wanted from the instrument, though I didn’t know that’s what I was looking for. It was the most wooden playing you could imagine.

“One day, I was very angry at my inability to play the way I wanted to. I was throwing things around in my room because Lucifer made it very clear I was never to destroy the piano just because I was upset, when Beel decided to look in on me. Most of my brothers, Asmo aside, give me a very wide berth when I’m upset, though I think they do it now more out of respect for my privacy than fear. Anyways, Beel came in and asked me what was wrong. I ended up screaming about how frustrated I was at not being able to play like Lucifer did at Lilith’s memorial. He was a bit confused as to why, and I explained to him that I needed to explore the strange sensation that had made me cry. After a bit more explanation, he smiled sadly and explained that what I had felt was probably either sadness or grief. He then went on to explain the emotion in the most blunt, truthful way I’ve ever heard out of anyone, and I’ve read a lot. It wasn’t flowery or dramatic. It was someone honestly and truthfully expressing how they felt. It was a lot like when someone puts so much emotion into their music and you can’t help but understand them. His words did the same thing for me that Lucifer’s playing had done, and that twinge came back. Experiencing it in the moment allowed me to be able to ask his confirmation on what I was feeling.

“Looking back on the whole encounter, I’m ashamed of how I acted, but I’m glad Beel came in and helped me when he did. It helped me understand myself a bit more, and recognize I can feel things that aren’t anger. Without his help, who knows how long I would’ve been floundering around in the dark. Ah, but you didn’t ask for my personal history. You were just asking about my piano playing,” Satan rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright!” Mc answered, louder and more forcefully than she intended. He looked at her in shock, and it was her turn to act sheepishly, “I just… I’m glad you told me. I feel like I understand you a lot better now.”

“I’m glad,” Satan said, smiling.

“You’re at the piano huh? We were wondering where you’d gone off to,” a voice interrupted, making them both look over, “Lucifer wants you to come back because dinner’s almost done. I’m guessing you should probably head back with us,” the strawberry blonde smiled at Mc.

“Oh, you’re Asmodeus right?” Mc asked, proud of herself for recognizing him.

“Oh, you know who I am darling? Oh, who am I kidding? How could you have not heard about me by now?”

“Right…” Mc laughed a bit uncomfortably, “I also remember you from when you dropped off Satan’s letter to me as a child.”

Asmo’s eyes widened a bit, “Oh, I thought it might be you. I wasn’t sure though.”

“You weren’t sure? You had an idea though,” Satan’s voice was flat as was his expression.

“Oh, Satan, calm down. I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong. You can understand why, right?”

Satan sighed, “I suppose so. I guess it doesn’t really affect anything in the long run.”

“Glad you understand. Now, we really should get back. Are you coming with?” Asmo directed the last part at Mc.

“Sure. I should be joining Luke and Michael anyway,” Mc said, sliding off the left side of the bench, walking towards Asmo. Satan pushed the bench back when she was clear of it, and walked over to Asmo too.

Asmo grinned mischievously, “You know, you two make a cute couple!”

Mc flushed at the comment and looked down.

“Oh no need to be so bashful Satan. I’m only stating the obvious. If you have a problem with it though, I’d be more than happy to steal her away.”

Steal me away? What’s all that about?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi! So, the song I linked above is actually two different songs combined into one. It is from Corpse Bride a claymation film from Tim Burton. From that, you should be able to decide if it’s something you’d like to watch. I do think it was pretty well done and would recommend it.

The beginning is called Victor’s Piano Solo (Scene here) and the second part is The Piano Duet (scene here)

Part Thirteen

#obey me!#OBEY ME #obey me! swd #obey me swd #obey me satan #obey me! satan #obey me mc #obey me! mc #obey me! f!mc #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #corpse bride #the duet scene is just so romantic!#i couldn't help myself #my writing #aspenflower17 #finding you

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iggytheperson · 5 years ago

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Storm of Friendship: When Toxic Masculinity is Prioritized Over Pacifism

I have a lot of thoughts about this particular episode of 02. Let’s start with the baseline of what Daisuke begins the episode believing and what he is to be untaught over the course of it.

Daisuke doesn’t want to hurt Agumon. Full stop. For any reason. The very idea of firing against a companion clearly causes him mental distress. We also see this in Hurricane Touchdown: his immediate response to hearing about Wallace’s plight is to start bawling, the very idea of having to harm a friend is enough to drive him to tears. It’s not that he doesn’t understand that Agumon would remain in Ken’s possession otherwise, he just can’t cope with the idea that injuring their friend would be the lesser evil.

This very reflective of Mimi’s arc in Adventure. She loves her friends deeply and doesn’t want to see them come to harm, and will go as far as refusing to evolve Palmon when danger arises because she doesn’t want her friend to arouse attention from the threat at hand and get obliterated like so many others. Clearly that’s a far more life-or-death situation, but the sentiment is the same: “I cannot bear to watch those I care for come to harm.”

Now, in Adventure, Taichi wasn’t nearly as against this stance, despite the fact that he was well aware that letting her take a break from fighting was a life threat to the team. But in “Storm of Friendship”, it’s quite a different story.

I think Taichi, and to a lesser extent Yamato and Takeru, are very unused to the idea that Daisuke would disobey his idol. Daisuke’s hesitance is directly complained about by Takeru as him “not listening to what Taichi wants” for his partner. Taichi and Yamato are a lot less direct in scolding Daisuke, but their stance is clear: saving Agumon is an act of compassion regardless of how many injuries it causes, and leaving him captured would be to fail him as a friend.

To Taichi and Yamato, having to dole out tough love is just a natural part of the job, it’s a role they fell into on their own. (it’s arguable whether a relationship that escalated into a literal murder attempt is moral to impose onto children as a way to act but that’s another conversation), and Daisuke’s refusal to comply is clearly seen by both of them as cowardice.

Takeru has quite clearly taken his brother and surrogate brother’s life lessons to heart, too, throwing himself recklessly (and needlessly) into harm’s way to try and get Patamon free, and nearly punching Daisuke for hesitating to say he’d do the same. The idea that Daisuke would at all hesitate to throw his life away for someone he only recently met seems to baffle and enrage Takeru. This reflects the very different formative periods they had with the Digital World.

In Adventure, life was cheap, allies would throw it away for the cause to the point of normalizing it, the kid’s lives were always on the line and they were always just a tad too excited about the prospect of a proper meal for us to assume they got to eat every day. Daisuke, inversely, has had a much calmer and arguably much healthier introduction to the war. It’s something he participates in out of the goodness of his heart, not because he’s being held hostage until he saves the universe. Miyako is allowed to take a day off from the front lines when she isn’t feeling great, an idea that wasn’t available and wouldn’t even have occurred to the original crew.

So Daisuke suffers from being surrounded by a group with much different experiences and values than him, a fact extended even to his own partner, who is just as mad as Takeru when Daisuke can’t immediately say he’d die for him. To quote: “Maybe!? You mean definitely, right!?” He’s confused and hurt by what to him seems like a betrayal, but Daisuke’s statement isn’t made out of malice or any lack of love for Veemon. He’s just an eleven year old kid who’s not yet used to the idea of death as a possibility for himself and as something he must protect others from.

This pressure from all typical sources of affirmation culminates about how you’d expect for an insecure child who in this very episode states he doesn’t even know what friendship is. (A quote mirroring Sora, but we’ll get to that)

Now, the digimental flies to him right after this. This is certainly because in his heart right now, he wants to help his friends, but having it happen in tandem with a scream of self-deprecation sends a very bad message: you activated your crest, therefore you have finally understood what Friendship entails.

Daisuke was unable to lift the egg initially because of self doubt, a very common experience of almost every crestholder. Like Sora before him, he assumes that he could not possibly bear a trait that he feels like he hasn’t experienced and has no knowledge of. But unlike Sora’s emotionally positive revelation that she did know all along, this moment teaches Daisuke a much different lesson: That’s right. You are a bad friend for being scared of hurting others.

And the episode ends with not one word in contradiction to this principle.

Like Mimi, violence comes to visit him whether he wants to see it or not, as is the nature of being part of a conflict. But do you think Daisuke’s takeaway was quite as uplifting as “you can win without anyone getting hurt, you just need to create the proper support network within your forces to keep one another safe”? Decidedly not. Daisuke is taught that shying away from violence, not wanting to see your friends come to harm, and other such pacifistic beliefs are cowardly and unfitting of his position as leader. That loving your friends too much to hurt them is to fail them as a friend.

I wonder what kind of leader Daisuke would’ve become, if his perspective was valued, and a solution was found that perhaps kept Agumon under control for a bit longer, but resulted in no unnecessary use of force? I think he’d have been able to stand on his own two feet a lot more, instead of just trying to mirror Taichi the best he can out of fear of “failing” his loved ones again.

#daisuke motomiya #digimon 02 #digimon

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cur10uscr0w · 4 years ago

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Character Analysis: Nahiri

With the return of web fiction, many Magic fans are celebrating the return of their favorite characters to the rich, exciting format that fed the rich boom of Magic fandom such as it was in 2016. Spoilers ahead for Episode 1: In the Heart of the Skyclave.

Read here: https://magic.wizards.com/en/articles/archive/magic-story/episode-1-heart-skyclave-2020-09-02 written by @AtGreenblatt on twitter / atgreenblatt.com

It has been a long time for these characters, both to grow in story, and for the fans to keep up with out of story. Nahiri is an oldwalker, a planeswalker born before the Mending (an event 60 years ago in canon that dramatically changed the Multiverse and those with sparks); Nissa sparked just as the Mending took place; and while Jace is only a human in his mid-twenties, he has lived through some pretty intense experiences that have shaped how he sees the world around him.

Episode 1 of Zendikar Rising begins with Nissa and Nahiri meeting on Zendikar, their shared home, and discussing how Zendikar has been gravely injured by the Eldrazi's presence. Their conversation is a foundation for showing who these planeswalkers are today, revealing how the past has morphed their ideologies and particularly their relationship with guilt and protection.

Both characters view themselves as Zendikar's guardian. This identity is essential to the choices they've made all their life, and it is directly tied to the Eldrazi threat, be it 6000 years ago or just a century ago. Let's look at the beginnings of this self-imposed duty and focus on Nahiri this week.

Nahiri sparked and found herself at Sorin's mercy. Planeswalkers used to be ever more dramatic and dangerous in the old days, godlike in power and territorial of their worlds. There were strict protocols to enter other people's worlds, and intrusions were met with distrust.

"All I see is a tantrum," he said. "If you came to meet an equal, you should have come under truce, following the protocols for parley with a fellow Planeswalker."

Stone and Blood, 2016

"There's no 'we' here, dragon," said Sorin, rising. "There's us, and theres's you. And Zendikar is under her protection."

"Hello to you, too, Sorin of Innistrad," said the dragon. "And on the contrary, when it comes to this problem, 'we' means everyone, everywhere."

He turned his great head toward Nahiri.

"I am Nahiri, guardian of Zendikar," she said. She looked up into the newcomer's inscrutable eyes and tried not to seem afraid. "Whoever you are, you're here at my sufferance."

"Of course," said the dragon, bowing. "Well met, Nahiri of Zendikar, and thank you for your hospitality."

The Lithomancer, 2014

Sorin and Nahiri trained together, and became friends, though Nahiri knew she could not fully trust him. They embarked on fantastic and tragic journeys spanning decades to fight the eldrazi, and in that time, Sorin trained a deep distrust in Nahiri.

"May I have a word with you, Nahiri?"

The clipped, dry voice was right behind her, close enough that she should have heard the man walk up to her, should have felt his breath on her neck. But he walked like a cat, and he drew no breath, and the thought of his lips so close to her throat made her shudder. Vampire.

She'd known he was there anyway—he was walking on bare stone, after all—but he himself had told her not to let anyone know all her tricks. Not even her friends, which wasn't at all sure he was.

She turned to face Sorin Markov—Vampire, fellow Planeswalker, protector of the plane called Innistrad, and the closest thing she had to a friend in this place so far from the world of her birth.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Even so, he was the closest thing she had to a friend. Despite their at times antagonistic friendship, they both appreciated the other and were relieved to see each other was doing well upon their reunion. Nahiri had worried for him, and he was pleased to see her, even dropping his brooding exterior enough to joke and clasp her shoulder.

"You'll have to forgive my rudimentary attempt at shaping stone, young one."

She spun. Sorin!

White hair, black coat, those strange orange eyes. How terrible his aspect, how dire his gaze—and yet she could not keep herself from grinning.

"My friend!" she managed to say at last. "You're alive!"

He smiled back at her, walked toward her, and put his hand on her shoulder. From him, it qualified as elation.

Their time together highlighted her belief in what it meant to be a protector. She saw herself as Zendikar's, and together they tried to protect the Multiverse so the Eldrazi wouldn't harm their home planes. Nahiri views her part in all of this as one who must protect all life. Watching even one settlement suffer on a foreign world causes her heartache, and she strives to instill hope and provide comfort and safety—even in their last minutes.

"You've made their camp for them," said Sorin. "Again. I think it's time we left them to their own efforts."

"No," said Nahiri. "We're here to save them."

"You're here to save them," said Sorin. "I'm here to stop these creatures, on this world, before they spread to others—to mine, or to yours."

Down in the river valley, dark shapes writhed. The sounds of camp life were muted.

"I can't stand to watch them suffer," she said.

"Then turn away," said Sorin, "and look at the bigger picture."

The Lithomancer, 2014

She is ridiculed by Sorin, told by him—and later Ugin—to "think of the bigger picture". Nahiri is 1000 years Sorin's junior, and informed that Ugin is even older than him, and they treat her as a child for her idealistic worldview of preventing all harm, allowing no one to suffer needlessly. She follows their plans however, respecting Sorin's judgement.

He raised a hand and conjured a small, ghostly image of the enormous thing they had seen on the horizon of that doomed world.

"You were watching us," said Nahiri, realization dawning. "And you didn't help."

"There is a whole Multiverse of people to help," said Ugin, "and a multitude of ways to help them. While you were trying to stage a grand battle, I was watching, and learning, so that these creatures can be stopped in the long run. This is a goal the three of us share."

"That's my goal," said Nahiri. "But I question the moral judgment of anyone who views the destruction of an entire world as a research project."

"What have you learned about them?" asked Sorin, ignoring her.

Wonderful. The grown-ups were talking. He had done this to her before, when meeting with other Planeswalkers. But she trusted Sorin's judgment, for the most part. She would hear the dragon out.

The Lithomancer, 2014

When Ugin presents his plan, it is to trap the Eldrazi on a plane that meets the requirements Zendikar does. To find another world would take time, and Nahiri has seen the devastation the Eldrazi wreak.

"Nahiri…" said Sorin, in what she thought of as his aggrieved-parent voice. "You saw what they did to that place. You can keep it from happening again. You heard Ugin. If we succeed, Zendikar survives."

"Risked," said Nahiri. "Damaged. What gives me the right to put everyone here in danger?"

"What gives you the right not to?" asked Ugin. "I am telling you that we can risk one world to save all others. And all worlds, including that one, are already at risk. The choice is obvious."

He lowered his head to look her in the eye.

"If you would prefer not to put your own world in danger, we can take the time to find another plane that meets our needs. If it is defended by a Planeswalker, we convince its guardian to cooperate—By force, if necessary. If it is undefended, we simply begin."

The Lithomancer, 2014

She reluctantly accepts this hardship on behalf of her plane because she believes in Zendikar's strength, and Ugin points out that Zendikar has a protector—her—that can take care of the world while it holds onto the sealed titans. It's the right thing to do, and she acknowledges she couldn't handle the guilt of shoving away the responsibility onto another plane.

They would come here eventually, if they were not stopped. They would come, and when they did, she would not be able to protect her world. And if she trapped them on some other world, to save her own, how would she forgive herself? The air of her beloved home would hold a guilty tang forever.

Zendikar was strong. It could withstand the Eldrazi long enough to trap them. Zendikar would be their prison, Nahiri their jailer, one world and one Planeswalker standing steadfast to protect all others.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Five millenia pass, Nahiri sleeping within the world of Zendikar and keeping vigil over her prisoners. At this point, she has spent nearly all of her existence toiling to keep the Eldrazi at bay so the Multiverse may live in peace. Sorin, Ugin, and she worked together for a few decades setting up the trap, and she had some time with Sorin before that, but she has dedicated 5000 years to holding the Eldrazi for the benefit of the Multiverse because that was the best way to ensure her beloved home Zendikar survived. She still viewed time under the constraints of mortality during the hedrons' construction.

It had taken forty years to establish the hedron network—what had seemed like a lifetime to her then, when she was still immersed in her connections to ordinary mortals. Crafting one single hedron would not take nearly so long, though she did it alone. The hardest part would be shaping the surface without Ugin's guidance.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

In her sleep, the kor misremembered her words about the titans, making a prophet out of her. Vampires have begun to roam Zendikar, and they disrupted the hedron alignment enough to release Eldrazi broods against Zendikar once more.

Above the male figure's head, an arcing banner proclaimed the subject of the artwork: "Nahiri the Prophet, Voice of Talib."

She turned her back on the sculpture and strode out of the building. Outside, she raised her hands and clenched her fists, and a cloud of dust billowed around her as the building collapsed in on itself.

It was her fault. She had been the first to call Kozilek a god, and apparently the kor had remembered that word more than they had remembered her dire warnings about the gods destroying the world. She felt sick.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Even as she approached, she could tell that this was the point where the hedron network had been disturbed. Right under her nose, while she sat alone in the Eye of Ugin. Fury boiled up in her, directed as much at herself as at whoever had done this.

Fury—another feeling she had forgotten. It felt good.

She strode toward the building, each step shaking the ground and causing trickles of gravel and dust to run down the walls. As she drew near, three dark figures came around the building from the other side, crouching into combat stances as they spotted her.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

The figures seemed human, but she didn't recognize their clothing from any culture she knew. Flimsy gauze barely covered their chests, revealing the stark red paint adorning their ashen skin. Sharp hooks protruded from their shoulders and upper arms and, as they snarled at her approach, she saw slightly protruding fangs.

Vampires? she thought. There are no vampires on Zendikar.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Nahiri deals with this resurgence and the people who brought it upon them, though it is difficult, and she must do it alone. She had agreed to sleep away her life within Zendikar, promised that should she ever need Sorin or Ugin's help, they would aid her.

Worry blossoms in her, and she is moved to help her friend, Sorin, if he is unwell. It feels good to give in to overpowering emotion again, having fallen into an apathetic halflife during her vigil. She seeks to bring meaning to her long slumber.

Other feelings she had all but forgotten, concern and anxiousness, swelled up in her heart and they made her smile even as they made her ache. They made her feel alive—the sensation of her heart pounding in her chest, the sound of it in her ears, the movement of her muscles as her brow furrowed and her jaw tightened.

What had Sorin been doing all the years she had been cocooned here in the Eye of Ugin? Was he still alive? Had he forgotten her and her vigil over Zendikar? Had he succumbed to the same apathy that had held her for so long?

She would go and find him, wake him up if she needed to, remind him of her and Zendikar and the friendship they had once shared, remind him what it was to live, to feel, to care. She had saved Zendikar, and now she would save him. And then she would return and walk among her people again, she would teach and laugh and love again, and it would matter again. It would all matter.

Stirring Slumber, 2015

Her reunion with Sorin begins alright, he is clearly pleased to see her and she is relieved he is doing well; however, she becomes wary, uncertain, as to what could possibly have kept Sorin away from fulfilling his promise to come to her aid.

This is also a pivotal moment in how she sees herself in relation to other planeswalkers; she realizes that they are now much closer in age than when she entered sleep and are something akin to equals rather than student and mentor.

She reached up to cover his hand with hers. She was awake now, her body suffused with the warmth of life. His fingers were as cold and dead as ever.

"You never came," she said. "On Zendikar, when I activated the signal from the Eye of Ugin, you never responded. I feared that—"

Sorin withdrew his hand, frowning.

"The Eldrazi have broken free of their bonds?"

"They did, yes."

"Where is Ugin?" he asked.

"He didn't come either," she said, trying not to let bitterness reach her voice. "But I handled it. On my own. With all the strength I could muster, I managed to reseal the titans' prison."

It struck her, suddenly, that she was now far older than Sorin had been when they had met. In her memory he towered over her, her ancient mentor, a thousand years her senior. Now, what difference did a thousand years make? They were equals. At least.

Stone and Blood, 2016

When she inquires why he didn't come, he reveals his magic protecting Innistrad may have possibly prevented her call from reaching him. He speaks to her patronizingly, and she realizes the possibility that he chose his plane over hers and left her to rot, having used her for her service to the Multiverse.

"It's not inconceivable," he continued, sounding bored, "that your signal from the Eye was unable to break through the magic that protects this plane."

Sorin's own spellcraft had kept her from contacting him? She felt a sudden sense of vertigo, and picked her next words with care.

"Did you know at the time that that would happen?"

"It did not occur to me," he said. "Though I see now that it was a possibility."

Stone and Blood, 2016

Get up? she cried. You broke my arm!

So fix it, he said. He wasn't even looking at her.

Fix it? Fix it? How in the hells—

Only then had he finally explained to her that she was no longer mortal. That her body was a convenience, a projection of her will.

You should have told me that to begin with, she said, holding back tears of anger.

Ah, he said, in that bored but benevolent voice. It did not occur to me.

He was using that voice now, talking down to her. But the girl he had mentored was long dead, buried in a tomb of stone. Only a Planeswalker remained. And a Planeswalker would not be condescended to.

Stone and Blood, 2016

"I don't want your enmity," said Nahiri. "All I ever wanted was your help, Sorin. You made a promise. Come with me."

"Not now," said Sorin, with infuriating calm. "Later, perhaps. This is a critical time—"

"A critical time!" snapped Nahiri. "The Eldrazi almost escaped. You're thinking in terms of eons, but for all I know the Eldrazi are loose now. All that we worked for will be lost, your own plane will be in danger—don't you care about that?"

It hit her, then. The imprisonment of the Eldrazi had become her life's work, a constant effort that had kept her bound to her plane for almost her entire existence. But for him it had been an eyeblink—forty years of mild effort, five thousand years ago, in exchange for millennia of peace of mind. And now, with his new countermeasures, perhaps Innistrad wasn't in danger. Perhaps Nahiri and Zendikar and a hundred million carefully placed hedrons had served their purpose, in the mind of Sorin Markov.

Stone and Blood, 2016

Their argument escalates to blows as Nahiri's pain at being used sharpens into anger. She trusted Sorin. She allowed Sorin and Ugin to use her home, and sacrificed so many years of her life to protect the Multiverse. Sorin still sees her as a child planeswalker and won't even come back to Zendikar like he promised to make sure their work doesn't go to waste.

"Don't dismiss this," she said. "I was willing to jeopardize my home by luring the Eldrazi to it. I promised to chain myself to Zendikar to watch over them as their warden. I spent millennia with those monsters. Do you know what that's like? All you had to do was come when I needed you."

The ground began to shake, the bedrock below them vibrating in sympathy with her mounting rage. Of all the stone and metal nearby, only the silver Helvault seemed beyond her reach.

"Don't presume to own my actions, young one. I am obligated to nothing. I owe you nothing! When your Planeswalker spark first ignited, it was I who discovered you. I could have ended you there, but I spared you."

He turned back to her, orange eyes full of malice, face inches from hers.

"I took you under my wing, and molded you into what you are," he said. "If you find it necessary to pester someone, go find Ugin. I have no patience for it."

No patience. No patience. Pain gave way to anger in a white-hot instant.

Stone and Blood, 2016

Strands of eager silver closed around her body, drawing her in. Shards of rock whirled through the air, the bedrock beneath their feet shifted at her rage, but the Helvault itself did not care.

"Damn you!" she screamed. "I trusted you!"

He loomed over her, now, the angel's wings spread behind him, and he spoke one last time before molten silver flooded her ears. He sounded almost sad. Almost.

"I never asked for your trust, child. Only your obedience."

Then the Helvault claimed her, and she vanished into a darkness vast and total.

Stone and Blood, 2016

She spends a thousand years trapped in the Helvault, lost in a sea of darkness and demons. Nahiri gave everything for the Multiverse, and her thanks is to be threatened with madness as she wastes away in a void.

It was not like her cocoon of stone back on Zendikar, the slab of rock where she had slumbered for five fitful millennia. In her cocoon, dreamlike, she could sense all of Zendikar, reach out to any part of it, appear wherever she wished.

This was much, much worse—only darkness, and falling, and the unmistakable scent of Sorin Markov.

Sorin would pay for his treachery. She would escape from this prison, and she would make him pay. She'd thought they were allies. Friends! Now she saw him for what he truly was: a monster, plain and simple.

Stone and Blood, 2016

She comes to realize Sorin is a monster that she should have never trusted, and she isn't the only being wronged by him. His own creation, Avacyn, has wound up in the Helvault and Nahiri recognizes her to be twisted with hate, and Sorin's puppet.

The angel rose toward Nahiri—slowly, slowly, in this timeless void—until they were side by side. The cloud of demons had dissipated as Sorin's protector gained the upper hand. The angel looked over at Nahiri, and for a moment their eyes locked—and finally Nahiri understood. Sorin hadn't enslaved an angel. He hadn't tricked her or coerced her. This angel stank of Sorin, just like the Helvault.

He had made her. Just like the Helvault.

The angel recognized her, from their long-ago fight. Dark eyes flashed with fury—fury Sorin had instilled. He had created her in his own image, twisted her from the beginning. Made her hateful. Made her his. Nahiri shuddered.

Another being grievously wronged by Sorin Markov, one with no chance of vengeance or redress. No chance of freedom. A porcelain doll, to replace the student he had lost.

Stone and Blood, 2016

When she is finally broken out of the Helvault, she returns to Zendikar, a thousand years since she first realized the hedron network was being messed with, and finds her home to be a husk of what it once was. She knows what titans can do to a plane, eating the mana and corroding the land to such a degree the world itself cracks. She resigns herself to the fact that she can't destroy them herself, that Sorin's selfishness has led to the destruction of her home and all the Multiverse, and that she intends to take revenge on Sorin first.

Nahiri fell to her knees, pressing her hands into that lifeless dust.

If this was loose on her world—

If what happened here could happen everywhere—

If she had no preparations, a thin shard of her old power, and a hedron network centuries out of true—

Then the Zendikar she knew was dead. There was no saving it. One might as well try to stop the sun in the sky. She closed her eyes and saw her Zendikar, Zendikar as it had been. The world she had let Sorin Markov destroy. Hot tears of rage ran down her face and landed in that awful dust with a hiss.

"As Zendikar has bled, so will Innistrad."

She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, at hands that had shaped stone and trapped titans. They were covered in gray dust.

"As I have wept, so will Sorin."

Stone and Blood, 2016

In these six millenia, we see Nahiri give everything, even her sense of self, for the protection of Zendikar. She is thought naïve and a bleeding heart for her unconditional care for those who walk all the planes of the Multiverse. She is routinely told by her mentor, her friend, her ally, that she must focus on the big picture. She is told that she is sacrificing herself for the greater good, to keep balance, and she is congratulated in this endeavor after decades of hard work.

Looming above the highlands of Akoum, the three Eldrazi stood petrified, surrounded by a web of floating hedrons. Nahiri knew the earth here. It was already reacting, growing around the great Eldrazi like a scab over a wound. The teeth of Akoum would swallow them, and the inhabitants of Zendikar would scour the plane of their brood. Zendikar had survived, ravaged but whole, and its people would learn to live in the shadows of the hedrons.

"Well done, Nahiri," said Sorin. "This was your work. Your sacrifice."

The three of them would test the strength of the lock, make sure the titans were secure. Perhaps Sorin and Ugin would help her scour the land of the Eldrazi broods. She hoped so. And then, sooner or later, the two elder Planeswalkers would depart, and Nahiri—and the Eldrazi—would remain.

She stared up at the silent, stony shapes. Ramparts of stone already crept up around them. Perhaps in a thousand years they would be forgotten, their destruction fading into legend. But Nahiri would not forget them, and neither would the land itself.

"This was our work," she said. "My work is just beginning."

The Lithomancer, 2014

When she wakes up from a watch that lasts thousands of years? Her response is to relish in emotion because she has let herself be encased in stone for so long. She laughs through pain because it's so novel, and she thinks of her friend who should be helping her. Nahiri worries for his safety, wonders if he has come upon a similar fate as she had, vows that she will bring love and laughter to his life once more as she dreams of walking through markets and experiencing life again.

His betrayal is a knife in the back. As far as Nahiri is concerned, his words all those centuries back were hollow. He never considered the pain she may be in, nor the fact she may not hear her call for help, as he rose defense around his home. She saves Zendikar from its first Eldrazi resurgence and rushes to save her friend, only to find he has moved on and doesn't care about her.

In a Multiverse where she has failed—the Eldrazi have escaped and will eat all of creation one way of the other—she has nothing to lose. She only has hope that she can exact revenge, and buy as much borrowed time for Zendikar while she does. She knows from her work with Sorin and Ugin that the Eldrazi can be directed, and will ignore other planes in their path.

The hedrons were lure as well as trap, sending out pulses of magical energy that drew the Eldrazi like the scent of blood draws sharks. Slowly, ponderously—and, Sorin reported, ignoring other worlds along the way—the Eldrazi approached Zendikar.

The Lithomancer, 2014

Nahiri destroys Sorin's bloodline, his home, and traps Sorin in rockface, leaving him captured in rockface so he cannot planeswalk away. She leaves him to watch the destruction of everything he holds dear. She leaves him trapped like he left her.

Innistrad is no longer her concern, she's been gone from Zendikar too long. Zendikar had been her salvation to get her through her millenia-long jailing, imagining it in its entirety. Her duty to Zendikar becomes forefront once more, having written off Innistrad, and she is dismayed by just how much has changed in her absence. While the Gatewatch trap Emrakul and halt the Eldrazi threat, Nahiri is focused on how she can help her beloved world, afflicted by the Roil.

Her whole life has been dictated by duty. She sees Zendikar as hers, because when she walked the Multiverse before her slumber, planes belonged to the planeswalkers that claimed them. It is also her obligation to fix what has become wrong because in her absence, her work has irrevocably changed Zendikar and its inhabitants. Her words have been twisted into idolization of the Eldrazi and her hedrons have become a sacred piece of kor spirituality.

Through episode one of Zendikar Rising, Nahiri is easily angered. Her guilt is expressed through fury, because she sees her work on Zendikar as failure. Skyclave fell, and the world is so unstable she can barely get through a short conversation without the world trying to swallow her. When the Roil was new, she likened it to a scab festering over a wound, and it seems 6000 years has only made her disgust of it more severe.

She speaks to Nissa with the same casual dismissal that Sorin and Ugin treated her to, because all her very long life, older planeswalkers treat younger planeswalkers as children. She manipulates conversation to put herself in a place of knowing and leading, not revealing everything so that Nissa must follow if she wishes to aid.

"I might have a solution," Nahiri replied, inclining her head toward the Skyclave. "Something that will heal Zendikar."

Nissa blinked. "You do?" she blurted in surprised, and then awkwardly added, "Sorry, I mean, you're not exactly known for healing. After what you did on Innistrad . . ."

Nahiri raised an eyebrow. "Says the person who set the Eldrazi free."

"I didn't—"

The elf stammered, but Nahiri raised a hand.

"We've both done things that have caused great damage. Let's try to undo some of it."

In the Heart of the Skyclave, 2020

"Look around you—this Skyclave is healing. The Roil stopped below us, and the land is calming. People will be able to rebuild here!" Nahiri said gesturing at the Skyclave's repair.

"At the expense of Zendikar's life," Nissa retorted. She reached out her awareness to the plants and moss that grew in the corners and cracks of the Skyclave, but they didn't respond. Nissa knew then that everything that lived in that ruined fortress was dead.

"You don't know what Zendikar was like," Nahiri said, her voice tight with anger, "you don't know how stunning and bright its people and cities used to be."

"And you don't know what Zendikar is like now. It's still beautiful, Nahiri"—Nissa reached out her hand—"give me the key."

In the Heart of the Skyclave, 2020

She has spent so long trying to protect Zendikar, and she is willing to do anything to have back the Zendikar that she remembers. To return the Skyclave to the kor. To return Zendikar's stone to the peaceful earth it was before she let herself be duped by an elder dragon and vampire she thought was her friend.

She grieves the world she left behind, unable to see the beauty of the world that she now stands in. On Innistrad, she thinks to herself that a thousand years in the Helvault is rest enough for several lifetimes, and her rage has been building in all that time, rekindled after she let herself fall apathetic for too long.

The sacrifice of some elementals—of even a person or two as we saw in the trailer—is worth it for The Bigger Picture, that she has been taught to seek.

We will have to wait and see how the story unfolds and how her fury carries her through.

Check out Magic Story next week Wednesday for episode 2, and I will be following up on Thursday with a character analysis of Nissa!

#Nahiri #The Lithomancer #magic story #magic the gathering #mtg #character analysis #zendikar rising #mtgznr

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thefloatingstone · 6 years ago

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Hey, here’s a thing I wrote.

The dark side of the SOUL (trait)

Perseverance

The trait that means its owner will carry on fighting through hardship and strife.

It’s shadow trait is “stubborness” and can manifest as stubborn refusal.

Stubbornly persevering when letting something go would be the better option.

Trying to follow through with ill-conceived plans, relationships, and work when stopping, reassessing and moving on to better things instead is the right course of action.

Can lead to needlessly persevering through hardships that are unnecessary to suffer through.

Bravery

A trait which allows its owner to face against frightening obstacles and threats

It’s shadow trait is “foolishness” that can manifest as recklessness

Being afraid is a survival trait. The fight or flight instinct. Bravery can sometimes overcompensate and have the person override their fear and refuse to turn and run.

However sometimes running is the best course of action

Foolish bravery can have the person dig in their heels and face threats they cannot survive and who it would have been better to flee from

Bravery can override thinking something over critically and logically, especially if the logic conclusion is NOT to face the danger.

Justice

A trait that means its owner has a strong sense of righting wrong

It’s shadow trait is “judgement” and can manifest as righteous cruelty

The owner of the trait could be lead to do great harm to others, physically, mentally, socially or emotionally, even if they are a good person, through the simple fact that their sense of Justice tells them that their actions are in the right

An inflated sense of justice means the owner passes judgement on others that they may not have the right to judge.

Justice, being a moral alignment, is very easily warped to what its owner personally considers “just”. At the expense of others’ happiness and wellbeing.

Kindness

A trait which means its owner has a strong belief in helping and supporting others

It’s shadow trait is “Martyrdom” that can manifest as needless self sacrifice

The owner of the trait may put others’ wellbeing above their own in ways that are self destructive.

Sometimes this self imposed martyrdom is taken advantage of by others. And although the owner of the trait is not always someone easily fooled, they may out of kindness forgive or turn a blind eye towards those who have wronged the owner

This martyrdom can cause the trait owner to forget that they themselves are held as important to others, seeing the sacrifice of themselves and their wellbeing too readily as an option

Integrity

A trait which means its owner believes in living according to their own truth and being forthright and open

It’s shadow trait is “Self-righteousness” and the belief that as long as the owner speaks their truth, then they are never at fault.

This can lead the owner to be unknowingly or sometimes even uncaring callous.

Unlike the shadow trait of Justice which Integrity can overlap, Integrity’s shadow is more response than persecution. Integrity reacts with bluntness and an almost apathy rather than seek out to punish or persecute with “truth”

This Self-righteousness can lead to self-absorption and in extreme causes narcassism.

Patience

A trait which gives its owner the ability to wait for an opportune time before reacting

Its shadow trait is “stagnation” which can be seen as laziness

Patience in a positive light means its owner can bide their time and not feel pressured to react to situations or people until they feel it is the right time to do so.

However, this can lead to stagnation when the owner of the trait becomes too comfortable in their own patience.

They can start to feel the patient waiting is itself a good state of existing, meaning that the opportune time for change or confrontation might not be acted upon since the patient waiting isn’t so bad

Because the owner of a patient trait is good at waiting without feeling pressured, they can stagnate in their state of being, which stunts personal and emotional growth, and robs the owner of chances to improve their situations, lives of environments

Determination

A trait that means its owner will fight and struggle and continue to work towards a goal regardless of hardships.

It’s shadow trait is “Determination” itself. As Determination, unlike the other traits, is a neutral state and not inherently positive or negative.

Determination is a shadow trait when the goal of its owner is harmful, as it is near impossible to deter the owner from their goal

As such, Determination can be a great force of good, but can be just as destructive, depending on its owner’s own moral compass, reasoning ability, and personal alignments.

Whereas Perseverance is a reaction to situations, Determination is a driving force to change or create or destroy a situation

#Undertale #SOUL traits #Because I like character depth and adding or thinking about faults #So I tried to both have these make sense but also apply to the characters in the game who have each trait #Because I like that no trait is inherently a good thing #And I like seeing how good things can also have their downsides #Because I feel it informs on character and makes for interesting faults that need overcoming #Anyway I wrote this

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gutsymmetry · 5 years ago

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some antiope stuff:

she is taciturn to the point of unreadability if you don’t know her well. this is deliberate and a kind of shell that has formed over time because she used to be much more wild and uncontrolled, and had her heart more on her sleeve, and it didn’t go well for her; not that i think she was like, Burned™ in some interpersonal way, but more that i think constantly indulging her own emotions was a bad psychological habit that she recognized as such and chose to break. her default expression is not blank, but stony and calm. when she smiles, it’s incredibly slight, unless she’s very moved.

her passion coming out around/because of hippolyta and especially diana is not a coincidence, particularly in the scene where lyta catches them training, and the “you expect a battle to be fair!” scene where antiope is yelling at diana. this is specifically because of her love for diana and her increasing sense of urgency that diana be free and recognize her own strength in order to keep herself and the world safe. she knows that diana surviving is contingent on diana fully realizing her power and not being hindered by self-imposed limitations--and in the “you expect a battle to be fair,” antiope actually succeeds in getting diana to do that! to react fully on instinct and unleash her power, which was always her goal. that it happened without warning and that antiope herself was physically hurt by it wasn’t necessarily a part of her goal though lmao and she’d never meant for diana to run off scared and try to process it alone.

another dimension of why antiope is so intense in the latter scene imo is that when diana hesitates, she hesitates because (as she’s been doing the whole time), she’s looking at hippolyta for approval. antiope knows--and this is not intended to be a knock on lyta, it’s just the facts--that this is a hindrance to diana and that she can’t keep holding herself back and breaking away from the fight because she wants to be sure her mother approves of what she’s doing.

she is VERY strong. not only would she just be strong for an ordinary woman of her size given her physical muscle, she is also a superhuman amazon. she is canonically ambidextrous, and can handle her bow, sword, and shield on either side, although she habitually keeps her sword in her right hand and her shield on her left, and will usually begin to use her bow in the right hand as well--hence, her left arm has experienced fractures several times from battering on her shield, and she has problems in her right shoulder from the strain of using her bow.

her injuries have healed extremely well--far beyond the kind of healing she’d experience if she were a human among humans--but amazons are susceptible to physical harm and she’s experienced these injuries over and over, hence why she does suffer some pain from them still.

she is extremely capable of gentleness, which is something people don’t often guess about her? idk i remember when i first wrote her people thought she was like. pure kinky sex and daddy-top-me, which is like. yeah she can do that but she’s also an incredibly thoughtful person, who has lived a really long time, and is more than intimately familiar with violence, especially as i follow one of the comic book origins which posits the souls of murdered women as the original souls of all amazons. she’s not going to be hard, cold, or distant with any person she cares about and although she does take time to get to know people, she’s not afraid to let her loved ones know that she does love them, nor is she the kind of person who ignores signals or handles any person roughly who hasn’t given her cause.

she really is an extremely cerebral person who has learned to process her feelings with her head over her heart, not that her heart feels less but that like, she needs to do that so that her passionate heart doesn’t completely guide her. i don’t think i can rly go near the notion, at all, ever, that she’s somebody who would needlessly hurt another person. part of being such a brilliant warrior is having absolute control--a control which allows her to take lives, yes, but also allows her to handle people with delicacy and care.

#✦ fragment XXXVI ( antiope headcanon tag. )

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blacklinguist · 5 years ago

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Hi I recently started post-grad and I really hate it it's so unstructured and I feel so alone and there's no set reading so I'm not sure if I'm even doing or reading the right things I've only had four classes so far but all four have consisted of me making the point I think is being expressed and they go yeah ok... Fair point.. and then don't elaborate! I have really been considering dropping out because it's like I've been left at sea to drown do u have any advice dealing with post-grad

hey fellow post-grad! thank you for messaging me, i hope the following thoughts can help your concerns a bit?

what i gather from this is the lack of supervised structure is an issue for you.

to be frank, graduate school is definitely not 2.0. i treat it like a job, rather than just simply being a ‘student’. for me, that’s required in order to get everything done during any week, and to make sure my head stays above water. but, what does that look like practically?

knock knock on your advisor’s door: if you don’t have an advisor, find someone(s) who can fill that role, be it colleagues who have been in the program longer, someone who does research in an area you enjoy, a professor of a class, etc. you need someone to give you advice and to check up on you and also hold you accountable. there doesn’t need to be an official mentor-mentee relationship, but there has to be a level of comfort so that you can vent about difficulties you encounter and challenges you face. i’ve only been in graduate school for ten weeks and i’ve been in office hours and random-stop-by meetings more times than i count. they are not just rotting away in their offices... they are there to help. use them.

figure out your goals: i have an active plan for my time in this masters’ program, and am beginning to sculpt out the path for my phd as well. school is no longer about pleasing your teachers, but about what YOU want. the structure is going to come from the goals and standards you have for yourself, not from what is imposed on you (otherwise, resentment will come a-calling). you will only go as far as you are lead. if no one else is leading, it’s up to you to take charge for yourself.

readings: consider some questions to help guide your reading-- 1) well, what do I need to read for my own goals? 2) does this help for me for comprehensive exams / my own research interests? 3) is there an exam at the end of the semester on this material? pick and choose what makes sense. in graduate school, it’s not about how much you read, but how smart you read. for one of my classes, i don’t have any more exams, so i am not taking extensive notes on the reading, just scanning for the main points (i learned how to do this in undergrad b/c of a class; use some elements of SQ3R to help) and making sure i can synthesize the information with previous articles.

it’s a job, not your life: i will never endorse 80 hour weeks spent on academic stuff or no time to breathe and relax. i have done that before, but because of piss poor time management and being too comfortable with procrastination. set a schedule / time limits for yourself, and work your best within those boundaries.

remember that you are still you: don’t abandon your self-discovery and don’t let yourself get consumed by everything graduate school. you need to take time for yourself, and just as you make school a priority, keep you right up there as well (tbh, i prioritize myself and those aspects over school still). what good is it to neglect yourself and have your work suffer?

these are a few of my thoughts (i’ll probably go into detail when i have time). but if after remedying some of your actions and mindsets, it is definitely possible that graduate school could just not be for you. that’s perfectly fine! don’t needlessly make yourself suffer if you don’t need / want / enjoy this. at the end of the day, i love what i’m doing, and that’s going to keep me on this path. if you don’t have that drive for what you are studying at this level, it’s better to start focusing on what does drive you.

#trespassers w #anon #pooh stuff #gradblr #graduate school #advice #postgrad #this is kinda my guide to first semester shenanigans tbh #obviously im right in the thick of it #but my experience has already been so different from a lot of my colleagues #and these are some of the most important reasons WHY in my opinion!

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illegiblewords · 5 years ago

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Hooooooo boy.

So apparently villain fan versus villain fan discourse is kicking up.

Have some reiterated opinions, some fresh ones, and some weird ones. Technically this is vagueblogging about some specific stuff but intent is no-drama here.

Emet-Selch versus Vauthry fan wank seems to be happening, which I’m sighing over because it’s a kind of ridiculous argument to have imo. Neither of these dudes are good people. Like we can debate accountability ‘til the cows come home and as I’ve been saying my opinions on insanity plea are strong. But like. I think at the very best we can argue for is a moral gray.

I can get Emet-Selch as a fallen hero/hero of Amaurot and for that reason haven’t been overly bothered by the “hero” line in the extreme fight. Vauthry is tragic but he’s basically inflicting forced cannibalism and mind control en masse. I personally am not of the opinion that he would qualify for a realistic insanity plea, so that impacts my measure of accountability. He’s also extremely, EXTREMELY familiar to me in how he thinks and behaves due to people I’ve encountered over the years. I understand how he got to a place where he thought those measures were acceptable. A form of mental illness is absolutely in play there as I read him, but it would not count toward the legal definition of insanity and for me that is significant.

As it stands, trying to claim whose behavior is less wrong is a stupid game to play when it’s genocide versus mass murder/forced cannibalism. Generally I’d rather opt out of that one because neither of these actions are things most people want to emulate. It seems like fans are more trying to decide who is moral enough to be allowed compassion/caring and who isn’t, which is an even more stupid game to play to my mind.

I don’t think having compassion and empathy for Emet-Selch or Vauthry are problems so much as selective compassion/empathy. As in “X person isn’t allowed to have compassion/empathy”.

I belong very much to the school of “everyone counts”. This means that in life some people inevitably go bad and commit atrocities that need to be stopped even if that means their death. It’s a very tragic thing when that happens and should be mourned, at least because if things had gone differently maybe the person would have turned out better. As long as you are able to remember the humanity of all involved (with the messiness that entails), odds are you’ll be able to navigate tough situations alright imo. When you start pretending some people are less than human, acceptable targets, or whose suffering otherwise doesn’t count--that’s extremely dangerous imo. It makes it easy to dismiss another person’s pain, which in turn makes it much easier to be cruel or callous. Sometimes needlessly.

Some additional bits:

- Emet-Selch did not say he would see the Sundered as less-than-human/not-really-alive/acceptable-targets if he wasn’t tempered. Attributing as much to him is literally, factually untrue. Moreover even if he had said it--he is an unreliable narrator on this front. He doesn’t know, he got tempered by the most powerful primal in existence. I’ve talked about how he lives the trolley problem before as well, which being added to tempering I think only exacerbates the level that he’s compromised. It’s a mind-wrecking situation.

- I’ve seen some people argue that because there was a point in time when Emet-Selch wasn’t tempered, his judgment while tempered isn’t as compromised as Vauthry’s is. That’s like arguing because someone at one point in their life did not have PTSD, or had not reached onset for Schizophrenia, therefore how they behaved and thought after developing those things is less compromising. It makes no sense to me as an argument. You could be born with a less severe condition that lasts your entire life while someone else is initially stable and gets completely crippled by mental illness. As it stands, I don’t even know if more severe/less severe is the way I’d even frame it because this seems like apples and oranges insofar as thought patterns go. They’re both fruit/both mentally ill characters but I mean other than that? Too different to get much from that comparison.

By the by. I know that I bring my own influences to the table in how I read things, but to me tempering absolutely reads as a mental illness allegory where it distorts a person’s existing thoughts in extreme ways that they would not do otherwise--but specifically distorting in such a way that serves the primal in question. I also think that other FFXIV characters show indications of different forms of mental illness, and I’m actually very impressed by how well the devs captured these.

Mental illness as a subject tends to get extremely complicated and people often have no idea how to deal with it. It’s also something that tends to get brushed aside, dismissed, or oversimplified today--both in fan communities and in-general. I’m glad people are having conversations about it, but good lord this is not a place to have pissing contests or try to impose pure good/evil morality.

- People are entering debate over Vauthry’s weight and whether joking about it is okay or not. I want to pose a few points. 1) Dulia Chai, also very overweight, does not receive the treatment Vauthry does and seems pretty beloved 2) Vauthry, in a period of widespread famine and as the person explicitly charged with ALL OF EULMORE’S WEALTH (as in, all of the people living under him surrendered their property in exchange for his protection) is seriously, dangerously overweight due in large part to unapologetic, non-essential cannibalism. He honestly resembles people who have been rendered physically immobile and are dying due to obesity complications during this time period, that is not something that happens without serious excess. Vauthry holds funds that were given to him specifically not for his own personal enjoyment but to perform a job for the people. He absolutely places his own pleasure above the survival of the poor. If he was that overweight in a time of plenty or as someone without the level of power he holds, it would not read the same way. Under these specific circumstances his physicality is a direct representation of his corruption and hypocrisy. Under other circumstances that might not have been the case. 3) In the same way that enabling harmful thought patterns/behavioral tendencies in a mentally ill person is bad and can constitute abuse, it is possible to cause harm by encouraging extreme and dangerous physical states. I am a strong believer in the idea that every body type can be beautiful provided it doesn’t look like the person faces imminent danger to their health or is actively dying. For me this is not exclusive to extreme obesity but also extends to starvation and some instances of extreme body-building as well. Think steroid abuse.

When a body registers as “sick”, there is a level of instinctive discomfort for most people. Sometimes this comes with sympathy and concern for the person dealing with that issue, sometimes it alienates others from them them. But when an individual actively embraces self-destruction by pursuing such an extreme and dangerous state either by design or out of apathy to the threat, it’s normal for a measure of horror to be attached because it becomes a form of self-harm. Vauthry evokes that to me. Dulia Chai does not. 4) I’ve joked about the wonders of the meol diet, because I know firsthand how difficult weight loss can be. To go from Vauthry’s level to Innocence’s in like six steps is absurd --the fact that he’s been on a cannibalism diet specifically takes it the extra mile into hilarity for me. I haven’t seen as many jokes about his weight in-general so much as the sudden transformation. If the butt of the joke is cannibalism and ridiculous speed/opposite appearance turnaround, I personally don’t think those cases warrant offense. 5) I’ve had people try to fight me before for saying there is a such thing as being dangerously overweight. No comments on dangerously underweight or muscular, just overweight. So to set people at ease--I have personally dealt with serious health risks caused by obesity before. I’ve had loved ones who were in the same position and I have lost family members directly as a result of obesity-related health problems. It’s a very difficult thing to deal with. I have a lot of sympathy on this subject and understand how devastating it can be to endure shitty treatment due to weight.

I personally don’t think it’s right to forbid any jokes that deal with Vauthry’s weight, or that deal with hot subjects in-general. I think the punchline of the joke matters a ton though. Making a joke at the expense of someone struggling with something difficult is shitty. Making a joke about cannibalism turning you into a sparkling bishonen after walking down a set of stairs is just ridiculous.

Likewise, I don’t think it’s a problem for people to feel disturbed by severe health problems... but I do think it’s important to separate the person dealing with the illness from the illness itself. This goes for physical and mental issues.

I know that a lot of people don’t necessarily agree with these types of opinions and that’s okay. They’re not really common right now and are things I arrived at just by thinking myself and trying to sort out what seems appropriate as best I can.

- I’ve talked about how insanity plea when I was researching it more or less came down to a person having their perception of reality and their judgment so heavily impaired by illness that they cannot be expected to react to situations in the same way that someone without that impairment would. I’ve seen people try to argue about how someone saying demons made them murder another person wouldn’t have any less accountability to them. I think that case could actually fall under insanity plea but would need close evaluation to make sure. If the person truly believed that they and their loved ones would be tortured to death by demons if they refused or told anyone or something--yeah, insanity plea in play there. Part of the issue is that the act is horrible and I think there’s a longstanding skepticism on whether the person is sincerely crazy or just bullshitting.

In general, a cluster B personality disorder would not qualify for insanity plea. Still might involve inaccurate perception of the world or others, but the type of delusion and impairment would not inherently compel them toward violent/unlawful action or prevent them from seeking help. They also tend to be somewhat more aware of the world around them, but whether they care and how they interact/why can be dictated by the condition. Given I think Zenos is more or less an Antisocial Personality Disorder poster child (not because “I don’t like people so edgy”, I mean in terms of treating people in his life as filling roles and therefore being replaceable, overwhelming ennui in most aspects of his life, lack of interest or fulfillment in interpersonal relationships, etc.)--I do not think he would qualify for insanity plea.

Vauthry I’m not positive what I think he has yet, again he reminds me a lot of people I’ve met but certain conditions manifest similarly under the circumstances I have in mind. I think he absolutely has inhibited empathy. He’s also very spoiled, self-righteous, and possibly has no theory of mind. I don’t think he has instincts for taboo either which probably does tie to his sin-eater heritage. I don’t think his growing up in Eulmore or even having a shitty upbringing is the main reason he is the way he is, imo it’s a combination of nature and nurture. I think being part sin-eater essentially made it easier for him to become monstrous, but who knows--if he’d had a really good upbringing in a non-toxic environment maybe he could have been a good man anyway. Same way that having a cluster B personality disorder does not make a person evil by a long shot, but it can make it easier to hurt others due to the way thought patterns are impacted.

I would want to double check some research, but right now I think Vauthry reads likely for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He has mood swings but none of them seem to be depressive, it’s more egotism/happiness and anger by and large. When he does get sad before dying, it’s not because of loving or missing his father but because the self-image he loved (as encouraged by his father) was compromised.

I think he’s a bit slow and I think he only cares about others insofar as they’re tools to define himself as well as possible to his own mind. I don’t think, listening to G’raha Tia or anyone who begged him to change course, he was unable to comprehend what they were saying. He was just closed-minded to it imo.

With Emet-Selch meanwhile, I actually think both how he was impacted by specific interactions, his memories, and possibly even his sensory understanding of sundered beings might have been compromised by Zodiark. Like being colorblind, almost. I think the way he deals with the world, there are a ton of colors he can no longer perceive due to tempering but he has no idea that what he should be perceiving is there. He remembers being able to see all colors in Amaurot, but after the sundering suddenly purple was gone. Purple is still actually there, but he is not capable of seeing it. You could literally wave a purple flower in front of his face and it wouldn’t register. He might even accuse you of lying because he remembers purple, and purple is gone, and he’s doing everything he can to get purple back--but he has no idea that purple has still been here but he’s been altered in such a way that despite remembering it, he can’t see it anymore. As per tempering.

Vauthry knows about purple, he just doesn’t have much interest in it outside how it looks with his complexion. If purple is unflattering then fuck purple. Burn it to the ground, ban it, forbid anyone else from indulging in it. If it works, then no one would have more or prettier purples than him.

- It is time for me to take a nap but basically it was shitty to give Vauthry a sin-eater streak but 1) I do still think that’s severely impaired judgment 2) I don’t necessarily think that Vauthry was bound in the same way by his mental condition. I do think Vauthry believed himself to be doing good but didn’t actually have a clear concept of good in existence.

#ffxiv

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writingwithcolor · 6 years ago

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I’m writing a story in which a nation of nonhumans, having been trapped in a pocket dimension for two millenia, integrates into human society. Would it be insensitive to have them successfully argue that, as they were indigenous peoples of the Americas, they should be legally recognized as a Native American tribe with tribal sovereignty? Native Americans (specifically of the Ojibwe tribe) magically trapped them in the first place, but I’m hoping that’s ok because all humans have magic, not just

“Native American mystics” or w/e, and the character designs aren’t based off any NA myths. But they’re VERY inhuman, resembling animals, and a subplot is that they’re called “monsters” so often they begin to embrace/reclaim the term. It’s mainly just a device to deal with the logistics of integrating thousands of new people (with their own established government) into the American political system at once, so I can scrap it if needed.

Ancient Monsters Indigenous to America; Should They be Called Native?

So. There are four parts to this question, based off how you’ve worded the question.

1- Native Americans Shunning An “Okay” Group

2- Native American Monsters

3- Imposing Monsters Where None Exist

4- What Makes Someone Native

One at a time:

Native Americans Shunning an Okay Group

If these inhuman people are a genuine threat or were a genuine threat, then this is less relevant. But even if some of them were a threat, and the whole group was shunned, you end up recreating a big piece of racism in modern day:

Natives hate outsiders “needlessly.” If only they gave this group a chance, they’d find out they weren’t that bad. But they’re too mean to do that.

The modern caution around Native and colonizer culture mixing is, as the term implies, modern. Natives didn’t necessarily shun outsiders, and as evident by how colonizers needed us to survive for awhile, they were relatively welcoming early on. In Canada, we even have a whole group of people who were born out of intermarriage between traders and Native people: the Metis.

But non-Natives tend to take this caution as an insult, because they assume they should be welcomed with open arms despite the atrocities committed. Colonizers have far, far, far exceeded the threshold for “general mistrust”, but they don’t realize it. They think everything should be fine, because schools teach only that Natives used to be welcoming, but then turned mean and jealous without saying why.

For example, when I was in my teens, my grandma went on a probably 15-30 minute rant about how my (white) cousin wasn’t allowed to work horticulture on the local reserve because it was taking jobs away from Native people. My whole family spent the next hour agreeing with her, how they really were just so closed off and mean, he was just trying to help.

Now factor in how the largest group of unemployed people in Canada is Native people, because they lack job skills from a lack of opportunity. Now consider how horticulture was actually one of our specialties and there’s still a lot of tradition around how to take care of the land. And how a white person fresh out of college with a degree was being brought in as the “expert.” And how he was doing the work, instead of helping people on the reserve do the work (which would allow them to put landscaping skills on their resume, giving them a foot in the door)

Suddenly that “unnecessary shunning” makes a whole lot more sense, doesn’t it?

I want to know why the Ojibwe sealed them off. Because I highly doubt such a drastic action would’ve been taken if they were truly a benevolent group.

Native American Monsters

And this is where things get touchier.

I want to ask all writers who want Indigenous monsters to ask themselves one question: why do you want to tie Indigenous identity to “monster” so strongly?

It’s a fixation I see time and again: the concept of Indigenous people as inhuman, as having ties to the inhuman, as having ties to creatures who could be feared.

If these monsters are a complex society, are intelligent, are generally… people, then you’ve fallen more heavily into the first point I mentioned (which I’m uncomfortable with) but mitigate this part. They’re shown as people-like and worthy of respect, then it might work as showing Indigenous people aren’t inhuman.

Or it might further reinforce the concept that all Indigenous people are monsters.

Which one it does depends on the writing. Either way, it’s something I’m deeply uncomfortable with, just from sheer exposure. A lot of the questions I receive are about dark, twisted, criminal, or otherwise monstrous Indigenous people. Like, about half the questions. It’s a lot.

Why are we tied so strongly to monsters? What about Native identity makes this such an easy connection? Why just the monsters and none of our healing from them?

Why?

Imposing Monsters Where None Exist

Further, it’s honestly a bit weird to me that they don’t come Ojibwe/Great Lakes legends. Because I’d assume sealing away a whole population of monsters would merit some oral legends and teachings for how to seal them back away should they return. And these monsters would bleed into other peoples’ legends, with how each creature as a concept spread across such a wide landmass and across so many peoples. So everywhere these monsters touched, there’d be some version of the story.

It’s a little too close to playing god with real religions for me. Indigenous oral legends around the globe are meticulous, and when analyzed are as solid as written history. Creating a group of monsters that are not based in our stories, that have no oral histories and legends, just has me wondering how this impacted society.

Monsters have a place in Indigenous society. They are cautions, they are warnings, they are sickness, they teach lessons about how to care for the earth and/or yourself to starve off the monster’s approach.

(And no, this doesn’t contradict the fixation on Monstrous Natives. Why do you fixate on the monsters and not how we heal from them? I specify “we” because there’s a tendency to make the antithesis of Native monsters Christian, which further colonizers the narrative. We had our own ways of healing)

Indigenous people, in general, have history from around the Ice Age (Australian Aboriginals have from during if not before). Two millennia is nothing for the oral history, even if you brought in the angle that the stories were genocided out in the residential school system (Which would be a very touchy subject as well). Because something that big would be spread among a dozen tribes, and would have threads that survived in whispers.

Indigenous religions aren’t a mythology playground where you can free-reign insert or remove whole concepts like sealing away monsters willy-nilly.

I’d run this concept by somebody Ojibwe before proceeding. They might find a way to make it work, or they might tell you that there’d be a much deeper cultural impact than can be handled by an outsider.

What Makes Someone Native

Here’s the thing: being Native isn’t just about how we were here first.

There’s taking care of the land. There’s our language. There’s our unity to each other. There’s our religion. There’s so much nuance to what makes somebody Native that goes beyond just time spent on the continent.

Each tribe has its own definition of what it means to be part of the tribe. The government doesn’t always line up with who we are, but we have our own definition. A lot of basic principles are similar (sustainability, for one), but the nuance for each people will be different.

And the government still doesn’t recognize all the tribes that were self-governing peoples before colonizers got here. That fact alone makes it a stretch to believe these monsters could successfully argue to the government they belong as Native. The only reason I could see it as successful is the government rather overtly assuming Native people are monsters, which codifies the above.

You’ve got to keep in mind that the government wants as few Natives to exist as possible. Because the more Natives exist, the more political power we have, the more resources the government has to allocate towards us, and we are seen as an inconvenience.

Getting off the registry of Native people is laughably easy. Getting back on is notoriously hard. This isn’t a case of “have a hearing and the government gives you full status rights.” It’s “we have petitioned the government to have our claim to this land recognized for literally hundreds of years and now they’re about to bulldoze our sacred land so we have to protest to put a stop to it and suffer the arrests and deaths required to keep our land safe and hope that this protest gets enough pressure on the government to have them back off.”

(True story. The latter describes the Oka Crisis, which thankfully did have the land restored, but not until 1 death on each side, and 75 Mohawk and allies injured. And it was a long, long, long drawn out process).

Natives are, technically, wards of the state. The more Natives exist, the more people the state has to take care of. And history proves the state absolutely hates taking care of Native people.

Overall

This feels off in multiple ways, for me. It’s treating our legends as if they’re just frilly decorations that don’t deeply inform our culture, for starters, then there’s how no matter which way it’s sliced it’s reinforcing some sort of racist idea about Natives: either we shun “good” groups for no reason, or we’re tied to monsters. Then there’s the assumption our identity can be easily expanded to include a nonhuman group when it’s more complicated than that. There’s also the assumption the government would actually work to add more people it has to take care of.

You’re going to need to do a lot more research and reach out to a lot more sensitivity readers. It’s so far removed from who we are and our cultural identity I’d take a good hard look at the concept before continuing.

~ Mod Lesya

COMMENTARY:

@octopodesinmybutt

So the concept of "indigenous monsters sealed away" would actually work really well with Irish mythology about the Fae/Tuatha de Danon. They're considered the real indigenous ppl of Ireland. It's a bit more complex than that, but you could look into it.

#Asks #Native American #monsters #identity #fantasy #representation #Religion #racism #supernatural beings

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otter1962 · 6 years ago

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Putting one foot in front of the other...

This is a really tough entry. My life has become a “put one foot in front of the other” situation. I seem to be caught in between many things and it is confusing the hell out of me. If you are reading this, please read until the end to hear me out before you judge this entry.

I’ve come to realize that I am still suffering from the loss of my relationship at the beginning of this year. I miss the companionship, the intimacy and the exploration of the world that it entailed. Sometimes remembering the exploration makes me reflect on my situation now. I’m stuck between worlds at the moment and I think that the cancer situation has compounded the issue.

I have been learning what it means to be alone and how to actually enjoy myself. There are times when I feel happy to be alone and enjoy the activities that present themselves. Unfortunately, there seems to be a trap involved in these times and that is falling into a routine that feels right, but in reality is forcing me to suffer needlessly. Maybe it is self imposed and I am preventing myself from exploring the possibilities.

There have been days when I get up, have a coffee and stare off into the bay from my verandah. Yes, it is beautiful and peaceful! I then sit and think about what was lost, what I am fighting against and how monumental the task of breaking the cycle is to me. I can literally wake up with a thought that the day is going to be hard and that’s where I stay for the day. Every decision is like plodding along, putting one foot after the other. There is no joy in this, yet my head tells me that I just have to accept it. This is my life.

Then it gets compounded seeing other people going about happily in their lives, their relationships and the envy begins. Why can’t I be in that situation? Yes, I was in that situation for two years and it was amazing. It’s gone. Should I be thankful for it happening or just accept the fact that it is not my lot in life? Maybe being in this “one foot in front of the other” situation is my life now.

I get all sorts of advice from friends. “Just get up and be happy!” “Get out more and socialize!” “Don’t let the bad thoughts get better of you!” “Live your life as if it were your last.” Sometimes I think that if it were my last, that I should be thankful that it were my last as it has been a day that has been repeated over and over again ad nauseam.

When your goal of the day is to put one foot in front of the other, it doesn’t motivate you to try anything different. I started the second week of my chemo pills today. Even they have become routine. I had offers to socialize and I avoided them. I’ve got my trip to the gym today and make lunch or dinner and then Netflix. How in the hell am I supposed to break this cycle in order to get some work done, go and have some fun or be creative? The work list is too big so my mind says not to start it. The gym is something I know I can depend on, but how is that going to help me find someone with whom I could spend the rest of my life? What’s the point of being creative when a publisher just says, “Pass” on your novel?

I’m putting one foot in front of the other for no other reason than for existence. There is no real goal. I can just hear the comments, “You’ve got so much going for you!” “Don’t be envious of others, there are many worse off than you!” “Just get up and do something different!” “Don’t be lazy!” “Just call someone and go and hang with them!”

If my life feels like a black and white photo with no depth or any beauty, why would I want to share that with others? They have their lives and don’t need that kind of albatross around their necks.

So, today is a new day: I had my coffee, I took my chemo pills, I’ve written this blog and I’ll probably go to the gym. Netflix awaits. Carpe diem....

#FUcancer #Cancer #reality check

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obscuredseclusion · 6 years ago

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Where is the fuck that I should give?

Nothing has changed or so it seems I am still as afraid if not even more, why do I feel so vulnerable as if I am breaking apart even further? Maybe I am nothing more then a stranger in my own life, maybe I will end up forgetting my own name someday. I should know that I simply do not qualify and that I should not ignore the voice of reasons that others have defined as limitations I impose upon myself. Were all these years meaningless? I cannot give answer to the overwhelming number of questions that remain unresolved within me, I thought that I reached a point of no return and time after time again I find myself returning to where I stood before. Maybe I elude my being in the eyes of others but what do they know? Not even I know anymore who I entirely am, and so it appears that only more blank pages are adding up I cannot fill them in on my own behalf, I am well aware and I have tried to reconnect with the people of the past but still my efforts are futile. What am I missing? Why can’t I be at peace with the passing of time? With my being? Maybe in the end there are no self sufficient answers that could head to this expending wound in depth. In a sense I am happy nonetheless that I am no longer acquainted with numerous people but every time I come close to ascend to my solitude, someone different emerges in front of me and depending on who that is I feel unsettled, shy, and introverted. This reminds me of some notions yet what does it matter? What does any of it matter. I should not abundantly ignore a fact that I am often enough ignorant of the fact that I have been alone, a loneliness which I could not be at ease with it started from a young age as a child and I do not blame anyone for it, however I do strongly think and feel that if someone specific wasn’t lacking in it’s absence I may not had to suffer so needlessly throughout my existence, I am still a child at heart a vulnerable, selfish centered kind. The child of sun became the child of moon and there are so much corresponding themes of dualism in my being hence why I do not like to be defined, maybe I have lost my mind or at least proportions of past knowledge that is vital to understand. I wish I could set myself on fire sometimes how fitting would that be haha, but no I can’t if there is one thing that I have proven it is that I cannot see matters to a end, I am tired of this inner conflicts that result in restlessness, in short I am weary of conveying thoughts to others because people interpret whatever I say at heart as a identity crisis or whatever else fits their book of definitions, I am in awe that I still even exist today how can I even be here still? I am but a unstable entity, all that I ask of what is left for me is to for once not to torment my soul I have shattered to many times already and I cannot ever be complete again,but I am asking too much my request is unrealistic that can not be. Life is vulnerability after all I am nothing but afraid of the inevitable suffering that awaits me there is nothing that I can do against it and I feel helplessly alone in the end, but I must know that this is how matters are and that nothing can change that. Something inside of me is unreachable and hollow but for what it is worth I do not attempt to let others fill in that gap, they cannot undo what has been done and neither can I. Where does my salvation lie in this life? Am I beyond salvation or to deem myself even worthy of redeeming myself? The hour grows late and I can’t help it but find it rather comical how individuals pursue matters with one eye open and another closed, How do I undo my suffering? By ending my life? People think that if you do take your own life your running away from the vulnerability of life itself and therefor rule you out as a coward, as someone that runs away from whatever misery is upon you, I have to say I often thought of ending my life, often enough tried it and as easily as postmortem can be achieved it is also much more difficult when one is still attached to proportions of the world. Why do I always have to be in between matters? Glad people ruled me out for whatever they want at least then I don’t have to be at the midpoint or as I like to think, the center of it all. I am so self centered but I don’t care what anyone takes from this I let them be, there are certain opinions that I do not care for and those include what anyone thinks of me for they are the most biased formulated opinions that hold no profound basis, I do not denounce someone’s capabilities of observation but as I said somewhere above here, you cannot judge what you do not know and since I don’t even know myself entirely. Conveying oneself to others is limited consciousness is not, but we cannot be conscious of it all we are both conscious and unconscious and that is something people take too often for granted, two halves that by their own are not as significant as how they are if combined correctly, but human beings are forgetful beings by nature, human beings are at conflict with desires, in short more people then you can imagine are never content with anything. If something expires they will find something else for the matter of self indulgent self pleasure. I talked enough sense and nonsense time to sleep yet again desiring not to awaken.

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loversswalk · 2 years ago

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i think all like techniques or self help strategies or advice ppl give only work if u rly want to feel good. like i think it’s overlooked just how deeply uncomfortable and unnerving feeling okay can be when it’s not your norm. i create situations which allow me to suffer in the way i need to and i do, however difficult it is for others to comprehend, need to. sometimes when thing are so bad it almost feels like an offering or respectful to yourself & that experience to suffer for it. it would be dissonant and disrespectful to the seven and twelve and fifteen year old girl that i was and still am to experience what i have experienced and to not pay a price. some things keep costing u long after they happen, and it’s a debt which one has to pay, and i largely don’t resent mine. but to act as though that suffering is needlessly self-imposed is to reveal your complete lack of understanding of the debt one enters into when attacked as a child, or neglected when vulnerable. you have to re-suffer it at your own hand because you have to show the universe you felt it, that it was important, that you feel it still.

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redsdesktop · 7 years ago

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DBH: Deviant Dynamics

Chapter 15

Warnings: None. Its a dry streak, better have your water.

Getting dressed was more of a struggle than usual, not that it was any fault of Connor's. Now that they were once again in private, Conrad seemed incapable of keeping his hands to himself, pressing up against Connor, being in what Connor could only decipher as 'affectionate'. Affection for Conrad was space-invading scent marking and rough bites along Connor's neck, all of which Connor thoroughly ignored as he put on his uniform. When Conrad was around, he didn't want to slip into his casuals, mainly because the man always wore his strict uniform and Connor wasn't about to look like a untidy mess when Conrad was nearby for comparison.

Once he was done dressing, he half expected to need to force Conrad to dress as well, since the man seemed to be non-stop touching him. However, when Connor turned around, Conrad was already dressed and ready to leave, it appeared that being advanced meant he could easily multitask to even that level.At least it spared Connor the task of dressing the other android, though even with that high color of his shirt, Connor could see the bite marks he had left on the slight taller android. It was going to prove to be a bit troublesome at first but once the news grew old, things would calm down once more. He just needed to keep a level head, any sign of weakness and it would be preyed upon by the department's top gossipers.

"Ready?" Connor asked despite the way Conrad was standing there idle, waiting for him. Since this was Connor's idea, he would let the older android lead the way, that and he liked to keep Connor in his sights. After once last adjustment to his tie and shirt cuffs, Connor made his way out into the hall, the sound of the television reaching his ears, reminding him he'd have to move past Hank in order to leave. Not that he'd be the type to not tell Hank where he was going, not wanting the older alpha to worry needlessly. However, after having Hank find out about what he'd done with Conrad, he really wasn't looking forward to interacting with his partner just yet. The awkwardness was still fresh between them and it would take some times for both to adjust to the new member of their family.

As he made his way down the hall, hearing Conrad's footsteps match his own only a pace or two behind him, dogging his heels as usual. When Connor reached the living room, Hank was relaxing on the cough with some take out and Sumo was beside him, staring hungrily at the food Hank was eating. Connor felt a twinge of guilt as he was usually the one to make dinner for Hank, trying to press the man into a healthier lifestyle after so long. It looked like tonight Hank caught a break from what he called 'rabbit food'.

"Hank, I'm going to get some repairs done and a check up to make sure everything is back in working order." He avoided telling why he was banged up, the answer was hanging heavily in the air between them. Hank turned around a little to look over his shoulder, first eyeing Connor to see if he could spot any wounds and then sourly to Conrad as the man had been the cause of Connor's need for repairs. While Conrad also needed to be patched up, Connor figured it would be better not to bring up the younger android with Hank for now. It would take a while and a lot of convincing but Connor was confident Hank would eventually ease up on Conrad. Connor would handle the android alpha properly, so Hank didn't need to stress himself out over it.

"Yeah yeah, just don't stay out too late, I don't have to warn you about how its still a shit show around here." Hank groused and shifted his position on the couch to get comfortable again. Still annoyed from Conrad's presence but at least he wasn't raging again, a good improvement. He opened the door, his systems already ordering a new doorknob so they could lock it again. Though anyone daring to break into the house would likely be on a suicide mission with two RK models taking up residence there. He wouldn't bother getting a spare key for Conrad, now that they were together, it would be difficult to shake the alpha off his trail for a little space.Hanks car was parked in the drive, but Connor wouldn't be feeling the safety of steel encasing him tonight, nor the smell of greasy fast food and leather seats.

Since he didn't want Hank seeing all his wounds with a closer inspection, it was wise to leave him home. Which left Conrad's motorcycle parked in the shadows beside the house, tucked close so no one would bother it. It wasn't that anyone could properly ride it as its systems were coded specifically for Conrad, not that someone couldn't just trash it if they wanted to though. With one fluid motion, Conrad brushed past Connor as they neared the back, regaining control and taking the lead with practiced ease, as if he'd simply been humoring Connor. Connor would let it slide since the two wheeled vehicle was his area of expertise, He took the helmet offered to him, buckling it securely as he assumed his now usual position behind Conrad on the bike.

He was less tense this time as he wrapped his arms around Conrad, balancing himself as the alpha connected with the bike so it hummed to life beneath them. The only downside to the moment was that the helmet prevented him from getting a sniff of Conrad's scent on the sly. Not wanting Conrad to know he was taking in the strong arctic scent in, so he had to settle with just turning his head and resting it on Conrad's back as the android slowly eased the bike backwards. Once they were on the streets, he let the bike do the rest of the work and starting off down the road. Connor transferred the address wirelessly to Conrad, letting him map out the best possible route for them to go. It was a weekday night so the traffic wasn't as bad since the rush hour had dwindled down.

Time flew by as fast as the world around him, at first he'd been a bit wary of riding on a motorcycle, having calculated all the ways he could end up in an accident, the statistics of how car drivers were inconsiderate to people on bikes. Now though, he was starting to enjoy the rush, the way the wind felt tugging at his form, the way he was exposed to danger, giving him that electric thrill right up his spine. All too soon though, Conrad slowed down and turned into a parking lot. It was mostly empty, as most androids took the bus or taxi here. Androids weren't exactly programmed to drive, it was just another thing on Markus' list of troubles to solve in this android dominated city. Though the lack of ability to drive wasn't too much of a problem unless one needed to deliver goods with large truckers.

As they came to a halt in a parking space, Connor unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off before dismounting first. Conrad was soon to follow once he set the kickstand into place and took the helmet from Connor to set on one of the handles. Once more, Connor took up the lead before the younger android could, leaving him to follow after the older model. If he suddenly stopped, he was certain one of his shoulders would end up brushing against Conrad's chest with how close he follow behind and slightly to the right of him. It was aggravating how quickly he was becoming used to Conrad's insistence on being close.

As the glass doors slid open, activated by motion, Connor stepped into the pristine entry way to the android's version of a hospital. At the moment, there weren't any smaller practices for minor things like being torn into by a highly motivated and aroused alpha. It seemed like a slow night as only a scant few people were walking around, androids weren't exactly prone to accidents and most of their injuries came from others, humans and other androids alike. With the freedom of self awareness it didn't mean there would be peace. Conflicting programs, just like varying personalities with humans, lead androids to get into fights, especially since they were still new to controlling their emotions.

Connor stepped up to the front desk, a model ST300 was sitting there, tapping on the screen of her terminal only to pause and look up when she noticed Connor. The nametag on her scrub claimed her name was Sandra, likely a self-given name to separate her from all the rest of the models that looked like her. There had been discussion among the Android community to construct new physical traits to help people distinguish themselves from others of their models. At the moment, there were more pressing matters to deal with and android part production had slowed down once Cyberlife was shut down. Thirium and spare parts were needed for those who had suffered through the revolution or had been living in abusive households before obtaining their freedom.

"Hello, how may I help you two tonight?" There was a polite tone to her voice, since she'd been designed as a receptionist, she likely was well experienced in this line of work. It wasn't often that an android switched jobs so soon, but they had been starting to develop hobbies to build their skills in other areas. It would take some time for models to extend out from the jobs they had been created to do.

"Yes, both my partner and I have suffered some superficial injuries along with a loss in thirium. Its not an emergency but we would like to take care of it sometime tonight if there is anyone available." Connor replied formally, the receptionist glanced at Conrad a little warily as gray eyes stared coldly back. Out in public, Conrad seemed to have reverted to his usual dislocated machine self unless someone got too close to Connor. It couldn't be helped though, it would just feel out of place if Conrad was anything but imposing. Sometimes it would prove useful as well, rationally speaking. Conrad had been designed to hunt down deviants and criminals without mercy, lacking the compromising software Connor had and making him more machine than human.

"You guys happen to be in luck then." Sandra chimed in and turned back to the terminal screen tapping away at it to find a nurse or doctor that was available. The response time was faster than a human, as all the workers here were connected to the building's network, allowing them to communicate and transfer information instantly. "What series of androids are you two from?"

"I'm an RK800 model and he's an RK900." It took a moment for Sandra to scan through the models as RK units weren't exactly marketed like more commercial ones were. Connor knew he had more models like himself, or rather used to. He hadn't seen any in Cyberlife after 60 had been shot by Hank.Connor had gone back to find the models that were meant for him to transfer his memory onto in case he died. They had all been either torn apart by over-enthusiastic revolutionaries or some were just downright missing. A worrying concern for Connor.

"I see, it seems Simon has requested to take you both in right away." She sounded a bit surprised by that, seeing how Simon had made himself out to be fairly decent at repairing androids. Too important to handle simple superficial wounds. Which meant he likely wanted to check in on Connor, the man was polite and nice, but a bit reserved at least when it came to Connor. Being taken care of by someone Markus trusted was a bit reassuring, there were still some androids out there who held a grudge against him, the feared deviant hunter.

"He'll see you in room 24 on the second floor." Sandra held out her hand, palm up, her skin deactivating at the fingertips. Connor reached out and touched his fingertips to hers, receiving the layout of the building along with instructions on how to get to the designated room. From that small professional contact, he could hear the faints of rumbles coming from behind him, reminding Connor that his younger upgrade was still there and still watching with disapproval of such contact. Luckily, Conrad remained immobile, his hands clasped behind his back despite the warning he just issued. Baby steps and small miracles.

"Thank you and have a great night." Connor said as he pulled his hand back before Conrad scared the poor girl. Turning away, he made his way to the elevator, knowing Conrad would follow and not let Connor escape from his sight. The elevator was a bit cramped with Conrad there, now in private he had pressed himself shoulder to shoulder, nearly crowding Connor against one of the mirrored walls of the elevator. Unable to breath from his lack of personal space, he deftly jabbed his elbow into Conrad's side. The impact made him flinch away, giving Connor enough space to smoothly step out of the elevator when the doors slid open.

Connor could feel the seething glare aimed at the back of his head, but still no complaints other than a flash of teeth in warning to Connor. Regardless, Conrad still followed after like an obedient guard dog. Upon reaching the marked door, Connor politely knocked. Conrad remained only a slightly respectable distance from Connor, but how long that would last was probably in a mater of minutes. He heard movement inside, steps advancing to the door moments before it slid open to reveal the blond haired android dressed in light blue scrubs and a white coat. Connor examined the other android, out of habit, though picking up higher levels of stress coming off him. Which only rose when he noticed Conrad was so close.

"I would like to speak with just Connor for a moment, if that would be alright with you two."

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